A/N: I had to do something to blow off a little steam and after two days of playing Skyrim and a random inspiration, this is what I got. :P

Please read, review, and enjoy.

Warning: Citrus content and some game spoilers for the quest involving the character Sinding.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I promise.

That scent was in the air again.

Sinding lifted his head from where he had stooped over a burbling stream. The grotto was full of them, their cool babbling one of the sounds that constantly echoed off the rocks. Wet moss made the boulder he stood on slick, but he had braced his arm against the slender trunk of an overhanging tree to prevent an untoward spill into the water. He breathed deeply.

Wood, damp earth, dragon's tongue, lavender…natural fragrances that wafted past his nose so often that he barely noticed them. Just beneath them, however, was the subtle scent of leather, mingled with the tart tang of apple that he could taste of his tongue.

There. Towards the mouth of the cavern. Sinding turned his gaze in that direction, cocking his head a little, listening.

Neither birdsong nor hoof-step fluttered in the wind. It was quiet, but there was no heaviness in the air. Something that required caution, but not necessarily danger, had entered his sanctuary.

In his mind, he had known that to be the case, but his instincts often demanded that he take stock of what his environment could tell him, whether he was to be prey…or predator.

In this particular instance, even after assessing that there was no immediate threat, he couldn't be certain.

He sniffed again as he backed away from the stream, silently brushing smaller branches aside as he moved into the trees. A breeze drifted past, carrying the alien scent, and he followed it. The ground was uneven, sloping, jutting away at odd angles, and rocky. Flowering bushes and nettles twined about one another in ensnaring clumps, snaking around trees and boulders. The soles of his feet were silent as he swiftly trotted over the blankets of dead leaves and rotting logs, easily vaulting over some of the larger ones that rose like low fences from the earth.

The scent grew stronger, as did the smell of smoke and burning wood. Near a small cosp of slender saplings, he stopped, resting his forearm against the smooth bark of a young birch. Just beyond the leaves, he could see orange flames and a figure in dark clothing.

A cowl obscured their features, but that wasn't unexpected. In the months they had been coming here, he had never seen the face of the one who had spared his life.

For more years than he cared to think about, he had wandered Skyrim, the change from man to beast overtaking him so often that he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. The hunger would slide unpleasantly up from his belly to his spine with every strand of fur that erupted from his skin and he had no control over his actions.

He couldn't be trusted.

He shouldn't be trusted.

It was why he had dared to bear the wrath of a daedric prince. It was why he had accepted his sentence of execution and later exile. It was why he had accepted a fate of solitude, and loneliness, readily. To be around others and to know that he could not be a part of them, to be called monster and shunned even when living amongst other people...well, his life in the grotto was hardly different. Except, perhaps, that the cries of 'beast' and 'murderer' only existed in his head.

That, at times, was more than he could endure. The change was a blessing then, the lure of prey and the desire for hot blood on his tongue mercifully drowning out the reminders of his damned existence.

With that thought, his chest ached and he bowed his blonde head for a moment, closing his eyes and inhaling a ragged breath. His hand fisted against the tree, so tight that his short, dirty nails dug into the flesh of his palm.

He would not find Sovngarde. Even in death, he was to hunt for a master whose cruelty he had not understood until the deal had been struck. There may have been a time when that would have been preferable, but now?

Grey eyes opened and rose to look across the small glade where the figure had set up their small camp.

He could remember with perfect clarity the rainy afternoon that they had approached the bars of his sunken cell. Frigid droplets had steadily pattered against the stone, the large drain in the middle of the floor hardly enough to swallow it all. The water had been ankle deep and cold enough to make him constantly shudder. It had been miserable and he had borne it stoically; it had been no less than he deserved for the innocence that stained his hands. He had not asked for forgiveness. How could he? What parent, what decent human being, would have granted it to him, even though he regretted his deed in every part of his heart? He no right to it even if it had been. Sinding had known that even as he had readied himself for the same mercy he had shown his young victim.

How the leather armor fitted, and the voice that always spoke in soft, accented tones let him know that his visitor was female. Her footsteps had been the first sound that he had paid attention to since his imprisonment, for they were lighter and more purposeful than those of the guards that marched back and forth in the jail. He had watched her warily, almost derisively as she stood looking back at him, close enough to the bars that the steel brushed slender arms encased in dark hide. Not an inch of skin was visible, except just around the eyes.

They were almond-shaped and the shade of summer leaves, a color he had never seen in this part of the world. But what had struck him, gazing up at his visitor, was the complete quiet that filled them. They were calm eyes, soothing eyes...eyes that he could have fallen into and been at peace doing so.

It had been those eyes that had beckoned him.

He had crossed the cell and approached the narrow steps leading up to the stranger before he had even realized the movement. He had told her his tale after only a single, softly spoken question. And he had wanted to reach past the bars of his cage and touch a finger near those eyes to see for himself that the unjudging calm was real and not a figment of a cold-addled mind.

He had simply handed her the cursed ring that had started him on the path of bestial madness. Because he could not be trusted. The touch could have so easily turned into an attack of rage and hunger that it was frightening.

A flash of inquisitiveness had stolen across the vibrant irises as her fingers closed around the silver band and he had explained the nature of the ring, along with his confession. It was an admittance of fear, of doubt, and of despair's raw pain. Then a gloved hand had reached out and covered his, startling him. The gaze that met his steadily was still so incredibly, quietly warm. The voice spoke of redemption and relief of his burden, if she had the power to do so.

It was the first time in many moons that his heart had felt so light.

The sensation was addictive and as soon as he had fled Falkreath's prison, he longed to feel it again. He had wanted to look into those eyes once more and just drown in their stillness, so unlike the chaos that raked across his own consciousness.

But he could not indulge in his desire.

Instead, he had fled as far as his muscles could carry him, to a cavern cut deep by centuries of water and pressure. The grotto had been carved by forces greater than he and it had been a knowledge that had brought him some semblance of tranquility as he waited for word of the stranger's success.

Then the hunters had come.

And she had followed.

Low growls had reverberated in his throat as he had surged forward, catching her scent with her first step into his territory. He had climbed to the highest point in the grotto and watched as she had crept into the glade far below him.

The glint in her eyes as one hand held a powerful bow and the other notched a single arrow had been breathtaking. Heat had surged through his blood, igniting an instinct that had almost knocked him from his feet with the force of it. The ease with which he could have claimed her was intoxicating and he had already started to slink down towards her with a hungry gaze before he could stop himself. She was tall, and clearly strong, her arm steady as she held the bow at full draw. Primal desire warred with human reason as his wolfish eyes drank in the curve of her hip as she twisted around, the press of her full chest against her leather armor.

He had licked his lips in anticipation, what was filling his vision and what his heart claimed was not right making him snarl to himself. It had been enough to make him want to howl at the moons that hung heavy in the sky above him.

It had awakened his ability to speak.

He had called down to her as soon as he knew that she had seen him, unwilling to allow the bestial part of him any chance to bring its lust to fruition.

Another bargain struck. Another deal that he could not be certain of the eventual outcome.

But she had kept her word. He had kept his.

He had thought it would be the last time he would see those eyes, except in the deepest part of the night when sleep eluded him.

Yet, a week later, she returned, with fresh clothes and provisions he would need to survive the coming winter. He had been stunned, hardly able to give voice to his thanks. He had wanted to ask why, what reason could she have for showing him further kindness? He could never repay her, she had nothing to gain. Then he had been ashamed that he had such thoughts about the woman who had given him back his life, who's gaze only spoke of a quiet strength that he wanted so very much to be lent to him.

Among other things.

He had sworn to her that he would not leave the grotto to mingle with other people and he had fully intended to keep that oath. The only times he left were when his need to hunt could no longer be denied, and he only ventured to nearby bandit encampments, ridding the land of creatures as foul as himself. He could not rightly call those encounters interactions with other souls, and yet he did not know what else to call them. Other than her presence in his grotto, he kept his word; he did not seek the company of others, no matter what his instincts would roar at him. Firmly, he kept his desires and urges in line as best he could and he was, for the most part, successful.

What he had not foreseen was the lingering power of her memory.

She haunted him.

As the first visit was followed by another, and another, he found himself waiting with his heart in his throat for the first trace of her arrival. The sway of her stride filled his mind's eye at the sight of leather. Every bite he took of an apple's tart flesh reminded him of her scent, the memory slamming into him with the force of a charging bear. His imagination was of no help, tempting him with possibilities of what she looked like beneath the armor, what beauty the mask of her cowl hid from him.

And he had no doubts that she was beautiful.

How could a being that possessed such eyes not be?

A loud crackling pop jerked Sinding's mind back to the present. She was crouching near the fire, her gaze trained on the cosp of trees where he stood concealed. There was a teasing gleam in the flickering green that made every muscle in his body clench tight.

"Your ability to blend into your surroundings would suffer less if you didn't exhale so forcefully, so often."

Damn, she had heard him. Without the pretense of camouflage, he moved into the clearing with barely a rustle of dry leaves. Winter was passing, but the trees had not yet begun to bud, some foliage having clung stubbornly to their stems through blizzard and sleet. He could relate to the feeling, somewhat. Feeling a little exposed considering the nature of his thoughts, he forced a smile.

"I'll keep that in mind for your next visit."

He prayed she couldn't hear the longing, hopeful note that he did. Perhaps not, since her attention was once again on the fire. He dropped into a crouch next to her, but not too close. Others being suspicious of him was not unusual, but he had, when not in possession of the ring, been able to trust himself. Since she had walked into his grotto, it was thinner than it had been in a long while.

Standing suddenly, his visitor stepped to a pack she had lain in the hollow of a large oak's roots. His gaze lingered on the tempting curve of her backside as she bent to retrieve some item, a low simmering heat tightening in his belly. When she straightened, he hastily glanced away, irritated at himself for both admiring and for behaving like a a young buck that hadn't seen his first season.

A gloved hand came into view and he looked up to see glittering eyes set above a dark mask that obscured the lower part of her face. Tucked in the crook of the arm that was not hanging at her side was a cumbersome bundle. She handed it to him and he gingerly set it in his lap, crossing his legs beneath him.

"What is this?"

"Unwrap it and see," she replied in her lilting accent, a playful tone lacing her words that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Carefully, he tugged on the string that held it all together and the bundle fell open, revealing several shirts and pairs of breeches that were not as heavy as what he had been wearing through the winter. She had wrapped them in a thinner blanket, despite his protest a fortnight ago that he did not need one. His...ability granted him an increased body temperature, keeping him happily warm. It was one of the few times he could remember having a difference of opinion with her and when she had quietly reminded him that perhaps having such things as clothes and blankets would make him feel a little more human, he had ceased to complain.

He had worried, when she first started coming, that her visits were founded in charity, or worse, pity. She had assured him that was not the case, but he could not shake the feeling. What other reason could there be? It was only after she had casually flicked him on the ear and chastised him with words that he could not have imagined her knowing that ultimately put his concerns to rest. Friendship, she had said; she had thought he could use a friend. But then another had taken its place and he had asked her how she could spend the coin to bring him such gifts. She had simply stared at him, a thin brow arching as she inquired what had put the thought in his head that she bought her friends anything.

Friend.

Even now, the word coming from her lips made the ache in his chest relent for a moment, replaced with an altogether different sensation. He looked up at her with a wide smile, this one far more genuine than the one he had given her when he first approached.

"My thanks."

She merely shrugged and walked back to her pack, pulling out various utensils and a large slab of meat that she had wrapped in butcher's paper. As she set about cooking their meal, he sat silently, content to be out of her way and quietly watch her move.

She had a grace about her. It wasn't like the dancers that he had occasionally enjoyed on his irregular visits to large cities like Solitude or Whiterun. No, it was a nimbleness, a flexibility that suggested years of practice slipping into places where one was not meant to go. Even in the thick confines of her gloves, he could tell that her fingers were long and slender, their precise movements perfect to pick locks and slip into pockets unnoticed. She had never outright admitted to being a thief, but, then, she didn't have to. The signs were there. Not to mention the subtle insignia that had been etched into the pommel of the dagger that poked out of the top of her boot when she squatted down next to the flames. When she tilted her head a certain way, he could see hints of golden-colored tresses peeking just beneath the hem of her hood. He suspected that it was longer, since what he could make out was always pulled into the back of her cowl. He also knew when she grinned, because the corner of her eyes would crinkle just so.

Her other expressions, however, he could only guess based on what she chose to reveal in those summer-green irises. He had come to many of them, though, and he was never entirely sure what to expect. This evening, however, she seemed to be in a good mood. Good enough that he dared to ask what had been on his mind since she had arrived.

"Why?"

She hardly reacted, it seemed, except to lift her voice in a soft, "hmm?"

Gathering his courage, he carefully set aside the clothing she had brought him and cleared his throat.

"Why do you consider me a friend?"

She turned to look at him then, a mixture of exasperation and amusement in her eyes.

"Have we not had this conversation?"

He sighed and tugged at the reddish blonde goatee that covered his chin.

"I'm not being clear enough," he murmured and closed his eyes, reaching further up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then he lifted his hand to gesture at the surrounding grotto, "Surely you have other friends that have more need of you than I."

Her gaze narrowed a moment and he suddenly regretted parting his lips at all. Her body was completely still, the warm quiet he so dearly enjoyed in her eyes vanishing like mist in the sun, replaced with a flinty hardness and...wariness?

"I would appreciate," she said slowly, carefully, "a little elaboration on your point."

He could not keep eye contact and his gaze dropped to the flickering flames, struggling to find the words to express what he meant. In his head, he knew exactly what he wanted to ask and how he wanted to ask it. The problem was that, no matter how he phrased it in his mind, he knew it would upset her. That he couldn't bear to do. What if it drove her away forever? The mere thought had ice coating his insides.

Finally, after many heartbeats, he looked back up at her with a wane smile.

"Forget that I mentioned it. I'm glad for your company."

He hoped she would leave it at that. He silently prayed to whatever god might be listening that she would leave it at that. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest as she stared at him, a myriad of expressions flitting through her eyes as he watched, too quick for him to discern what she was feeling. Not for the first time, he fervently wished that she did not have that mask, and yet, simultaneously, he was grateful for it.

He wasn't sure he could handle what she was thinking right then.

With only an awkward silence stretching between them, Sinding began to wonder. Did she think him unappreciative? Did she consider him unworthy to be a friend to now? Did she think that he found her unworthy? Would she leave? Oh, please, gods, don't let her leave.

In fact, as soon as she stood, his body started, every muscle tensing to give chase, to bring her back and convince her to always come back. He needed her, he realized in that moment as she slowly began walking. He needed her to bring him clothes and to make him talk when he was moody and to make him laugh when his thoughts turned to the steps that had led him here. But, more importantly, he wanted her here, with him.

He wanted her to stay.

Even as these thoughts whirled through him, he watched, dumbfounded, as she came to kneel directly in front of him. He felt his breath hitch when she tugged off her gloves and lay them aside, revealing her hands to him for the first time. They were almost exactly as he had pictured, except, perhaps, more calloused than he had envisioned. Not that he minded; it showed that she was not idle. Her fingers were indeed long, dexterous, and the color of ivory. She had told him once that she had learned to play the lute as a young girl and he now imagined those lovely hands he had now seen weaving melodious harmonies from the instrument's strings. Then his mind turned to considering those same fingers ghosting down the hard planes of his chest, dancing across his skin as he coaxed another kind of music from her lips-

Carefully, as if placing her hands on a frightened fawn, she brought a palm up to cup his rough cheek and he forgot how to think altogether.

They were softer than he'd imagined, and pleasantly cool. With a gentle flexing, she stroked the pad of her thumb across the sunken expanse until she bumped his nose. Goosebumps erupted across his body at her touch and he suppressed the need to shudder at the contact. Heat flared through him as she repeated the motion, looking into his eyes with the quiet calm that he entranced him at the first encounter.

Suddenly his eyes widened as her other hand reached up and two fingers curled into the fabric that hid her features. Slowly, she pulled the material down, inch by torturous inch. Finding his mouth abruptly dry, he swallowed hard, unable to look away as first the length of her nose was revealed, long and narrow, but not unattractive. Then his gaze moved to her exposed cheekbones, which were high and unblemished. Just before she reached where her mouth would be she paused. His heart was pounding harder now, hot arousal and twitchy anticipation coursing through his veins as he held his breath, eager to fully gaze on the face he had so often tried to imagine in the loneliest parts of the night.

Her gaze watched his face for a moment and he lifted his eyes to meet hers. Amusement still danced in the green depths, but it was mingling with affection and something else, something far older, more primal, that had set his instincts on edge and made him want to growl in response. Her hand shifted again and his gaze was once again pulled to where it had stopped.

"I trust you."

He barely heard her words, so intensely was he focused on the full, pink lips that formed them as the mask came fully down to rest against her throat.

Sweet, merciful Mara, he had never done her justice. There were no words to describe what he now looked on. In his mind, he could not find a single thing that existed in Tamriel that compared.

In that instant, he had become intensely, agonizingly aware of the cool fingers that were now softly stroking his cheek and the sensation sent a fire bolt of heat streaking through his body. She must have felt the change in him because her eyes darkened to an incredible shade of viridian. He could only ask two words, every muscle straining to remain exactly where he was.

"Your name?" his voice was low and rough, more like the rumble of a beast than the words of a man.

She had never given it and he knew that asking her for it now was asking for further proof that she indeed trusted him. He needed to hear her say it. She seemed to know, because those gorgeous lips parted again as her hand moved to the hem of her hood and tugged it down, revealing long, golden hair and pointed ears.

"Amalthea."

It was all she got to say.

Faster than she could react, his arm whipped out and brought her against him, her hand reaching out reflexively to brace against the rough wool of his loose shirt. With a gruff growl, he captured her mouth with his in a hot, hungry kiss. She tasted like the apples he could smell as her hair fell forward, tart and crisp, and he was instantly craving more. She molded her lips to his, amazingly responsive, and he relished the silky feel. She sipping at his lower lip and he nipped back as gently as he could. His desire for her was almost overwhelming, his instincts screaming at him to force her down, to claim her as his, only his.

He felt more than heard her moan as his fingers wove into the soft strands of her hair to keep her anchored where she was while his other arm held her tightly against him. The sound parted her lips and he devilishly touched the tip of is tongue against her lip as he sucked at it. Without waiting for a further invitation, Sinding plunged his tongue into the sweetness her mouth, leaving her absolutely breathless as the fire crackled behind them.

Her hands wandered to his shoulders, exploring their breadth, then further up to comb through his hair. When his thumb brushed against the very tip of her ear, she shivered against him, causing the length of his manhood to grow harder and hotter, clearly indicating what he desired.

One kiss blended into another and another, his mouth leaving hers only to gasp in just enough air to breath. He relinquished his grasp around the curve of her waist for only a moment, but it was more than she needed, wriggling in his embrace until she could straddle his lap. Her hands slipped from his hair down to his chest, then back up again, to wrap around his neck. He heard a small sound, like a whimper, and was aware that the noise came from the woman in his arms. It made him growl again, his hand moving from its entanglement in the golden strands of her hair down to fumble at the buckles of her leather armor.

She undulated her body against him, their hips connecting intimately despite the bulk of their mutual clothing, brushing her heat against the tip of his erection. It proved to be their undoing.

Gods, he wanted to take this slow, to savor every part of her, but the part of him that he had never been able to entirely control was surging forward, drowning out everything else and narrowing his focus to simply having her...now.

Without warning, he twisted, rolling her beneath him and pinning her to the ground, her wrists firmly held in one of his large hands. She writhed under him, tugging at her wrists trapped in his strong grip. With his free hand, he easily unclasped the fastening that held her armor in place, pulling it away from her body with a savage jerk. Sliding her under-tunic up as he nipped and licked a hot trail down the smooth column of her neck to the portion of her chest that wasn't hidden by her shirt. Frustrated by the offending article of clothing that concealed what he desired to see and touch, Sinding released her, pulling the shirt up and over her head. Then her hands were at the hem of his shirt. With a strength that only heightened his arousal, she shredded the material as his mouthed blazed across her shoulder down to the slopes of her breasts, making her moan. His torso was bare, gooseflesh pebbling along the corded muscle when her fingers traced intricate, heated patterns across his abdomen. She moved back up and scraped her thumbnails lightly against his nipples, making him shudder over her, his desire pressing insistently against her leather-clad thigh.

As she explored his upper body, Sinding worshiped hers. He pulled her breast-band away from her chest, dipping his head and swirled his tongue around one coral bud before taking it into his mouth and suckling hard. She cried out and he felt his already straining manhood twitch painfully against his trousers. He switched to the other, intoxicated by the taste and scent of her soft skin.

But then she boldly reached down between them and stroked her palm firmly against his hardness. Sinding's hips bucked involuntarily and he growled a warning, not wanting to lose the last ounce of control he possessed. She did it again and he groaned, making the warmth in his stomach flare hotter. Hoping to distract her, he began to kiss his way back up her body, but she slipped her fingers past the band of his trousers and run them from base to tip. His head jerked up and he hissed a breath between his teeth.

"Amalthea, I-I cant," was all he managed to grate out hoarsely.

He could feel the beast's claws running along the inside of his skin, fighting to come out, to take what it could.

"Shh, it's alright," she murmured as she rained butterfly kisses along his jaw in an effort to reassure him, "I know. Just, let go, Sinding. It's alright."

A strained sound was his only response, because those damnably clever fingers of hers had wrapped themselves around him and were squeezing in an easy rhythm that was steadily driving him mad. The feather-light touch of her lips grazing his chest only intensified what her hands were up to and he couldn't hold back the moan of pleasure when her tongue flicked at a nipple. She worked her mouth further down his abdomen, letting her tongue glide where her hands had been only moments before. She had managed to slip her legs between his while he was distracted, seductively running a foot along his calf, mimicking the slowing movement of her fingers and lips.

When her heel touched the back of his knee, she ran one hand up to his shoulder and pushed, flipping them over. Sinding grunted in surprise, then let out a groan as her mouth claimed his, her hips gently rocking against him. The motion nearly completely frayed the parchment thin defense that held his more primal instincts at bay. Letting her take control allowed him to rein in his urges, barely, as he kept one hand braced on her hip while the other kneaded the soft flesh of her breast, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned into his mouth as their lips and tongues warred for dominance, both unmindful of the night falling around them in the glade. Instead, Sinding concentrated on touch, running his hands over the creamy skin of her breasts, her stomach, mapping the curves of her body.

Lips soon followed as they parted, her head tipping back as his mouth pressed sweetly, softly against the skin of her collarbone, making her quiver as his hands moved down to cup her backside. Then his thumbs slid along the waistline of her breeches, pushing at them and she took the hint, slipping them down and kicking them off, along with her boots and smalls. He leaned up on his elbows to take in the sight of her, but she was already above him again, tugging at the laces that held up his trousers and easing them off. When she leaned her head down and let out a warm puff of air against his erection, his restraint snapped.

With a snarl, he was over her again and his swollen length was pressing urgently against her. Her legs drew up of their own accord, wrapping around his waist and she rolled her hips in a manner that clearly spoke of her acquiescence. Kissing her with a hunger that he couldn't deny, he plunged into her with a swift thrust, letting out a hiss of breath at the tightness of her sheath around him. She gasped beneath him and he stilled, the part of him that wasn't consumed with need, the part of him that cared about this woman, resurfacing long enough for her body to relax again.

After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled back, almost completely, then buried himself to the hilt in a quick thrust, causing them both to moan. Together, they began a hesitant rhythm. His movements became surer, stronger, as she responded eagerly, the pooling heat at the base of his spine spiraling tighter and tighter until he thought he would either explode or go mad. Suddenly, her raised to his knees and pulled her up from the bed of grass at her back and wrapping one strong arm around her. He kissed her hard, dominating her mouth as he slammed into her, steadily filling her. He guided her hips over him to the cadence he desired.

As he moved, she met him, together finding a tempo that slowly built in speed, a rhythm to a dance that was as old as time itself. He could feel the tingling heat flare and tighten as her hands roamed the broad expanse of his shoulders, lips finding his again blindly as she constricted around his length. Suddenly, he shifted her higher and the thrusts came deeper, faster, nearly throwing her over the edge as light burst behind his closed eyelids, wave after wave ripping through her body, gripping him with slick, pulsing muscles as she called out to him. He wasn't far behind, his essence pouring in a hot cascade as he groaned out her name into her mouth.

Panting, spent, Sinding loosely held her in his arms, resting his forehead against hers as he tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

"Sinding," she murmured softly, pressing a palm right where the thumping muscle fluttered.

The touch made a sweet kind of warmth bloom, though it did little to slow his pulse as she looked into his grey eyes. He drew his head back a little and lifted a hand to caress one of her pointed ears.

"I suppose that explains the way you talk," he said with a low chuckle, his smile taking any unintended sting out of his words.

A flush spread across her cheeks and he lowered his hand to touch gentle fingers along the delicate bones beneath those wonderful eyes. She caught his hand with hers and leaned into his cupped palm.

"Yes, I suppose it does. But," her gaze was steady, "there is more talking to do yet."

Yes, they had much to talk about, he thought as his thumb traced the curve of her jaw. He suspected her tale was long and he wanted to hear all of it. He closed his eyes a moment, letting out a breath. There would be time for that; and there would be time find out if there was a place where both werewolf and mer could meet when the gods called them from one plane to the next.

He leaned in and captured her lips in a deep, slow kiss. A quiet calm had descended in his mind and in his heart, allowing him to take the time he had been denied before.

"Later," he muttered, falling back against the ground and watching the firelight dance across her skin, "there is something beyond words that I want to share with you tonight."

~Fin~