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"Hmph," the den mother chuffs in response, the wooden spoon she's stirring with bapped lightly against his knuckles as a mimicry of chastisement for his theft. "You'd think that at least one of them would've had the decency to see to the dishes properly before dinner is served." It's exasperated, but affectionate. She knows well enough that in the intervening time between now and when it's time to actually serve dinner, the long and sturdy wooden table will somehow be cleaned off and set with all the required utensils and dishes for the small horde to eat from, but that doesn't make the annoyance any less at this particular moment.

She twists in his hold, arms coming to settle on his shoulders, a nose scrunch offered, equally just as annoyed and affectionate as the rest of the banter that had preceded it. "No, I wouldn't," Hannah confirms, even though she knows as well as he did that if he truly didn't want the other lycans here, they simply wouldn't be. But she wasn't going to point that out to him, at least directly. Appearances, and all. "Where else would they go, anyhow?" It's a tease, but there's a painful truth to it as well. They were a rarity: a close knit pack that had a place to call home that was far enough out of the way of cities and far enough away from the vampire's covens that they could have a life, a home, a family. After centuries spent having to move every few months, at most, for their own preservation this was as much his dream as it was hers. "But if you don't stop interrupting me while I'm in the middle of cooking, there might well be one less person to concern myself with."

so many people in this house and not a clean dish to be found.  (exasperated wolf mum hannah w/ cash modern day ish) uw verse // @fidelityfcrged

“Yeah, well. That’s why there’s nothin’ clean, ain’t it?” He's got a hand in the pan of food she's cooking before she can even slap it away. When she inevitably rounds on him, it's already gone, no evidence but his cheeky smile that any crime had occurred at all. "Too many people in this house."

It's lighthearted enough, but only half in jest. If Cash had it his way, he'd have no one else in the house at all, save from Hannah and himself. A good thing they have so much property: the 3,000 square foot home and surrounding acreage houses more than twelve lycans, at any given moment, and it's impossible to kick any of them out. For one thing, more than a few of them are their own children.

"Got a solution for that, though." An arm ensnares her by the waist, pulling her back against him, away from the stove. Demanding attention, as he was like to do. "Not that you'll let me kick them out."

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| A collection of Mitchell gifs (61/??) |

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Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Swann in Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003) | dir. Gore Verbinski

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While the time that they've spent together has given her enough of a grasp of his native tongue that she can catch the gist of the torrent that streams from his lips, she wouldn't have had to know any of the Gaelic language to make an educated guess as to the nature of his rant. There's a tension that runs through her, a lightning hum beneath the surface of her skin that has her aching, and taut, a wire ready to break at a moment's notice, and it takes a gargantuan effort to remain still and quiet, to give him the time he needs to work through his frustration. This is not a circumstance she might have ever imagined them in, on any level, and she knows she is not making this easy for him - but she also knew that she could not, in good conscience, simply walk away and leave Desi to whatever fate might be hanging over him without a fight.

The tension bleeds, washing out of her in a visible softening of features and frame at his reply, and she near instantly closes the distance between them, arms curling around his waist, tightening around him as she burrows into the safety of his presence. "Thank you, love," she exhales into the crook of his neck, and this time she doesn't try and fight the tears of relief and gratitude that trail down the raw, chapped skin of her cheeks. "You have my promise and my thanks."

It should come as no surprise that she defies him at last; it’s a moment decades in the making. He’s watched her turn from a trembling, skittish doe to the woman who has so fiercely protected their son, who could lead the pack under his command. But that’s where this had differed: she had always, in the end, fallen under his thumb. And he only insisted when it really mattered. The sound of his name falling off her tongue lingers, a thing so rarely uttered, rattling him more than her defiance does.

There’s a stream of Gaelic, low and heated. He’s turned from her, pacing, fingers carding irritably through his hair. Fuck. There’s no fighting with her now. Either he gave in, or he kept her away by force, and neither sounds particularly tempting. He stalks back to her, gaze dark, heavy.

“You’ll be the death of me, woman.” But the words lack any true bite. It’s clear enough that she’s already won. “You can stay. But you do so with the promise to actually listen.”

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@somebadguys

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It had taken her more control than she would care to admit to keep her movements slow, her presence small, her breaths steady since the arrival -- the near charge of the large lycan into the encampment. She did not know him by sight, only in flashes of memories that had been passed to her by her maker, and the wolf inside of her gnashed in agitation at his presence and demeanor. In another circumstance, she might have bristled at his tone, but between her fear for Desi and her worry over Cash's ability to control his own rankled pride, her own was easily cast aside.

She lingered close to Cash, her hand against his shoulder a light touch, a reminder that she was there for him, if he needed her, but also perhaps to serve as a reminder that his actions would bear consequences for them all. If this Lycan spoke on behalf of Lucian, then certainly, garnering his ire would only serve them poorly. She watches the tension in the stranger, she flinches as Desi recoils, and trembles, but she holds her tongue. It is not her place to speak, and while she might at times challenge Cash, this was not a time for her to risk anyone's wrath if it was not necessary. Relief blossomed as the lycan confirmed Desi's words, her hand squeezing gently against Cash's shoulder once again.

Her touch shifts, drawing up to brush against the line of his jaw as he turns towards her, a smile offered up, a nod of reassurance. 'Thank you.' The words are mouthed, silently, and hidden from view of the others in the cavern. "I can see to his release, if you wish," Hannah offers softly. "There is no need for you to concern yourself with such a task." She hoped this would give him the opportunity to clear his head, and, give her a few more minutes with her brother before he was whisked away.

Anger has long resided within him. As a child, it had already made home behind his breastbone, within his ribs. Anger at the futility of the situation turned into anger at being sold off, at being held in chains, at being treated as lesser than for reasons out of his control. It was as close a companion as any he's had, so it takes no real skill to recognize it in anyone else, no matter the form.

And it takes more control than he's aware of possessing not to answer back in kind.

"Consider it done." He's only too glad to comply, no matter if the tone has him bristling. The hand at his back is, by and large, most of the reason he can function; the touch grounds him, excess anger like lightning fizzling through her palm, dispersing safely beneath her feet. Its to her that Cash turns now. In front of this stranger, he won't say aloud anything that might reveal her relationship with Desi, but the look says it clearly enough.

You want to say goodbye? Now's your chance.

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There's a moment of hesitation. A moment when she finds herself torn. She's learned over lifetimes, to trust him. She may challenge him, or ease his temper, now and then, but she's had little reason to outright defy him before. It grates at her, and she feels that knot tighten in her chest, can feel the way her heartbeat picks up speed and her breath goes just a fraction more shallow. "I'm sorry, Ciaran." The words are offered quieter, gently, but the apology only softens the steel beneath her words.

"But neither was I." Her jaw is set, stiff and uncomfortable, but she does not shy away from him as she continued. "Any of the sentries can lead the pack to the next encampment - I am not needed there. I am needed here, and here I will stay."

Fixated as he is on future plans, logistics, possible outcomes that await them at the end of this, he’s not expecting her resistance. Catches him off guard, eyes tracking her movement, watching the anxiety fill her again. But his eyes darken. Resolve settles in the line of his jaw.

“I wasn’t asking’.” Any number of things could happen once they send word to Lucian, and Cash is sure he’s only predicted half of them. How the hell’s he supposed to focus on a possible threat if she was still here to get caught up in it? “You can stay til we send the letter. Let the pack go ahead. But there’s nothin’ good that comes from you being here when everything else happens.”

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Her hand settles again at the nape of his neck, fingers trailing absent mindedly through his curls, watching him, reading the things he doesn't say in the way he moves, the tilt of brow and jaw and lips. There is an uneasiness, still lingering in the pit of her stomach - there are too many unknowns, too many ways that all of this could go wrong, and underneath it all, the fear that after all this, she might still face the chance of losing Desi -- again.

Relief begins to ease through her as he agrees, but it flees as quickly as it had come, and she's already taken half a step back before he finishes speaking, a furrow creasing between her brows. "No-- Cash, I ... " She had never even considered leaving as an option, not until this was resolved. "I have to stay. I have to see this through." She is more insistent than she normally would have been - especially knowing that he has already been on edge, but the thought of having to leave before she had to, before she knew what the determination was already reigniting the sense of panic that had been running in her veins since her return to camp. "He's my brother, I have to know what happens."

A half breath taken in. "One way or another I will only have days with him, before I might never see him again -- please, do not take that from me."

Hah, the heart. A useless thing, he’d argue, if not for the fact that it’d start a fight. They’re opposites, in this respect. Hannah so often leads with the heart, with emotion, with compassion. It tempers him — the hard, unrelenting steel, too hot and breakable until it’s dipping into water again.

However he would have commented on that, it turns out to be irrelevant. She mentions Lucian’s name, and all else filters from his mind, fixated on that one thing. What the fuck? How could her brother know him? How had they met, and Desi had been left alive? Cash had seen Lucian take down countless leeches, with little remorse — and unless he’s a wildly different man, he can’t think of how Desi survived the encounter.

Maybe there was a bond between them. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’d seen, and Hannah is right — the situation has far too many unknowns for them to make this decision alone.

“Yeah. Alright,” he agrees, attention slowly returning to her. “We’ll have them pack tomorrow. You take them. I’ll wait for Lucian here and meet up after whatever happens.”

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"My heart believes it to be true." But she knew that the heart was led by emotions, and desires, and not so much truth. She took a long breath in, a small shake of her head as she tried to wind her thoughts through all of the arguments, all of the potential outcomes. The good, the bad, the ugly. Was she willing to risk it all, on a hope? On what she wanted to be the truth of it?

"He spoke of Lucian." Her brow furrowed, and she watched him, trying to read and gauge his reactions. "As a last request, he asked me to pass a message to Lucian for him, he said that Lucian would know who it was meant for. He said ... he and his maker had grieved, with Lucian, after Sonja's death." She did not know how much he knew of the events after the rebellion had begun, or how long he had stayed with Lucian. She knew that many of the lycans had chosen to leave - to seek freedom, and lives away from the ravages of war and the threat of the possibility of capture, or death. "If what he says is true, and there is any semblance of some bond between them and we kill him?"

"I have no desire to be exiled, or worse." The network of their people was already well scattered, and there was not much of a sense of central leadership, but there was safety in knowing that if they had the need to call for aid, if it could be given, it would. "I think, perhaps, we should send the pack ahead to the next location that has been scouted. Regardless of what is decided, too much has happened here to risk staying still. Perhaps a message should be relayed, to see if he speaks the truth, of knowing Lucian. If it is a lie, then we know he cannot be trusted, and the decision is an easy one."

A scoff. “Yeah. Like that would happen.” Hating her, for any reason, would take an action of such betrayal that he knows she isn’t capable of it. Had she asked him this as he stood in that cave, he might’ve had a different answer; as it is, he’s let the anger run it’s course, and he’s able to listen with a somewhat level head. Doesn’t mean he’s overjoyed at this new revelation.

“But I don’t like it.” That her brother is a bloodsucking leech. That she named their son after him. That the object of his cathartic hatred turned out to be someone she held dear. That hurting him now meant hurting her as well. Vengeance tasted ashen in his mouth. He swallows, bitter, fixing her with the commanding stare that he rarely turned on her. “Tell me you think it’s safe.” And what he means is this: be honest with me — with yourself. “You tell me that you trust him enough to let him go? I’ll do it.” His expression hardens. Stern lines bracket his mouth, pressed flat, indent the space between his brows. “But I want you to look me in the eyes and say it out loud. I don’t need to tell you what’s gonna happen if you’re wrong.”

Is he trying to scare her? Yeah, maybe. But she also didn’t need to be warned. She did know. What he’s not saying — doesn’t need to — is that death awaits them if they make the wrong call. Their pack. Their son. There’s a reason he always makes the decisions. Asks for her counsel sometimes, sure, but he’s the one who has the final say. It’s not because he thinks she can’t do it. It’s just a small mercy he can offer: a hundred wrong choices weigh him down, and some days, he thinks he’ll break beneath them.

“I’m not tellin’ you what to do. You call it.” He arches a brow. The hand under her chin grips more resolutely, thumb ghosting the line of her chin. “But you better make damn sure you can live with it.”

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Tell him I said goodbye.

The words that he had spoken, the message that he had asked to be delivered to Lucian when he was certain death was the only mercy left to him, echoed in her thoughts. To Lucian. A Lycan? She tried to keep the trail of her thoughts from being read by distracting herself, taking the time to tuck the chain back around her neck, absently tucking the key back beneath her shirt. Drawing close enough that she could sit, cross legged, within easy reach of him, if either of them might want, but far enough away that she could leap free if needed, she busied herself by dipping and wringing out another couple of the rags for him to use to clean, or bandage himself if needed.

A smile played at the edges of her lips, and she glanced up towards him. "If Father was ever given a grave, he must be writhing in it now, hm?" The bitterness was old, withered on the vine from starvation and age, but it still lingered there. "What a pair we must make." Her smile grew, then, and the glint in her eyes was defiant. A shake of her head follows, and she glances briefly towards the tunnels and cave system, and to the pack beyond. "I have a son." Her gaze flickers back to him. "We have a son, Cash and I. Nathaniel." A pang of grief, for the lives that might have been. For the futures they might have lived. Once upon a time.

"He's young. He's inquisitive -- and does not yet truly understand the meaning of fear, or caution." She would let him savor that as long as it lasted. "If I do ever go gray, I am certain it will be from him."

with the release of the manacles, amos's face is even brighter in the dark cave. fuck you, des. fuck you for thinkin' a leavin'. he'd never heard those words come from the other lycan's lips in that particular order but the sentiment felt about right. " i'm sorry, lion, " the vampire whispers to himself with a grin curved at one corner of his lips.

two small ladles of sustenance was enough to kick start some of his healing but not nearly enough to give him any real strength back. moving still takes him some time and, honestly, he's far too lost in more positive memories to really jump at the sliver of freedom. go on, his mind's amos says again. drink some more. he wanted to retort that he was too tired. that all he wanted was to curl up in the dark and close his eyes for some rest. both emotional and physical strain had a boulder sitting in the middle of his chest that kept pulling down.

in the end, he listens to the familiar voice and forces another ladle of liquid down. then, carefully, slowly as to not make her jump, desiderius angles his body towards the bucket of clean water. a cloth is dunked in and brought up to his face before it's wrung out. " gods, " he lets both his forearms rest along the wood in order to brace himself up. another moan is released into the water and the cloth slides around to the back of his neck.

" no, " that grin from earlier falls back down. " i do cherish arthur, just not in that way. the person i care for isn't something that would be safe to talk about. for anyone. but also the reason why i can't just stand idly by while viktor's venom keeps infecting the world. "

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She finds herself wishing that she knew him well enough to know what thoughts pass behind his eyes as he stares at her, at the wall of the cave behind her, and what he saw when he stared beyond. Who he saw. Who he imagined, waiting for him. She knows that even the memories she does have were faded, and biased through the eyes of the adoring and doting little sister that she had been, her brother, her source of comfort in the misery of their home. How many nights had she lain in the dark, imagining that he would return home, sweep her up in his arms, the bold champion in his shining armor, and take her away from the demons?

Was she naive, for hoping that the man before her resembled the idol that she had made him? How long she had thought of his kind as nothing but monsters, and demons. But did monsters weep? Did monsters love, and grieve, and sacrifice themselves for others?

Still, there is relief, a breath that she hadn't known she was holding, that escapes, when he reaches for the ladle of blood. She draws closer again, a chain drawn from underneath her shirt to reveal the key tucked beneath, gesturing for him to give her one wrist, and then the other, for her to unlock the manacles around them. She left the ones at his ankles, at least - if only because she knew some logic and reason need reign, and it was a precaution if only to keep him from trying to throw himself into the sun in a few hours time.

"Is it -- Arthur?" She presses both of the buckets, and the pile of cloth rags near him so he could do as he needed, or wanted. "The one you ... care for?"

" oh, i know they don't need more reason than whatever they've made up in their heads. some of them, anyway. " others were easily swayed one way or another but this wasn't the time or the place for a conversation like that. lycan didn't need he, a vampire, to tell them about their own plights or diminish the trauma by trying to explain away the actions of their tormentors. and, yet, he has this incredible need to try and make hannah understand. why? they couldn't live together in the very slim chance he did make it out of this alive. the very, very likely scenario was they'd never see each other again no matter which path they walked down.

desiderius becomes distracted from that train of thought by his sister's voice; a voice he only thought he'd be blessed with in rare dreams. lips part, ready to throw out another argument as to why he couldn't eat and why she needed to get away from him. the first, at the very least, wasn't anything he could fight against. instead, he stares at a point on the far wall, imagining amos's arms tightly wound about him. he thinks of a morning where the light trickles in through thick black drapes, creating a line of sunlight on the floor, away from the bed. desi thinks of the warmth beneath his cheek and the heart beat in his ear.

nostrils flare again, only this time it's a preparation. his far arm can't reach the bucket but he can at least use the closer one to pick up the ladle. nausea burns bitter down his throat at the first sip. he's not sure if it's due to the current state of the body or that it'd been steaming at the beginning of the conversation and luke warm right then. either way, desi couldn't skim over the fact she was trying to help even if he was determined not to take it.

already he feels the peek of new fangs itching at his gums. " if i could wash some of this blood off my face i would be very, very grateful. "

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She doesn't know how long they stand there, together, but she also knows it doesn't matter. They were in no more danger there, than they ever were, and the warmth of the sun on her skin meant that even if there were vampires pursuing Desi, which seemed unlikely given as he had been traveling alone, they would have had to retreat before dawn. So she allowed herself the comfort of Cash's scent, and touch, drawing strength from him as she had for so long now, until finally there seemed to be no more tears for her to spill, and she could draw breath without feeling like her heart would break if she tried to speak.

Her head tilted up, at his touch, at his words, and she felt a sting of guilt and anxiety rise at his question, and teeth dragged and pinched against her lip for a moment, but she did not allow herself the luxury of looking away. She would not choose now as the time to try and hide the truth and her thoughts from him, as much as part of her felt compelled to try. "What I want ... is selfish. What I want, for all my arguments otherwise, could ... endanger all of us. I believe him, when he says that he and his ... maker - " She did not know, she realized, what the term was that the vampyre used to refer to their creators. "Would not wish us harm. And I know that we would be long gone before any of them could retrace a path taken to find this place and I want ... I want those arguments to be enough to believe that we can let him go and to believe that what has happened here will not pose a future threat to our family."

A hand lifted, fingers twisting a strand of curls lightly between them, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I want you not to hate me for wanting him to live."

There’s something liberating about being the wolf. For so long, it had felt like a curse, but most things did when you were imprisoned. For a man born and raised in captivity, Cash had a striking resistance to being ordered around, and having his fate decided for him was not something he made peace with easily. Now, though, even the mantle of leadership sits easier on him than the yoke of slavery, and shifting is more freeing than his human form, if only for the fact that it lets him stop feeling.

Instead of emotion clouding his thoughts, now it’s senses, trickling in with an accuracy he used to find overwhelming. The scent of damp dirt and leaf mould on the forest floor. The soft drone of pollinators in the wood aster under the trees. The animalistic musk of wildlife, the fluttering of birds. He can hear it all, but it doesn’t overwhelm anymore. It’s a better chaos than the thoughts that threatened to destroy him in human form.

It isn’t long — or at least, it doesn’t feel like it — before he catches her scent on the breeze, distinct even among a hundred others, taking precedent over pine and rabbit and leaf. Having burnt off the excess anger, he’s feeling calmer, at least — enough to shift, gathering his clothes and dressing, boots in hand as he weaves silently through the brush to where Hannah crouches, tucked in, small. It’s been a very, very long time since he’s seen her this way: shaken, powerless. At his touch, she turns immediately, and some unspoken part of him is relieved. He hadn’t realized, until just then, the fear that he’d been carrying.

She would blame all of this on him.

“Hey.” A hand runs soothingly along her back. The instinctive reaction at seeing her in pain is anger, the urge to stand and fight, but there’s nothing to battle right then. So they stand like that in silence under the trees for a long time, until her heart steadies again, until the tears leech away into his shirt. That’s when he draws away from her slightly. A finger tips her chin, a gentle command, waiting for her eyes to meet his.

“What do you want me to do, Hannah?”

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"And you assume they need another reason to hunt us." It was a simple, bitter truth. "Your death here would serve no purpose but to add more grief, and more guilt, to all the grief and guilt I already carry."

He had, she realized, stopped fighting. Why, she was uncertain. The weight of his own guilt for his actions, or perhaps inactions, was clear to her now, in his weary words and posture. It had always been known to her that Viktor was cruel, inhuman, unbending. Yet somehow, the thought that his own kind might suffer under his tyranny had never been one that crossed her mind. How could it, though, when they knew so little of the vampires, other than stories, and the encounters with those that hunted them without end?

"Is that the burden you wish to leave me with, brother?" My Hannah was gone. "All these years, you carried the imagined weight of my blood on your hands, did you not? But now, that you are free of that, you would leave me to carry that, for the rest of my years?"

" they think.... they assume, just because we did not wear chains that we were free of viktor's cruelty, " the vampire lets his head fall back against the rock behind him. his words are hollow - sad - and exhausted. truth was, this was the first time he'd ever really been free. death sat on the horizon like a comfortable old friend, one hand extended so they may walk into the early rising sun together. he should be fighting. amos would be very angry to think desiderius went this last day or two without fighting with every last beat of his heart but he couldn't fight, not this. not her.

" i knew a whip for defending sonja. i knew a whip for stopping unnecessary cruelty against amos. then again for laughing at....gods, i don't even remember anymore. viktor was probably in a mood. always shouting about this or that. i still have no idea why markus chose him to lead an army but i also know my maker refused to do it no matter how dangerous that first generation of lycan were. and they were dangerous, hannah. as unbiased as i can make that statement as a vampire sitting before you. they didn't shift, just like william could no longer be human. there was only food, fucking, and rage. but, once lucian.... "

once they all saw what could be, a new alliance should've been formed. that particular train of thought wasn't going to change anything, though.

" you lose me no matter whether i walk or you bury me. arthur himself wouldn't harm you but whose to say someone else wouldn't use me as an excuse in their crusade? " a shoulder shrugs up. he had no idea what or why he needed hannah to understand he wasn't a monster. truth remained that he, in fact, was. he could've done more and didn't, even if he didn't see it at the time.

" i just wish i could see him one last time. " amos's face hovered before him now, stoic as ever. " he's going to be so upset i stopped fighting, " desi found enough amusement to at least smirk at that. " but the safest option for you is to pack up camp, leave me in the sun, and let the morning breeze blow me away. no way to lead back to you, not even through blood memory. everyone would just assume me missing; run off to change some artistic dream. "

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“We fight. We run. We hide. And then we do it again.” It was an achingly familiar cycle. “That is what we do when we see vampires, Desi. And if we are lucky, we lose no one, and if we are lucky still, we may find a few months’ respite before our presence becomes too well known, and word of our band spreads a little too far. And if we are lucky again, we are gone before they come hunting.” The anger was woven into the words, but it small, buried under sadness, and loss, and weariness. “The truth of it is, this—“ She gestures to him, his state, his chains. “Is not the safest option. The safest thing he could have done was run. The next safest would have been to kill you.” Tears fluttered at the edges of her vision.

“I am sorry for what has been done to you, Desi.” She set aside the ladle, reaching instead for the cloth and bucket of water, drawing close enough that she could begin carefully cleaning his face and hands. “I would never have advocated for this, no matter what face his tormentor wore.” She hoped that if he could believe nothing else of what she said, he would believe that. “I fight to protect my family. My pack. My son. I chose this life. Cash, and those that lived under Viktor’s rule, they did not. Those that they turn, may never have stepped foot in that keep, but we can tell you what the sting of the whips felt like, in the flesh of our backs. We could tell you the weight of the chains at our wrists, and the iron collars at our neck. And until such a time comes that there are better memories, and better futures to pass to our wolfkin, there will be no end to this war until one of our kind are nothing but ash and bone.” She did not bother to wipe away the tears that accompanied her words. She worked, still, to clean and wrap the worst of his injuries as best she could.

“I am sorry that you are alone but for a few.” She was silent, considering. “But perhaps that is for the best. If you are set free, would this Arthur - your maker? - seek vengeance for what has been done?”

She stepped back, her gaze skipping up to meet his. “I am with my family.” There was a resolve, in the words, in her gaze. Somewhere in the time that they had spent together, she had made a decision. “We cannot change what has come before, Desi. Whatever satisfaction Cash hoped to gain by bringing you harm will be lost to him now. He would no more cause me pain than he would rip his own heart from his chest. I will not lose you again. Not like this.”

She absorbs the words he offers, brows furrowed lightly as she tried to correlate that to anything she might have heard of Lucian, of Sonja, but for her, like many of the other wolves, the events surrounding the Lycan rebellion and the relationship of Lucian and Sonja was more myth, than lived history. Much truth was always lost in the retellings of such tales, and after her childhood growing up under the iron rod of a man of faith, she had learned long ago to take such teachings with a grain of salt. Many of the wolves believed it nothing more than a twisted fairy tale, the star crossed lovers, while others refused to believe such a union could exist. In the end, the cruelty of the vampires and their enslavement of the wolfen species had been more than enough to fuel the rage of this war.

The longest war in the history of the world, so far as she knew -- but then, that was the risk of garnering the ire of those that claimed immortality as their bedfellow. "I'm sorry." Her gaze slid up again to find his, albeit hesitantly. What world would there be for her son? Her son's children? Would there ever be a world where they could be allowed to just -- exist? "I have ... never had an encounter with -- a vampire, where we were not being hunted. I'm not .... handling it with very much grace, am I." A faint, almost hint of a smile.

"Please." Quieter, again, as she lifts the ladle up a second time. "It's all I have to offer you, and ... you need to heal. I'll help you get cleaned up, and -- find you something else to put on, and ... I'll speak with Cash. I know you may not think it now, but he is a good man, and I -- If you can assure him that we will face no retribution, I believe we can find a way to end this."

[fidelityfcrged]

She absorbs the words he offers, brows furrowed lightly as she tried to correlate that to anything she might have heard of Lucian, of Sonja, but for her, like many of the other wolves, the events surrounding the Lycan rebellion and the relationship of Lucian and Sonja was more myth, than lived history. Much truth was always lost in the retellings of such tales, and after her childhood growing up under the iron rod of a man of faith, she had learned long ago to take such teachings with a grain of salt. Many of the wolves believed it nothing more than a twisted fairy tale, the star crossed lovers, while others refused to believe such a union could exist. In the end, the cruelty of the vampires and their enslavement of the wolfen species had been more than enough to fuel the rage of this war.

The longest war in the history of the world, so far as she knew -- but then, that was the risk of garnering the ire of those that claimed immortality as their bedfellow. "I'm sorry." Her gaze slid up again to find his, albeit hesitantly. What world would there be for her son? Her son's children? Would there ever be a world where they could be allowed to just -- exist? "I have ... never had an encounter with -- a vampire, where we were not being hunted. I'm not .... handling it with very much grace, am I." A faint, almost hint of a smile.

"Please." Quieter, again, as she lifts the ladle up a second time. "It's all I have to offer you, and ... you need to heal. I'll help you get cleaned up, and -- find you something else to put on, and ... I'll speak with Cash. I know you may not think it now, but he is a good man, and I -- If you can assure him that we will face no retribution, I believe we can find a way to end this."

whatever desiderius had been hoping, the outburst and term leech flying from his sister's lips is enough to deflate any happiness or hope gained from the last few moments. would she kill him if given the chance? stand idly by as cash ordered the rest of the pack to tear him apart? stupid to try and get amos a last message, anyway. better to let the wolf think his vampire lover lost interest, right? one last gift of anger instead of grief.

" nevermind, " he pushes himself back no more than an inch but it's yet another one between them. maybe there was too much damage there. desi couldn't even begin to grasp what kind of animosity she might hold for not being able to save her from whatever plans their father had or that it hadn't been him that came to her rescue. the man who did clearly gave her a life she cherished in some form. whether desi thought of their leader it was clear by a few non-verbal interactions there was love between them. in the end, that's all a brother could ask.

" we shared a love of sonja, " desi tries to force himself to smile. " grieved together after viktor left her in the sunlight. not being able to save the ones i love seems to be an eternal legacy. " lips press together in a thin line and his jaw clenches against another onslaught of tears. had he and arthur not left for that wretched noble's farm then maybe, just maybe, the other half of his soul would still be with him.

when the blood is pressed close, the vampire can feel the shift in his pupils. fingers clench. it takes every last ounce of will power to retain his dignity and, instead, shake his head. no use in gaining strength only to be starved again, later.

" no. thank you. "

[fidelityfcrged]

By the time she makes her way out of the tunnels and into the clearing where the pack has gathered to perform preparations for the morning meal, she feels a bone weary exhaustion that she has not felt in years sinking it’s way through her. Emotional whiplash and the physical exertion of keeping her rage, and her fear, and all of the parts of her that made up her inner beast in check had drained her. She did not know if her distress was that poorly disguised, or if Cash’s abrupt departure earlier in the night was responsible for the space that she was given as she made her way out of camp, but regardless of the cause, she was grateful for it. She did not have it in her now to muster good will and warmth her packmates deserved from her.

She cut a sharp path towards the nearest bend of the river that would give her access to the icy waters and leave her in alarm distance of the camp but also leave her space and at least the pretense of privacy. Trudging her way through the trees in the first creeping rays of dawn, with the familiar scents and sounds of the wildlife around her lifted some of the pressure from her chest, and by the time she reached the river banks, she felt like she could breathe without much of a weight in her lungs. She crouched, sleeves rolled up so that she could plunge her hands into the water, scrubbing almost viciously at her arms, forearms, and then her face and neck and chest, twice, and then again. The scent of the vampire and the pig’s blood lingered, and she knew it was in her hair, her clothes, her nostrils. She would have to strip and scrub in entirety to be free of it.

Not that it would help. The moment she stepped back into camp, it would find her again.

Tears slipped, again, despite her attempt to scrub them away, and she sank down, cross legged, anger at herself as prevalent as all the other emotions that fought for dominance. She was meant to be strong. She did not feel strong. She felt small. And weak. And young. And afraid. She felt just like she had lifetimes ago when she'd learned of Des' death. And now? He was here, and he was lost to her, all over again.

Her hands pressed against her eyes, elbows resting on her knees, only drawn up as the familiar scent teased on the wind, and the sound of steps drew closer, and she felt the familiar pressure and comfortable weight of his hand on her shoulder. She turned and rose in the same movement, her head burrowing in beneath his chin, her arms flung around his chest.

@somebadguys / cash, uw.