DESCENT

VI-The Consequence(s)

ALASTOR NYX:

Despite the sudden heat—such an infernal heat it was—he couldn't register it at all over the cold, suffocating presence that was the god of death now making itself known from her blade, washing over him, sucking him in like a black hole.

"...Was it that bad that you wanted to kill me?" Alastor finally dared to ask, distantly surprised that his voice came out calm at the possible face of death.

"I told you to let me go," his mate answered instead, her voice clipped with restrained anger, eyes of black illuminated so prettily against the flames.

"Then how about you let me go, sweetheart?" Alastor pointed out, tilting his head backwards. At the movement, the back of his head landed on one of her arms still wrapped around him. Though her arms were more like a boa rather than a lover's embrace, effectively keeping him right where he was... not that Alastor was complaining, he rather enjoyed being held by his mate even if it appears she was most likely going to strangle him.

Winters visibly bristled at that.

"Damn you," she seethed.

Alastor smirked, not bothering to come up with a response while she winced when he simply bared his neck even more, her eyes closing briefly as she lowered her head in what seemed to be like resignation, defeat.

Then, she muttered so quietly, almost to herself–

"Damn it all to hell."

Before he could open his mouth to say something smart, the goddess suddenly surged forward, tackling him unexpectedly, causing him to propel backwards and landing hard on his back with his mate right on top of him, her knees digging painfully into his arms, her sword pressed right into his neck but still not slicing.

"Oh... oh, wow..." Alastor let out a breathless laugh when he finally processed what just happened, even dropping his head comfortably on the wet ground as he grinned up at her furious eyes, "I really, really like you!"

He had dreamed of a scenario happening like this, after all... wait, no, Alastor most certainly did not dream of his own mate having a sword right at his throat—unless she was into knife play, he wouldn't mind—but eh, you get the picture. But gods help him, his mate just looked so beautiful on top of him like this.

Winters looked like an avenging angel rising from the depths of hell with her sword seeming to glow eerily amidst the bright flames behind her as she seemed to prepare herself to end him.

So, so beautiful...

Alastor smiled, staring up at her adoringly, patiently waiting for her to actually strike him down. He waited.

...and waited.

When his mate did not dare to move for another second, only staring him down with those enchanting gaze of her's, looking like she was searching something within his eyes. Was she looking for fear? Regret? No, there was nothing; he will gladly do this all over and over again—the fury in her eyes slowly subsiding, her grip on her blade faltering when he did nothing.

Alastor chuckled at her obvious reluctance, a hand landing gently on her hip, causing her to stiffen at his touch but to his delight, she did not bother to make a move to push it off of her.

The crackling of fire and the drizzling rain were the only noises as the two of them came upon at a stalemate while Winters gritted her teeth indecisively, a flash of frustration rippling across her pale face, the blade beginning to shake (or was it her hand?) the longer this—whatever this is—went on between them.