Tales of a Shifter (P5) The White Mountain

Chapter 63 - Next Steps

Chapter 63– Next Steps

Brandon and Ezekiel just slept soon after being reunited. Relief and exhaustion was unstoppable, and their individual pains couldn't be ignored. Kisses had melted into falling into sleep, wrapped around each other to fight the constant cold.

Brandon came awake with a small shout as a weight settled over him, strong and hard, Ezekiel beckoned him up from his sleep. Untold hours could have passed or days. But Brandon was too groggy to care which, as he moved stiffly. The Guardian moved gently, pulling the Druid up from the cold floor, Ezekiel let Brandon wrap his arms around his shoulders.

"Brandon..." Ezekiel called as he ran his hands up into Brandon's hair, and kissed him, every kiss was torturous, and blissful. And when this one ended Brandon felt no relief. He felt nothing but a suffocating hollow need for more. He wanted so much to feel the pleasure of Ezekiels skin against his own. And yet there was the suffocating knowledge that he had more pressing matters to worry about.

What do I do now?

It was a stark, ugly question that wrapped around Brandon's senses and stripped away everything. He was blindsided by it, his mind fogged and fresh from sleep. The whisper inside cut him to the bone, but it was only his own consciousness kicking him out of heaven and right back into the nightmare.

Hope. It was a fickle thing. One Brandon had never had much use for. He functioned better on anger and bitter resentment.

Sadly it was easy to feel that boyu of joy in the last few moments. It was easy to feel nothing but the completion of Ezekiels kiss, and the closeness of his skin. Brandon was ecstatic to be with him.

But inevitably such things couldn't sustain him, and Brandon soon just felt....numb. Ezekiel tightened his embrace and just held him. Held him silently for so long, but Brandon knew the Shifter could sense his darkening mood.

It took so much to live positivity for Brandon. It always had. And his pragmatic nature was tested in the moment that passed, where he and Ezekiel simply reveled in being with someone who wished them no harm. Someone who wasn't disgusted by them.

But still the question whispered, louder this time.

What do I do now!? They are going to kill me. They have Ezekiel! I need to do something!?

And in the void of that question Brandon settled into reality. His problem wasn't the question per-se, it was his lack of an answer, which stole the light from him. The answer eluded him entirely. He should be doing something, right? He should have some kind of a plan, Right?

He had nothing...and now the hope he had imagined faded into cold dread.

Oh God...

Something small and weak whispered inside as he released his arms from around Ezekiels shoulders and started to step back from his embrace. Ezekiel stiffened, but soon released him in return...and Brandon instantly despised the loss of his warmth, but he couldn't make himself think about anything except the coldness of his own realization.

"I don't know what to do, I think we're going to die here Ezekiel..." Brandon heard the words, heard his own rasping whisper and in shock at himself, he threw a hand across his mouth.

Ezekiel pulled back fully at this point and looked into his eyes. And Brandon flinched as he took in his haggard state. Brandon had been so utterly desperate to be with the Guardian he had almost ignored the predicament he and the Leopard were in. The Silver had made a mess of Ezekiel's throat, and arms.

Brandon held down bile at the sight of blistering, bloody, sliced flesh all along Ezekiels, collar, the tips of his shoulders, and all along his forearms. His flesh was pale, no longer the warm healthy vanilla it had been the last time they were together. His fingertips were trembling, blistered and raw and his eyes had light rings around them from exhaustion...and the poison seeping into his system. His chest was still bare of clothing, but his jeans were splattered in places, smeared with crimson fingertips.