For when you need that quick fix.
A collection of romance short stories: including fluff, drama, and smut (18+; there will be a disclaimer on the respective chapters!).
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Nepenthe (n): (1) a potion used by the ancients to induce forgetfulness of pain or sorrow; (2) something capable of causing oblivion of grief or suffering
–PART TWO–
Izan's POV
I hadn't recognized him at first. His once cropped shaggy brown hair was now slicked back in a neat bun. He had facial hair along his chin and jawline. Years on the sea had made him rugged and strong.
Santi.
He had changed so much since I had last seen him.
But even in the dim moonlight, I could recognize his uneven gait from a knee injury in his youth, the build of his forearms and hands that I used to grasp, and the family merchant's ring he wore on the index finger of his left hand that was wrapped around his sword.
I could see the exact moment when recognition settled onto his features.
His entire body relaxed and he sank to his knees. "Let her go." He gruffly demanded.
I stumbled forward into his arms and he rested his forehead on my stomach.
"Izan," he whispered looking up at me, desperately clutching at my waist. In a familiar motion, he went to hold my hands but froze when I cried out in pain.
He quickly stood and scanned my body.
"Where are you hurt?"
My eyes met his as I hesitantly raised my hands in between us.
Shivers went down my spine and gooseflesh blanketed my skin as I watched his features turn to stone. Fury radiated from him. It was palpable in the air around us.
I examined at my hands as if noticing them for the first time. My knuckles were swollen, split, and bleeding from all the strikes against them. The joints in my wrists and fingers were inflamed from constant work. As usual, cuts were scattered across my fingers from the metal wire, but I no longer had cloth to protect them so some had become infected. But worst of all, they would not stop trembling.
Even the hands of the sailors weren't so wearied from constant use.
He gently took my wrists between his thumbs and forefingers."Who did this?" He growled. "Who dared to hurt you?"
It was at this moment that I realized that all these years apart had broken, melted, and recast the both of us.
I, who had once avoided pain at all costs, was no longer sensitive to it. And he, who would once do anything to protect another from hurting, no longer had any qualms inflicting hurt upon others.
