Scales and Swords ✓

51: Family

"I like you too, I guess." I shrugged.

Philip was flabbergasted. "You guess?"

"Well it's not like I hate you."

"Wow, you're even denser than I thought you were."

"What does that mean?" I growled.

He rolled his eyes and stepped away, pouting like a child denied playtime. "Nevermind."

"Wait." I caught his hand as he turned and walked away. His gaze locked on me as he gulped. "You have a fever. You'll get cold, aren't you going to cover up?"

His lips twisted into a scowl. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"But," I faltered, "how deep is the wound?"

He groaned. "It's fine Mo." He said my name with a grunt and pulled his hand away.

"Are you mad?" I trailed after him, sneaking peeks at him. "Did I say something wrong?"

He halted and faced me. I couldn't read his expression, exhaustion-possibly, anger, irritation. Are people usually cranky when they fall ill?

"Don't look at me like that, if you don't mean it," he huffed.

"Like what?"

He released a hefty breath, stepped my way, forcing me up against a tree. Planting a hand beside my head, he leaned down towards me, till his eyes were level with mine and his face was inches away. A hunger burned in his eyes. Hot blood splurged through my veins like lava beneath my skin. The usually quiet fire within me suddenly raged like a volcano. But I couldnt help feeling so small. Like a baby deer caught by a hunter, young and weak, easily breakable. But Philip was no hunter, at least not to me. I grinned and teased the distance, inching myself closer.

His eyes trained on my lips, he bit his own, heaving a rough breath.

"Careful," I murmured, a hidden confidence stirring in me, "I might burn you."

His voice hoarse, he drew nearer. "Burn me."

No, he was playing, he didn't mean it, he was Philip. If he would do it, it wouldn't have meant much to him but it would have meant too much for me to brush off so easily and I wasn't about to give myself away like that. With a palm to his midriff, I pushed him off me.

I turned away, my cheeks burning. An erratic puff of flames left my lips. I really could have burnt him.

"What am I to you?" I heard him say behind me.

"What do you mean?" I found his tumultuous gaze.

"Who am I to you? What do you see me as?"

The answer was simple but it never left my lips. Something snapped and leaves rustled in the background. Philip was in front of me in a heartbeat. I stood on my toes to get a better view of the intruder over his shoulder. And what I saw forced the weight of reality, that I had left at the entrance of the woods, back onto my shoulders.

KB stood there, hooded and hands raised. "I'm sorry," she squeaked. "I just, I just wanted to make sure you were all fine. Neritha went a little overboard there."

The muscle in Philip's shoulders tensed before me. "Why did you do it? Why did you stop her?" Philip asked, his voice steady, edging on curiousity but not cold.

The hiss of her snakes quieted behind her hood as she rubbed her boot into the dirt. "There was no need for killing," she said so quietly I almost missed it. Her gaze snapped up to ours. "But you might think I'm hypocritical and I get that. I do. I just...killing to Neritha is second nature. But even she is haunted by the lives she take."