The Taming

Naming Him

He was intent on probing her intriguing relationship with the panther. Tempted to confess to her the beast was him.

"You name the cats in the corridors." He probed. "Don't play me for a fool."

I'm no one's fool.

Well, I could be your fool. If you let me under that pretty skirt again.

He persisted on the topic of what she'd named the panther.

To see if she'll relent, and admit it. He took every tiny victory that brought them closer together.

But she dodged any effort he made in that direction.

"Quandary." She deflated.

"A good name for a big, brawny, lad." His chest puffed a bit. Triumphant that she'd trusted him enough to tell him. And also because he just plain liked the name.

It sounds sleek, powerful.

"Yes." She beamed. "I thought so."

They exchanged a smile for a moment until she caught herself and her face changed to that severe expression again. Wiping that precious fondness from her face, in an instant.

She shifted uncomfortably. Glancing to the side.

He looked past her, considering trying to make it to his chamber with what strength remained in him. Guessing she'd not say anything further.

But like she often did, she surprised him.

"Where does he go when he's not with me..." She cleared her throat. "Here?"

"Lots of places."

"With you?"

"He's always with me." Bast patted his hard chest.

"You'll not give me a straight answer, will you?"

"Like the many you've given me?" He lifted a blonde brow.

"I hate you!" She spun and marched down the corridor.

"Some days, possibly." He muttered after her. "Will you not be helping me to bed afterall?" He called. Chuckling as she walked faster. "I am badly wounded, after all. So weak, I might not make it myself..."

She stalked out of sight. Refusing to respond to his goading.

Tough little thing.

Blowing a long breath, he slumped against the wall to steady himself. Letting the weakness he'd been fighting take over as he waited to catch his breath.

Now to my chamber. Bottom level it is.

***

They sat at the wide Dining Room table having breakfast together the following morning. He'd chosen to sit across from her rather than taking his place at the head of the table.

So far, it had been dead quiet. Thus he jumped a little when she expectedly blurted what she was thinking.

"Why do you do everything for them?"

His wood fork clattered to the trencher, and he leaned back in his seat. Well, that's unexpected.

Tilting his head to eye her, he could already sense this was the precursor to some kind of onslaught yet to come.

Whatever I say is going to get me into more trouble.

He put a foot against the table to rock the seat partially backward. Unconsciously wanting to put some distance between he and her obvious displeasure.

"Because they're my brethren." His tone was flat.

He'd been dreading the confrontation about leashing her again after making love.

But not this one. Thus, he was entirely caught off-guard.

She eyed his long gold hair dropping around his face. Limply hanging over his fur cloak's pulled-up collar. And densely lashed gold eyes, assessing everything. Glowing with intelligence as he studied her.

I know I look better today. Less like death. He was already almost entirely healed from the night past. So, what are you staring at?

His complexion was perhaps a little sallow. And he'd not the energy to color his eyes in an effort to hide the gaze of his animal. Which was always glazed gold.

And perhaps he still fought the chill he couldn't usually feel, forcing him to wear his fur-lined cloak to the table.

Ungentlemanly. But necessary.

But from her disapproving study, he looked far worse than he thought.

She gazed at him penetratingly for several minutes before shattering the blessed silence he'd so hoped would continue...

"And when it's time will you die for them?" She notched her small, pointed chin. Blue eyes seeming huge in her small angular face.

Yes. Why would you give a shit? You'd be free.

"Why so grave?" He let the chair slam to the floor as he looked at her sitting severely across from him. Storm clouds rolling through her dark blue eyes.

His brows drew together in confusion. Where is this coming from?

"You poisoned yourself!" Her trencher clattered as she slapped the table. Catching the edge of the dish with her other hand and flinging it to the floor. Leaning across the table threateningly.

She was exuding fury. Making dark swirls of power fill the room like cloying smoke.

Her eyes had gone blood red and her hair dark as ash.

Yep. Furious.

He tilted his head to glance under the table at her toppled food, before levelling large gold eyes on her. "Now was that necessary?"

"Was poisoning yourself necessary?" She countered violently. Eyes narrowing.

Yes.

"You're just being childish now." He pointed out.

Her face crumpled into a snarl at the jab.

He noticed faintly that the chandelier above them was swaying wildly and the chairs had begun to clatter. Vibrating over the floor as if a herd of horses were running through the room.

He was sorely tempted to bait her further, but unsure he'd heal from any damage she did, just now.

"You were much prettier when your face was written with worry over my well-being." He commented.

"You said my look of worry was not 'doing it' for you." She mimicked a haughty tone.

"I don't sound like that." He pointed at her with his fork before scooping another bite of eggs. "And, for your information...I lied."