Bless Me

8

Isolde's armor glinted, bathing the tent in light. He sat up, holding his head. He should've left. He shouldn't have let it happen. Dorian clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut.

Fuck.

Isolde stared at his back. She had not slept. He bowed his head, his jaw clenched. She didn't understand what she had done, clearly. For someone who wanted to get away from him—

His head slowly turned as the smell of smoke filled the tent. He let out a breath, his eyes wide as he caught sight of her smirk. She blew a plume of smoke in his direction.

"Why did you do this?" He asked breathlessly.

Isolde cocked her head. "A Lycan spirit will not reject a mating with a priestess."

His eyes dropped down to the smoking stick between her delicate fingers. "You were never going to let me go, Dorian. That much is clear. But now...I have marked you."

His stomach dropped. His hand went to his neck, feeling a warmth.

She smirked. "I can't trust you, Dorian. But I can restrict you. My fate is intertwined with yours. You will never escape me again. Be afraid."

The mark heated up under his fingers as swallowed roughly shaking his head. "You have no idea what you have done—"

"I know exactly what I've done," she said quietly. "You were going to use me until I was used up. And now...now I am going to use you."

He chuckled throwing his head back. "Fine then!" His voice boomed, his mane shaking as he laughed. "Fine Priestess! If that is how you wish it! Let it be done! We'll go to our demise together."

Isolde just smirked sending a chill down his spine. It was fine. She crawled toward him, sitting up on her knees, her hands on his shoulders.

"I am going to become your curse," she whispered in his ear, her hands dragging down his strong chest. "I will be a brick around your ankle. And when you've finally achieved all that you want...I am going to drag you down to hell with me so that you can taste none of it."

Her lips hovered over his glowing mark. The mark of a priestess.

"Fuck me," he cursed, putting his head in his hands.

She smiled softly, reveling in his distress. It hurt to move but it was worth it to corner him. The look of despair on his face...she lifted his chin, slinking around him to catch a better glimpse.

He always touted how fortunate she was that he had caught her instead of someone else. But never had he wondered whether he had been fortunate to catch her. He wasn't. If only he'd gotten someone younger, weaker. But oh well. They were stuck together now.

Dorian sighed, looking down at her with a tired expression. He put his large hand around her jaw, squeezing gently. "Breakfast?"

She grinned. "Yes. Whatever you can find will do nicely. Get meat if you can for the girls."

He grunted, standing. "We march in two days time." He stared down at her as she lounged on the white fox fur, contrasting her dark intentions. Her eyes half mast she blew out another plume of smoke.

His lavender eyes shone down at her, as he clenched his jaw, words tangled with his tongue unable to force them out. With a huff he stormed out of the tent.

Isolde just chuckled, throwing on a robe. Her body was wracked with pain but she made her way to her sisters tent, pausing at the door.

The girls were huddled around one another crying and shaking.

"What's happened? Did one of them come back? What happened tell me right now," she demanded getting on her knees, checking each of their faces, taking their cheeks between her hands.

"H-He got in but then he left. We didn't want to disturb you, since nothing happened but—"

Isolde clenched her jaw. "Next time, no matter what even if you only think something bad will happen come to me."

She put her arms around the girls. "I'll take care of it. Don't you worry. Stay here. Everything is alright. Just tell me exactly what he looks like."

She ventured back to her tent, chewing on her nail as she thought over what to do. How to do things efficiently. It would be months before they got back to the pack. Until then, their position was precarious.

Isolde heaved a sigh, as the tent opened. A familiar black mane came into view. He paused, setting down a smoked piece of meat.

"Did you give food to the girls?" She asked.

He nodded, sitting across from her, beginning to eat in silence, his eyes closed. She bit her lip.

"When are the men returning to camp,"
"Shortly," he grunted.

"There's one...a scar over his eye, light hair. The prettiest brown eyes,"

He lifted his eyes.

"What's his name," she remarked nonchalantly, putting a piece of meat in her mouth.

"Sounds like Ashton," he grumbled. "Why the interest?"

She shrugged and smiled. "No reason. Just those eyes are nice. Is he?"

Dorian set his food down. "Is he what?"

She glanced up at him with a small smile. "Nice?"