Her Story blurred facts, skipped over whole sections of their reunion. But Diyiren couldn't stop the memories.
Winter 1446
Diyiren brought another tray of food to Aoibh. He hoped with time she'd let go of this notion of reuniting with Gran and absconding to who knows where, but every time he appeared, she'd run to the bed, scream, sometimes spike something at his head. Sometimes she would scream out her eternal hatred.
Lock it inside. If they know they can hurt you, they'll torture you until you beg. And then they'll laugh.
The more he ignored her tantrums, the worse she got. He really missed his little Aoibh who dowsed her tears after one hug.
"You're ripe," he said.
"So what, scum of Hell?"
A daffodil rested on the tray.
"Just a suggestion."
"I don't want you to touch me, personification of lies!"
Diyiren smirked. He didn't mean to, but Aoibh had no patience for books or school or education. He honestly didn't think she could come up with an epithet like that on her own.
Aoibh went as far as to throw a coffer at him, powder dusting his chest and the floor.
"My apologies, Banrion Aoibh."
"I want it over quick," she screamed to his back.
He wanted to hide all emotion from her, but he couldn't slow his heart and he couldn't silence it. He wet his lips, shift to her.
He indicated the bed. Aoibh's lip kinked. She reached out to his groin, but he spit, "I can masturbate myself into an erection without your aid, thank you very much."
She hiked up the gauze nightgown and knelt on the bed, her face to the headboard. Diyiren opened his trousers, knelt behind her. It was harder for him to rub himself since his hands had been maimed, but he always did what was necessary.
"That's my arse," Aoibh threatened.
"All apologies, Mo Bhanrion," Diyiren said, using his wrist to adjust his erection.
The passage between her legs was wet and warm and it felt good. He clasped the headboard, thumped into her fanny.
"Oh my Jaysus," she swore.
Diyiren fluttered his lashes. BoBo's descriptions of sex were vulgar, but colorful and endless. He would have spilled some seed, just going into Aoibh's body, but Diyiren's frustration played on his brow and his claws cut into the wood of the headboard. If Aoibh cursed one more time, he'd go insane.
He did up his garments, flew across the room. He wouldn't admit he'd failed, but he couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't stand to be in the same room with her anymore.
YOU ARE READING
The Lamb and the Gray Battle
FantasíaEvie has spent the last 575 years on the North American continent, now called America, the Pure and Clean. She smiles, volunteers and makes cakes and pastries for her neighbors, hiding away her demon blood. She wants nothing to do with her estranged...
