I do not own Akiva, Karou or Brimstone or any of the characters from Daughter Of Smoke And Bone, Those characters belong to Laini Taylor. The stories written here are solely made from my imagination.
DO NOT READ OF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE BOOK!!!
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The railing creaked under his weight, loose chains rattling against them, disturbed by the blowing winds. His arms prickled at the low temperatures, but he didn't bother to shiver.
Mundane weather, as it seems never ceases to amaze him, nothing about humans do. The way they walk freely amongst the streets, laughing, playing, running. It is odd, he thinks, but durable. Enviable in its normalcy.
A small smile graced his lips, so small that if you weren't quick enough to catch it, you would have thought it were a grimace against the cold weather, instead. Then it was gone and a stoic expression was there in its place. He surveyed the scenery, his gaze unrelenting; he didn't know how long he stood there watching the people milling about, but he didn't mind wasting his time doing so.
Humans were so lucky, free will was one of their greatest, truest gifts, and yet they abused it most of all. All his "life" he was a trained soldier, made to kill. The only way of living he knew was to hunt, to fight and to win.
The marks on his knuckles were there to justify the very life he lived and proved that he was indeed just that; a killer. His eyes would constantly flicker down to his hands and each time his eyes would make contact with the black marks, his hands would clench, his knuckles turning white, a tight grip on the railing making the rattle sound become greater, the noise catching the attention of a few people below walking past, but he ignored them and when the didn't see him—his glamour keeping him hidden—they continued about. Most likely Presuming it was the wind rather than someone making the racket.
It had been a while since his last chimaera kill, a while since he had blood on his hands. And although it didn't take back the pain of taking another's life, it was enough to ease his anger, to soothe his guilt, and soon his hands were no longer rattling the metal beneath his tight grip and now he was just holding on for shear comfort, like it could ground him from his reality. Glancing back up into the darkening sky, he relaxed, releasing a deep breath. A puff of air blew in front of him, the heat of his breath colliding with the low temperature, creating mist.
Although his eyes were casted across the city in front of him his mind was elsewhere. Particularly, on a person. A woman. Madrigal. How he loved her, the enemy of his people, claiming his heart. He remembered her smile, the way she would laugh at his discomfort, the way she would hold his hands in hers, her thumb tracing the black marks, while he would cower from them in her presence and she'd tell him she didn't hate him for them, knowing very well what they meant, but in fact that she understood.
No one knew him as close as she did, she didn't see the warrior who took lives, who slain his enemies in cold blood, no she saw the aching soul beneath it. The place where vulnerability was greatly expressed and he let her see it. He let her see his cambium under the bark that was his skin, he let her see his weakness. And she let him see hers as well.
