Between Wolves & Doves

Chapter 24 Tempest

Kylo always liked the hunt.

It's woven into his visceral nature. The seek. The chase- the kill.

Adds into the flames and fury and brute tempest of the lusting animal lurking in his blood. It's simmering, brewing, prowling in his veins this morning. Stalking his body because it knows-

It knows there will be blood.

But still he respected that the beasts he'd kill are dignified animals. They deserve a dignified death. They will feed his servants and his people. He has nothing but respect for the noble creatures. Be it boars or stags.

He makes quite the picture joining the humble villagers and tenants of his land on the deer hunt. Men on horseback and on foot. And he joins. Riding Erland. His 18 hand, stocky Percheron. All his hounds baying around Erland's hooves. His image is a strong, proud, Lordly one.

Several huge dogs padding behind him. His almost seven foot horse proudly trotting along. Sat back, relaxed. Back straight. A sheer dynamite shot of masculinity and gentry if ever there was one.

There in his long frock overcoat. Hips rolling with Erland's strides. Hands in his leather gloves. Black riding boots up to his strong calves. A finely woven black wool charcoal waistcoat, tailored to fit him perfectly. A white shirt pressed and blistering white and a red cravat tied impeccably.

He holds Erland's reins suavely in one hand. Looks so casual but his aura pulses with the threat of his control. Over his hounds. Over his steed.

Erland is behaving impeccably this morning. He too likes the challenge of the hunt. Flies his master, and the trailing hounds sprint ahead, cutting a swathe through the obstacles the forest offers. Fallen trees, logs and puddles and hills and bumps. The scent of the preys pumping pulse thick on their tongues.

It was on Kylo's too. He had to be careful. His tenants oft commented how remarkably he could track the fleeing animal through the trees. They remarked he must have a good eye for hunting. Sometimes he had to hang back merely to make it fair. To lose suspicion when some other man could claim the victory of the hunt instead.

It's cold and bitter this morning as he joins his hunting party. Jomar and two footman are there, at the castle gates serving brandy and thick dark wedges of boiled fruitcake off silver trays to all the locals when Kylo rides Erland up to the gathered party.

It's like the restlessness of the woods lives in his veins. He can feel it pulsing. Can feel the creatures in these woods, nestled between the trees, curious at the humans gathering near.

He can sense the wolves padding around in their packs. The forest indeed lives in his blood. All the energy and the life within it. Its savagery itches under his skin.

The Germans even have a word for it; Waldeinsamkeit.

It represented the sublime or spiritual feeling of being at one, at peace, with the woods. With nature. Kylo subscribes heavily to this feeling. He always had. Vampire or no-

He dismounts Erland and takes a drink with the men. Warm smooth brandy curdling with the excitement building on his tongue. It was snowing still. Hadn't stopped all night. Flakes gently soften down on the breathless wind and snow. He feels them bleed ice onto his hair where the flakes melt on his scalp.

He takes a deep deep breath of that pine, sticky sap and sharp snow and ice. The green of his forest. His land. His home. His nostrils burn with it. He has quite a taste for blood this morning.

The frost sneaks into his dead lungs. Fills them with cold blazing Bavarian air.

He rose and dressed early. Quietly. Left his slumbering wife curled up safe and snug in their chambers. In her snowy night gown lost amongst the pallid sheets and under the crimson eiderdown. Her hair a wild curled storm on his pillow. She'd left it undone last night. He stroked his fingers through the silk of it and kissed her cheek before he left. She smelt like their bedsheets and her perfume. He caught a delicious snatch of it before he departed.