"I would know it in any world, any life, any form, anywhere in time and space. I would die for these lavender eyes to glitter with warmth - anytime, anywhere."
His words constrict around my heart like golden barbs. The beauty of them excruciating.
...
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The rage I feel at this moment is a strange thing, especially after the day I've had. It's not the vicious, outrightly destructive thing that has spurred me to rip hearts out, snap necks and shoot witches and warlocks to their deaths for over an hour. This is not the rage that has gotten me drenched in blood and clouded in darkness, my powers at the absolute full stretch.
It is not the rage that I was feeling just a little while back, clutching onto my screaming and agonised mate's fragile but unbelievably strong form.
It is the juxtaposition of both. The one that keeps my arms around Elle, her sweet lavender fragrance oddly diluted in the warm air of the car as a symptom of the sheer depletion of her powers. The one that frames wicked, convoluted plots in my overtly awake mind - the beast within me luxuriating at all that sheer darkness that it is radiating and basking in - to take down the remaining witches.
All of them. My fake promise to that conniving witch just as forgotten as the wench herself.
"What's the action plan, then?", Vance asks as he drives, Esmerauld in the seat right next to him. I give him a cold look of sheer disinterest from where I sit in the back with Elle, whose form is still majorly leaned into mine. I take in a deep inhale of her scent, convincing myself to not snap at my third-in-command.
"For now, I would love for you to simply focus on the job at hand and drive the car that I'm never letting you drive again.", I don't know if it counts as snapping, taking into account my very composed tone.
Esmerauld chuckles as Vance retorts, "The only issue with that is I don't want to get slaughtered by a band of bloody witches."
Elle's form slightly shakes in my arms - the only indication of her quiet laughter.
"See? The Luna gets it!", Vance is inviting his own demise, I swear, as he further adds in the flirtiest tone he can manage, "Our senses of humour are so in tune, Elle. How in the world do you put up with this?", he waves a hand backwards, towards me.
The biggest problem with this interaction is that this wanker is very much popular amongst the ladies for his steel eyes, dark hair and mischievously sinister smirks, and Elle has no negative opinion of him.
I glower at him, the coldest glower I can manage. He might just end up not being alive if he keeps this up.
Elle finally raises her hands from her lap and signs, "I have no clue. I have been lured and trapped, I'm afraid.", for Rauld to be able to see her signing in the interior rear view mirror, and laugh. My own heartbeat stutters and lightens at her joke as Rauld interprets for Vance and the two of them have a good laugh.
My eyes, however, are trained on my lavender as she peeks up at me and even with a face so exhausted and some of the traces of her own tears and blood still on her pale skin - even more pale than usual in her exhaustion - and gives me a tiny, mischievous smile. And I just keep staring, because I am once more hit with the realisation of just what is at stake here.
