Bessa

My Brother's Mate

The sky is weeping, bawling it's misery out in drenching sheets of rain.

The scent of his skin is everywhere.

Wind of uncontrolled tones seems to scourge the deck above as the waves start rocking the ship in more than a subtle shift of wood on water.

Angling the side of my face in the mirror, the skinny line made with a silver point stopped bleeding two days ago. The scar is healing thin against my cheek. Touching the tender spot, it still bites with pain if I move my jaw too much.

Footfalls against wooden planks have me conceal the rights to his vision away with sheer layers of saffron silk away.

There is no shielding my eyes from his, liquid greens shift with the blackest of pupils within the space of white as he enters the room.

Inhaling, exhaling...

The bareness of this Savage's chest expands with each breath. The back of my throat scorches with the sight. The heat of it travels slides down the flanks of ribs, against the flesh of my hips, to sink slowly into the bones of my pelvis.

Pressing my inner thighs together, the Savage inhales through half-lidded eyes. He doesn't come any closer instead he puts the steaming bowls down on a small table. A single loaf of bread is placed between the meal he's brought.

He looks at the empty bowl of fruit before regarding me once again; my fingers catch his attention, they still hold the stain of the juice. Curling my fingers up into a fist, his sight finally moves elsewhere.

"I thought that you could use a real meal since you've finished all the fruit that was sent to you. I made this myself, for you." The tone of him seems indecently soft. This is not the usual voice that I have been witnessing with him. He usually just grunts, nods his head without saying much to the males he leads.

"I finished the last piece of fruit this morning; I'm not hungry right now." Turning from him, looking out the small round window of the room. I can see his reflection in the pane of glass. I don't want to tell him that I want to keep the lingering taste of pomegranate on the sides of my tongue, trying to burn the memory of the feeling of home into my head...forever. I want to remember the fruit of my Kin's territory, remember the way I loved climbing the fruit trees to get the ripest fruit for my mother. Handing it to her with pride, she'd share it with me while our fingers would be covered with the sweetest of juices. I swallow down the cry that's building up once again.

Dark, dangerous he watches. 

I'm glad that the waves are breaking against the hull of the ship, masking the perilous rise of my heartbeat.

"Turn around, Bessa." Swallowing because when I do turn around, he's gotten closer without making a sound on wood planks that creak with just a breath of any movement.

His vision runs the length of the silken layers, hindering the roam of his eyes on bare flesh. A frustrated rumble harbors the inside of the space hostage to the Savage's wants. I've concealed the rights to his vision of me away.

"Eat, Bessa. Share this meal with me." The chair legs scrape, wood against wood moans out in distress of being moved abruptly.

Sitting, he pushes my chair into the table.

The Savage's nose hovers against the fabric of silk covering my cheek. "You smell too much of salt." A heaviness of sound is spoken into the shell of my ear.

My tears have stopped, but the scent of them must still linger...

I tense, shoulders stiffening when his hand touches the top of my spine. The heat of his palm sinks quickly into the bare layering of my flesh; silk holds no protection from this Savage's onslaught.