Bessa

Twins From The North Pack 1/2

The beat of his heart pulls away, the cloth is clutched tight in a fist that is shaking.

My left wrist pulls from my side as the Savage tries to exit the bed. He stops, looking down at his leather-bound wrist - a silver chain attached between the two of us.

He's squeezing the cloth so hard, that water drips on the floor.

The Savage closes his eyes, I blink a few times before he opens them again. His hand is now on his chest, where no tattoo has ever been placed.

A deep breath in and he turns his back to me.

His shoulders begin to shake quietly.

A sadness holds within him even when he tries to control the exhale of his breath.

His step falters backward so he has to sit on the edge of the bed, there is no eye contact.

He faces away from me.

Shifting on the bed slowly so I don't cause myself anymore discomfort than I'm already in.

A sharp intake of breath, as my legs rub together.

"Forgive me, Bessa." His hands squeeze the covers, knuckles turn white. The wet cloth making a damp spot on the light print of cotton.

He turns to face me, my neck is what he's focused on.

Touching his mark, it's tender, but at the exact same time, magnificent pleasure shifts beyond the discomfort to cause a warmth to settle deep within my tailbone.

"I have nothing to offer you as an apology for what I have done to you, my mate, my right." He swallows hard, it's gagged back up and he spits on the floor by his feet.

"When the Singer of the Moon stained my skin in your image, I was able to see-" a strangled noise comes from his throat.

My lips tighten against themselves, pressing deeply into the other before I'm able to speak again. "I was able to see all your accomplishments, all of your pride as your love bloomed for her." His head falls, chin against chest.

"The color of her eyes against the pulse of your throat, it was your last tattoo you put on your body before coming to search for me." A salty path of water starts to trail down his face, dripping on the bed.

"How would you like me to forgive that? How would you like me to forgive that?" Trying hard to let the words come out without the moisture of liquid that's now started to push out from the corner of my eyes.

"I've never been more humiliated in my life, to hold the stains of your skin on mine. I could tell when you fell in love with her through your tattoos. Each one a testament to your growing love for her." His head bends lower, forehead now touching the mattress.

His spine curves.

Looking up at the ceiling, concentrating on a wooden beam, thick, strong, unbreakable.

"Was it hard to mark me with the color of her eyes watching you?" He can't answer, his voice is gone. There is a burn in the center of my chest, a pressure that has my breath halting in lungs that can't expand.

This isn't my pain I feel, it's his.

His throat's constricting, squeezing to the point I feel lightheaded, the world spins - the tip of my fingers tingle.

"We have nothing left now, even the fucking is done." Keeping my focus on the ceiling while the Savage tries to form sounds. He's clutching at his chest, and for a moment before I realize what I'm doing, I clutch my chest too because my ribs are pulled in so tight the beat of my heart seems to stop.