What does one do when dying?
Before tonight, Marjorie had never given it much thought. She always imagined she would leave this world like most everyone—through illness or by bad luck. But never like this, sitting on her Grandmother's staircase, waiting for the moon to rise above the thick tree line.
She wanted to be alone, not because she was brave but because she was scared. She sat hunched over, wrapped in her red hood and ignoring the growing burn in her spine. The ache wouldn't matter at sunrise.
Soon, the sun would come, and Marjorie would leave with the moon.
She kept the tears away, because tears meant panic, and panic would scare Petyr, who watched her from the den window. His silhouette casted a long shadow over the ground below. He hadn't moved in the last hour.
Marjorie wondered if he feared looking away. Perhaps he thought she would disappear like mist.
Fenris was more blunt with his emotions. Where Petyr watched silently from afar, he paced on the frozen grass below the staircase. His bare feet hit the cold blades of green as if didn't feel their true temperature.
He ran warm. When she had brought him into her, the first touch of his skin burned like an iron brand straight from the fire. But then, it had melted something inside Marjorie, until she could only surrender to the welcoming heat.
She pressed her hand into her chest as if she could still find his flame inside her.
It was cold, as she expected.
Marjorie turned her head up to the clear, night sky. It was starless above. She laughed dryly. She always wanted to die warm, underneath the heat of the summer sun, with lips chapped and her eyes aching from tiredness.
Instead, she shivered, alone and wide awake, knowing tomorrow would never come for her.
"Damn it all," she whispered. Her hands rushed to her head and clutched at her hair, as if that could shake out the thoughts terrorizing her mind. "Just—just stop thinking about it."
"I can stop this." Fenris materialized above her, his eyes glowing with a dark promise he ached to fulfill. He moved quicker than what seemed possible, but she found his strangeness refreshing. A long, elegant index finger pressed against the bottom of her chin. "I can kill him for you." There was no hesitation in his voice.
He nodded toward the window, where Petyr glowered down at the pair. He cocked his head of golden hair, silently asking Marjorie if she needed his aid. She waved him off with a forced smile.
"If you did that, I fear my heart would break," she admitted. "He is my dearest friend."
She wondered then, if she would have been just as selfless in this moment if it weren't Petyr lined up for sacrifice. Would she allow Fenris to kill a stranger for another year of life?
"You call him friend, but it would break your heart if I killed him," Fenris whispered. He crouched on the step below where her feet set, outstretched and protected in the warm, soft leather of her boots. Like this, with his large hands hanging over his knees and his thick brows furrowed in deep thought, Marjorie wanted to touch his face.
She wondered what his lips would feel like, pushed underneath her thumb, or what color they would turn when he bit into the red pit of a cherry.
"Fenris, when was the last time you loved someone?" She didn't know where the courage came from, but once it left her lips, Marjorie realized she wanted to know the answer.
What kind of person would it take to hold his attention? Would he like someone tall and beautiful like Petyr, who had all the young village people blush just by his passing? Or was he drawn to people like Marjorie, who allowed herself to be led by the quick, flickering flame of a roaring bonfire?
"Please, Fen." She placed a hand on his elbow. "Indulge a dying girl."
"I loved someone very long ago," Fenris whispered after a long quiet moment. His mouth set in a tight line, as if he feared all of his secrets would spill out through the cage of his gritted teeth.
A Wolf in love. She wondered what it would feel like to have his intentions set on her. Thrilling, she thought. And terrifying.
"What were they like?" Marjorie asked.
"She was not different from you," he admitted with a weak smile. A glint in his eye revealed a fleeting tenderness, it disappeared once he blinked. "Quick, stupidly selfless, and beautiful."
Heat rose to Marjorie's cheeks at his words. The young woman wrapped her fingers around a strand of loose red hair and pushed it behind her ear.
"You believe I am beautiful?" She asked in a shy whisper. Her eyes were on the ground now, studying the scuffed leather of her boots instead of matching his gaze.
"No," he said, quickly. The air in Marjorie's lungs escaped, leaving her with an unexpected emptiness, like inside her chest, a pit was slowly forming. His rejection only made it grow faster. "I used to see you travel down the paths to your Grandmother's house. You were so silent, you always moved like a Fewfolk—never like a villager. I once imagined you discovering me in the woods" – he stretched his hands out, allowing every knuckled to pop –"as the Wolf. I always thought you wouldn't be scared if you witnessed me like that. No one has ever made feel that way... made me feel human."
Fenris's hands flew into sudden motion and landed over his face. Like that, Marjorie couldn't see his eyes. A visible tremble passed through Fenris's body and then, a sob. He cut it off by biting his thumb.
"You are crying," she whispered.
"I am," he admitted. "Forgive me, I fear it has been too long since I've fallen apart in the presence of another."
"It is okay to cry, Fenris," she soothed. Her fingers glided over his shoulder blades. Thick, corded muscle hid beneath his shirt. With Marjorie standing just arms-length from him, the man never appeared weak, but also, never this physically strong. "You must have loved her deeply, to be crying just at the thought of her."
The Wolf paused at her words. Fenris stretched up until his gaze leveled with her own. Two glimmering trails of tears striped his dark cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.
"I am not crying because you remind me of a past I have long outlived," he whispered. "I am crying because I will miss you, Marjorie."
* * *
"Do you plan to ignore me all night, Petyr?" Marjorie asked from where she leaned against the threshold of the home's entrance. Her hand crawled forward to grasp a silk thread hanging from his tunic.
The Woodsman jolted away at a moment's notice. A grunt escaped through his pursed lips. He did nothing else to acknowledge Marjorie's presence.
"Are you going to spend the last of our time together angry at me?" she asked with a smile.
"Do not guilt me, Marjorie," he whispered before turning back to the window. She followed his hardened gaze, which glowered in the direction of Fenris, who returned to his barefoot pacing across the grassland.
She inched closer to where he stood, her hand aching to touch his own. She wondered what he would do if she slipped her fingers through his.
Her eyes traveled from his broad shoulders to the delicate bend of his strong chin to his dusty pink lips. Before tonight, she never took the time to appreciate the handsome dimensions of his person.
Perhaps she could do it now because Marjorie was desperate to be anyone but herself. The night would be easier if she imagined herself as a simple village girl, able to become entranced by the arch of Petyr's brows and the size of his hands.
"They were right," she whispered. "You are beautiful, Petyr."
Marjorie pressed a palm against his chest. It was warm. She couldn't decide if she liked it, so she allowed her fingers to crawl farther, until they found purchase around the nape of his neck. His height forced her to stand on the tips of her toes, angling her body towards him. They stood only centimeters apart; her hot breath fanned over his exposed collarbone.
His breathing hitched.
"Marjorie, I do not need you to comfort me," he said. Despite his words, he remained perfectly still, as if he feared he would scare her away if he moved an inched.
"What do you need Petyr?" Marjorie asked. With her words, she realized she would give him anything to erase the hurt in his shimmering blue gaze. "I can give you whatever you need."
She didn't know what she meant with her promise, but her body seemed to understand. Her palms formed to the sharp edge of his jawline. He moved wherever her unsure touch pulled him, until their lips hovered close.
She never kissed anyone before. Petyr had. Weren't they supposed to close their eyes? Instead, they both stared at each other with wide, frozen gazes. Underneath her hold, Petyr looked like prey.
Does that make me the predator? She thought.
He brought a hand to her face, where it cupped her freckled cheek. Like always, his touch was ginger, as if he feared breaking her.
"Whatever I want?" he asked.
She moved a palm down to his wrist, where she could feel the tendons of his hand react to her grasp.
Marjorie gave him a sharp nod.
He leaned forward. She tensed and closed her eyes, expecting his lips to touch hers. She imagined where his hands might run, and where hers might follow. She wondered if this would just hurt him more—to give herself to him, only to be taken away.
Petyr pressed his lips against Marjorie's forehead. Then, he spoke.
"I want you—" he took a deep breath, "—to let me protect you. Let me die for you, Marjorie. Please."
Shame and anger morphed into one ugly emotion inside her chest. She ripped her hands and body away from Petyr's grasp. The force of the movement sent her falling back into the wall. When her skull made contact with the hard surface, a heavy thud echoed through the air. As did the familiar copper stench of blood.
"You are hurt—" Petyr said.
"She's hurt," Fenris interrupted from the entryway.
She cradled the back of her head with her hand. There was blood, more than she expected. It filled up her palm before it raced down her wrist in fat, long drops.
"I can smell him on you, did he—" Fenris began.
"I did it on my own accord," she said through gritted teeth. There was no ache in her head, instead, just an annoying sting. "Now stop looking like you both want to kill each other. Someone gather me a pail of water. If I am going to die tonight, I do not plan on bleeding to death."
"Yes," Petyr said. He ran to where Sicily stored a collection of different containers. He plucked one from the top layer. In all his speed, the bottom of the pail dragged against the lip of another bucket, pulling the delicately stacked dishware crashing down to the floor.
Fenris jumped, noticeably rattled by the overexposure of noise.
He could smell her blood from outside and Petyr's hands on her clothes. She wondered if being a Wolf meant he was sensitive to the world around him. She imagined Fenris bending himself to the wills of humans, trying to carve out an existence where he could live beside them, only to discover it would be impossible and uncomfortable.
"I—" Petyr turned to Marjorie, apology deep in his eyes.
"It doesn't matter, please Petyr," she said. The blood dripped down the velvet fabric of her hood, seamlessly matching the deep red. Her mother's hood.
The Woodsman ran out of the door, the stairs echoing with his heavy steps until they stopped too early—too abruptly for it to be normal.
She glanced at Fenris, who noticed too. They both watched the front door, waiting for Petyr to burst through. But nothing came. Instead, a nervous silence settled between them.
"I will check on him," Fenris whispered after a long moment.
Just as he took a step forward, the door creaked open, slowly, as if only the wind pushed it open. Fear rushed through Marjorie.
Quite possibly, this could be her death. It was not as expected, it wasn't the blood pouring from her head or the sunrise quietly stealing her breath. Maybe Death was not how she imagined. Perhaps Death would invite himself into the home and thread his boney fingers through her flesh-covered ones, leading her gently away.
Her thoughts were wiped clean once she found the blue eyes of Petyr, staring not at her, but Fenris.
"The moon rose," Petyr spoke his words like venom. "I have seen many moons in my life. But none like this. Could you decipher this one, Wolf?"
Marjorie stood on wobbly feet to peer over the edge of the entrance. For a moment, Petyr's body blocked her line of sight. She pushed herself to the tips of her toes, peering over his broad shoulders to stare at the moon hanging high above the forest.
Like each Night of the Wolf, the moon was full. It filled up the night with a familiar brightness.
Yet now, there was no white moonbeams pushing into every crevice and driving out darkness. Instead, deep red streams of illuminating light casted the surrounding world into an otherworldly collection of shapes and negative space.
Above her, the full moon was as red as Devilhair.
"The blood moon," Fenris whispered, the same amounts of horror and awe in his deep voice.
"What—what does it mean?" she stole Petyr's question.
"It means you aren't dying tonight, Marjorie," the Wolf answered.
AN:
Is it hot in here or is that just me? Got a little steamy in here for a second, huh? :P Tell me what you though honeys! Leave a like and comment please! Next update will probably be Sunday-ish! :D