[ Victor Velthomer ā Husband, almost. (Trust him, wonāt you?) ]
To be honest, itās almost unfair how bottomless desire is, like an ache that snakes down the length of his soul only to never find a foothold. It aches, it yearns, it writhes in emptiness, and yet it finds comfort in simple pleasures in place of substantial ones. Victor never needed to prove to the world he was full. Twenty-six and full of vigor, he just needed to prove his smirk could still charm (empty as it was) and his fingers could still wrap around the little notch of a womanās wrist (as starved as they were.) He wants because he is as he is. He is because he wants as he wants.
And the moment her soft cherub skin and slender neck let off a pale light under the torches, he felt renewed. What a bastard he was, Victor thought, with a smirk striking his lips. He craved company. But more than that, he suffered the grand affliction of human desire. Hellā (he whistled as he crossed the street, twirling his walking stick)āmaybe he was in the mood for love.
The rain anchored on in silence.
Clicking his tongue, even a bold-faced lie like that was enough for him to roll his eyes. Right. Even he couldnāt believe that. Now⦠where had she gone? Victor had never seen the likes of her around these parts, and he had pressed his hands into every notch he could manage. So it could only mean one thingāshe did not know her worth quite yet. Sad, pretty little pair of eyes she was. As he spotted tufts of her lavender locks disappear into Wolfbaneās Swill, he quickened his pace to make sure she wasnāt snared by the usual riff-raff around these parts. She couldnāt be eaten alive like thatānot when his desire was infinitely more refined than the likes of incorrigible trash.
Now⦠what was it? Should he give her ten more seconds? Counting down right in front of the establishmentās doors, he endeavored to stay back just long enough for trouble to brew. In fact, he took off his cap and held the sopping thing out from under the roof. (Three⦠twoā¦) Pushing the doors open with relative ease, Victor sighed at the ever predictable lack of wit that was shared by the trash around these parts. And he pressed his walking stick into the blundering foolās shoulder. āWhatās a woman got to keep warm with, when you donāt have half a wit to light even a candle?ā
The stranger reared around with his fists tight, only to meet a soaking wet cap to the face. A slip of fingers rolled around the pretty, little wrist of a woman who did not know her worth quite yet. āRun, dear girl! Run!ā The first shared glance they had was one where he couldnāt help but grin instead of scowlāin retrospect, her gemstone eyes had his greed acting shamelessly. He scoffed in amusement, pulling her away from a mere foolās grasp into his and forcing her to follow him out the doors.
āHungry as you are, you canāt enter a wolvesā den, you know!ā Shooting her an entertained look over his shoulder, he rushed both of them under one roof to the next. They scattered like coins, catching the sprinkling rain on the ends of their coats and low-hanging skirts. It was a curse to be winded after just a little run (pathetic, really), but he hadnāt had this kind of rush in such a long time. He supposed it was worth it.
āThe name is Victor.ā He managed to introduce himself, winded as he was. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he rolled his hand into hers and squeezed it to his gold threaded tunic. āAnd what of you, my pearl?ā
āIf youāre tired from your travels, I could take you to my home. Itās better than being eaten alive.ā
The door creaks open and what happens next almost feels scripted. A well dressed stranger enters just in time to interrupt the man from pulling her onto his lap. A full and busy tavern and not a soul even spares a glance in her direction until this kind stranger.
Itās not how she was told the outside world would treat her.
It doesnāt take much effort on his part to send the handsy drunkard stumbling backward and free Cigyun from his grasp.Ā She feels like the damsel in a story rescued at the exact perfect moment.Ā She looks up to meet with eyes that burn with a fiery desire and she can feel her cheeks grow hot as butterflies dance in her stomach.
A new hand finds her wrist but this one is warmer, gentler.Ā He tells her to run and she does, following obediently behind him.Ā Cigyun is glad for the guidance and direction.Ā As much as she had been warned and forbidden against even speaking with men, she was never taught what to do should she ever meet one.Ā Ā
Out of the tavern and safe, they stop for breath.Ā She had not realized just how cold her fingers were until the warmth of his hand wraps around hers.Ā For the first time since she fled her forest, Cigyun feels safe and at ease.
āCigyun, milord,ā she answers for he must be a lord now that she is able to spare more than a fleeting glance at her rescuer.Ā She has never seen anyone dressed in such fine clothes before.Ā Is this what the damsel feels after the prince in her story slays monsters for her?Ā Itās an excitement like sheās never quite experienced.Ā She doesnāt know exactly how to put words to it but she does know she doesnāt want him to let her go.
āI do not want to impose on your kindness anymore than I already have.Ā I have nothing to offer in return but I have nowhere else to go.āĀ She is painfully aware, now, of how soaked to the bone she is.Ā Her gown clings uncomfortably to cold, pale skin and silver curls stick to her cheeks.
She has no idea that the warmth he offers comes from hellfire.