Perhaps the first thing Yseulte noticed about the dark stranger were his fluid movements, as if he was not fashioned from flesh, bone, and sinew, but crafted like a well-oiled machine instead, disguised in obsidian skin with glittering golden gems for eyes. Everything about the stallion was effortless, powerful, and confident. He moved with the languid ease of a dangerous predator and floated like a wraith over the moist earth. With such nimble hooves as those, she was not surprised she'd not heard him creeping in the dark.
The unhindered ease of his graceful strides caused her heart to turn a poisonous shade of green. Her crippled leg ached with a strange longing, yearning to be whole once more. She could have rivaled his grace, once, but that had been before the wolves. Despite her envy, she admired his prowess all the same. In a single, fleeting glance, she took him in: the quiver and flash of steel muscle rippling beneath his obsidian skin, the broad, rounded shoulders and slim hips, the metallic glimmer of tribal markings snaking like bronze serpents around his slender leg, and the cruel spirals of two treacherous looking horns.
The stallion prowled near the corpse, regarding it emotionlessly.
"You lost?"
His voice was the second characteristic she noticed. Expecting the smooth, suave tone of velvet purrs and charming masculinity, she was not prepared for the voice that rasped from those oily black lips, screeching like a rusted hinge in the dark. The guttural, broken sound of his deep voice contrasted starkly to his flawless physique, all smooth skin, languid strides, and curving muscles. When he spoke, she felt like iron claws were grating down her spine and she had to resist the urge to squirm uncomfortably beneath his unrelenting gaze. Instead, she met his eyes boldly, trying desperately not to drown in those golden depths.
"Made the mistake of straying from the path with the glowing trees," she admitted at last, glaring briefly at Itzal. Her hungry companion had stopped devouring the corpse to stare venomously at the young wolf pup on the stallion's broad back. A strand of flesh dangled from the tiger's jaws and his maw was slick and bright with blood. "If your pup is hungry..." Sounding stronger than she felt, she motioned towards the corpse. "By all means, dig in."
There was something about the way that he looked through her, rather than at her that caused Yseulte's stomach to clench in a painful, uneasy knot. His expression was longing, but he did not gaze starry-eyed at her beauty like most men. Instead, he analyzed her like a curious little boy that had discovered an interesting new bug and was trying to decide whether to squish it or add it to his collection. Did he wish to place her in a jar of captivity so that he might admire her until she died from suffocation? Or did he yearn to dissect her like an exotic butterfly, so that he might pin her pretty skin to a nice cork board?
That was the real question, and she wasn't entirely sure she wished to know the answer. |
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