Comments | riversinger: [oom] Flesh and blood

riversinger

[oom] Flesh and blood

Jul 26, 2009 22:22

She stayed up too late, staring at the autopsy photos, trying to correlate the forensics with the reports that kept trickling in. She's trying to imagine just what purpose someone had for treating the corpse with such careless disregard.

What did it taste like, I wonder? What did it smell like, the broken bones seeping their marrow on the carpet of ( Read more... )

oom, captainryan

Comments 33

captainryan July 27 2009, 05:57:01 UTC

"Jesus Christ!" The Irish-lilted words slip from his mouth before his eyes even open but then he's sitting up and reaching for the gun on the night stand, teeth bared.

Except there's nothing to attack. The room is empty, even of Damocles who's still in the woods.

He keeps the gun in his hand as he shakes his mate, trying to wake her. "River!"

riversinger July 27 2009, 06:06:38 UTC

The dream has its teeth in her, her voice twisting up out of her chest, raw and breathless. The keening cry twists from human to wolf to human again, every muscle in her body gone rigid as she fights to push away whatever vision she's seeing.

Her hands grip the sheets, and she answers his call with her own, like she could call him back from the dead by sheer force of will alone.

"Richard!"

captainryan July 27 2009, 06:23:03 UTC

"I'm here," he snaps, sharp with concern. The gun is put down before he pulls her to him, hands firm on her shoulders, then around her midsection.

"I'm here, River," he says again, softer this time due to the growl that's fighting to come out. He's caught in the adrenalin rush, wanting to snarl at imaginary foes and knowing that it's not needed.

riversinger July 27 2009, 06:36:38 UTC

It takes the rough strength of his embrace to shake her out of the nightmare. Her breath comes in ragged gasps and he feels the tension drain from her frame, little by little, as she fights her way out of that other world.

Her hands cling to his arms and she turns in his embrace, hands finding his face. Her eyes are wet, as are her cheeks, and relief and sorrow battle for dominance in her scent.

There is an awed reverence in her touch as she marks the planes and curves of his face. "You're alive..."

Thread 33