FOREVER KNIGHTS: #13 Salvaging Souls

Over the next few days Chavias came to Sabine often.

Once he’d searched for her. Sensing she was in the parlor he sat on the divan to await her. Giving a startled growl before her bubbling laughter had him subsiding into a roaring laugh of his own. It ended abruptly when he heard Radix calling for him in the caves.

“I have to go.” He’d whispered to her.

She’d bemoaned him going.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered over the back of the divan. “I must…I’ll be back.”

She looked sad as his image faded from the divan before she could say farewell.

Sometimes days would pass before he could return. All he could do was apologize when he returned with the nightfall.

She kept the chambers clean and commanded the servants with authoritive efficiency.

She runs a household with an apt hand.

Chavias was reluctant to visit when he couldn’t come until late evening. Often finding her waiting up to greet him with that warm smile. Sometimes rushing to take his hand. Such a welcoming touch.

It was nearly painful after days spent doing such ugly deeds. She’s the light in my dark world.

Sometimes he came in his warrior’s garb, as today, to test if she’d fear him. The black fur robes to warm him against the winter, made gray eyes seem nearly white. War paint on his face and feathers tied in his hair.

To inspire fear. If people feared him, they did what he commanded with minimal deaths. Intimidation had proved a useful tool.

Sabine was fearless. Smiling softly as she welcomed him. Unafraid of his demeanor, she approached to trace a fingertip over the jutting markings on his face, encircling his eye and dropping down one cheek. Trailing the path of the old scar that reminded him who he’d been before becoming an immortal.

She shines.

White hair was flecked with silver lights.

Reminding him in some ways, of Bast’s silver horse. She’s as beautiful and rare as that unique stallion.

“What’s your solace there?” She asked.

“The times when I get to wash in the river.”

Few and far between occasions.

“Isn’t it freezing?”

Probably.

“I hardly feel temperature.” He said dully. “But I do miss the feel of steam on my senses when relaxing in a warm bath.”

“I will draw you one.” Her white dress swished.

He caught her arm, making her turn. “I’d love one. But I’ve things to attend to.”

“Killing?”

“I’m always killing.”

She looked up at him. Trying to communicate something through her eyes.

Something I desperately wish to understand.

I have to go. He let his hand slip down her soft forearm.

Wondering if she found his callused hands repugnant. She doesn’t act it.

But he heard the slight increase in her heartbeat and saw the reddening of her lush lips as blood rushed to them. The deeper breaths she drew. She feels me as I do her.

I have to go. He was impossibly frustrated at having to leave her so abruptly. But already the trailing white fingers of his spirit lifted from the floor to encircle his form. Drawing him from her until he was gone.

What would it be like to stay with her? To not have to leave?