Chapter 17

The bear pelt was heavy and warm. Strange, to think that the pelt and meat were keeping them alive and comfortable after the bear had nearly killed him. There was a sort of grim irony in that, he supposed, but it was lost in the relief of being alive, the exhaustion of his ordeal, and the wonder of the woman in his arms.

Rael stared down at Silmaria. She slept for now, a deep, peaceful sleep with her face pressed to his solid chest, one small hand resting on his shoulder. His arms were around her, cradling her to him and warming her in a protective and secure embrace she'd been immediately lulled by. She slept with the slight curve of a smile tracing her full lips.

He couldn't sleep. He didn't even want to, really. He'd been asleep for days, and he'd come perilously close to never waking again. No, he'd had this fill of sleep for now.

Instead, he studied the woman he held. She was a wonder indeed. He lifted a hand, tracing the fine bone of one cheek with feather light touches. He let his fingertips follow the line of the dark stripe slashing just under her cheek, accentuating her features and lines. She was lovely. Her beauty second only to her strength and goodness.

For Rael, the past few days went by in a fever-daze. Disconnected, disconcerting half-lucid moments of pain and confusion. He remembered the pain of being struck down by the bear. Waking, sometimes for moments so fleeting he was unable to truly grasp at what was happening. The stalactite's hanging overhead as he stared up. In the haze of his fever they'd seemed the teeth of an icy giant, and him cradled in its maw. At any moment those fearsome teeth would descent and puncture him and cut and chew and rend him to pulp that would be so easily swallowed. Sometimes he awoke, his side burning with overwhelming pain. It was as if the bear had just gutted him all over again. He wanted to grab his side, to roll into a ball, to cry out and curse and do something, but he couldn't move, couldn't speak.

Those brief moments of consciousness began to slide through his fingers, ungraspable. He was distantly and distinctly terrified that the last moments before his death would go by without his notice. Then it would already be too late.

Through it all was Silmaria. The feel of her small, stubborn hands tending his flesh. The smell of her, somehow overriding the smell of his own sweat and suffering. Her face hovering over his, the face of an angel of mercy who would not let him go. She anchored him with her fragile and courageous strength in a way that awed him.

And above everything, her voice. The constant litany of her words of comfort and belief. Her belief in him. In his strength. Her belief he would pull through. It was a balm to his soul, a lifeline in those times when all the world went dark and his grip on all he was began to falter. Always, her words were there to cling to, and he drew resolve and will from her precious voice.

Rael did not remember what she said. Not entirely. Her words were snatches, bits and pieces, half phrases and monosyllables etched in his mind and carved into his soul.

I'm so very afraid of being alone, she'd whispered to him in the sort of tone that made him want to hold her and shield her from all the grief and pain of the world.

The people I love die.

They never last.

He would be different. She would never suffer alone again. She would never fear to love, never fear the powerful potential for loss that love bore. He swore the vow, silent and solemn. Silmaria had tasted too much bitter loss already. He'd not add to it.

Rael stretched slightly. His body protested, sore and depleted as it always was after Mending. Silmaria stirred against him, murmuring sleepy protests, rousing but not yet truly awake. The Nobleman studied the Gnari, his brilliant silver orbs following the flow and shape of her. His hands traced the contour of her form under the blankets and bearskin, where his eyes could not go. Her short, supple pelt was softness itself, like fine, smooth velvet under his fingertips. Caressing it was a luxurious, pleasant feeling.

Memories of her swirled around his mind, chasing one another in heady circles. The patterns of her coat, her bared, exposed body. The way orange played on white, accentuated with little slashes of black all around. The creamy whiteness of the coloring of her inner thighs and her belly. The suppleness of her strong, spread thighs. Her breasts, heavy and swaying and bouncing with the urgency of his thrusts. The taste of her on his tongue, sweet and heavy and musky with blatant arousal. The searing warmth of her flesh wrapped around his. Her screams of pain and surprise, dripping with palpably copious pleasure.

He remembered all of it. Every last second. Every single detail. He was unable to control himself. Unable to stop. Oh how he'd tried, afraid that he was hurting her, that he was wronging her. But it was so very hard to stop the violently insistent urges that overtook him after Mending.

Almost he'd wrest control back, though it had cost him more energy and force of will than anyone would ever know. Almost he'd subdued himself, thinking to spare her the misery of his primal desires.

Only to find that she welcomed them.

Silmaria embraced the fierce cravings he had with acceptance and understanding in her beautiful emerald eyes.

It's Okay, she said, her voice sure and tender and full of love. Take me, Master. Take all of me. Take everything you need. I am for you. I am yours.

He'd let go, then, allowed his body and his instincts to continue their urging, and he a passenger in his own skin.

But through it all, he was aware, and basking in every last moment of their hungry, desperate fucking. It would have probably been troubling, being a sort of voyeur in his own flesh, had it not been so deeply and incredibly satisfying.

"For a man with a handful of tit, you sure do look serious," Silmaria said, amused.

Rael blinked, then looked down into her face. His brow furrowed for half a moment before he realized that at some point during his thoughtful contemplation, his hand had worked its way to one of Silmaria's generous, warm breasts and cupped the orb firmly, letting it fill his big hand. Her nipple was thickly rigid against his calloused palm.

The Knight gave a crooked, almost embarrassed smile at being caught unawares, and left his hand precisely where it was. "Seems impossible that I should be thinking so hard on other things with such treasures in my grasp. But I confess, my hand had a mind of its own."

"It seems most of you has a mind of its own of late, hmm?" Silmaria said with a playful, challenging smile. She arched her back slightly, pressing her breast briefly into his warm, gripping hand, then settled with a squirm against him. She rested her chin on his chest and stared up into his face.

"True. But this time it's merely from distracted thoughts," he chuckled lightly.

Silmaria shrugged, gave a thoughtful smile, and drummed her fingertip on the muscle of his chest. "About that. Not that I'm not enjoying the whole you not being dead thing in and of itself ... but do you think maybe you could tell me about ... well ... any of what happened tonight, maybe? Because I admit, between the you not dying, the you being on fire, and the you turning into a raging sex beast ... which was probably the best way to celebrate not being dead, I have to say ... I'm afraid I'm more than a bit confused."

Rael smirked wryly down at her and reached up with one hand to run his strong fingers through her thick black curls. "That's a pretty good bit of ground to cover. We'll take it one question at a time."

Silmaria thought for a moment, then ran her fingertips slowly along the broad band of scar tissue running diagonal across his chest, down to his hip. "Let's start with the whole you being immortal bit, then."

Rael laughed softly at that. "Not immortal, no. I'm pretty sure that I can and will die. Though I've not had the courage to find out for certain. But no. Not immortal. Just very, very hard to kill."

"This isn't the first time this kind of thing has happened, then," Silmaria ventured.

"No," Rael admitted.

"So the very, very hard to kill bit, then."

Rael's brow creased slightly as he considered his words. "Truly, I don't really know what it is that happens. Or why. Nor does it always happen, every time. As I'm sure you remember, I was wounded during the assault on the House, and the most spectacular thing that came of that was I lost a good bit of blood and managed to get you into my chambers."

"Yes. And what a pity you didn't become as riled up then as you were tonight," Silmaria mused. She glanced up to see Rael giving her a slightly surprised and deeply amused look. She grinned playfully. "But please, go on."

"Pity indeed," he smirked. "But yes. It's not as if every hurt or injury I take is erased. And I don't know what causes it. Maybe I have to be mortally wounded. Maybe I have to have the energy reserves to fuel it. Maybe the stars have to align just right. Whatever the case, sometimes it happens ... and I Mend."

"You Mend?" Silmaria echoed.

"Mm. It's what I've come to call it. I don't know what else to know it by. I've done research. Deep, thorough research. I can't find mention of it in any sorcery, faith text, or book of lore I've ever laid eyes upon."

"How many times has it happened?" she asked.

"I've lost count, truly. A dozen. Perhaps more. Soldiering brought a good deal of it out."

"I can imagine," she said quietly, and shuddered to imagine the legacy of the tracery of scars covering his pale flesh. She ran her fingers along that most prominent one across his chest.

"This one?" she ventured.

"A Haruke battle axe. Swung by one of the biggest bastards I've ever seen. I had full plate armor on, and it crunched right into my chest. Probably would have bit straight through me if I hadn't been armored so."

Silmaria blanched. "And it's always the same? How it happens?"

"Mostly," Rael mused. His arms tightened around her reflexively. She could feel the shudder run through him at the horrible memories, but he spoke on.

"I always fall into a deep sleep. It's impossible to wake me. My wound often becomes quickly and severely infected. Like my body is trying to get purge all the infection and poison from the wound all at once. Then the fever comes. My body builds this ... heat. Like an inferno heating my flesh and boiling my blood in my veins. It's ... painful.

"Then I'm cleansed by fire. My wound scoured by strange flames that come from within the damaged tissue. I'm cauterized from the inside. It burns through my flesh, and the worse the wound, the worse the fire."

"It must be awful," Silmaria murmured, gripping him tightly as she shuddered to even imagine it. Being consumed by fire from the inside out...

"It's not what most would call a good time," he chuckled softly, and shrugged his muscular shoulders. "But Mending ... whatever it is, wherever it comes from, has kept me alive many times. But I don't count on it saving my life. Ever. I never know when it will take me and when I will simply suffer through a more mundane healing.

"And always, it's the same. The infection. The fever. Bringing me to the edge of death before scouring away my wounds. I've never Mended instantly. Only if I can be stabilized and brought through that miserable period. Which is why I believe I'm not immortal, whatever I am. I'm sure if I were to suffer a mortal wound that killed me quickly, I would die before I had the chance to Mend."

"I don't want to think about that," Silmaria muttered as she nuzzled into him. "In fact, if we can avoid the whole 'Mending' thing in general, that would be great. I mean, it's pretty handy in the event you do get hurt. But it'd be great to not have to go through the whole you teetering on the edge of death thing again. Which would have been a great thing to know about in the first place, I'll add."

Rael had the grace to meet her glare with an apologetic look. Amusedly apologetic, but apologetic nonetheless. "I was sort of hopeful it wouldn't become an issue."

Silmaria's glare turned incredulous. Though she couldn't fully mask some amusement of her own, she did give it a good try anyway. "You were hopeful it wouldn't become an issue? We're running away from assassins, the Knighthood ... hell, the entire fucking country wants to collect the rewards on our heads ... especially your head ... and you didn't think there was the chance you might end up catching a bit of a nick at some point?"

"You did say I was the finest sword hand you'd ever seen," he pointed out with a teasing smirk.

Silmaria glared at him for a few more moments, then gave it up with a sigh. She smiled tiredly at him, then rolled over to lay on her other side. "You were awake for that bit then, huh?"

Rael turned with her, wrapping his arms about her and pulling her back so she was pressed against him. He traced the fine, graceful contour of her spine with one finger as he studied the patterns of her pelt, playing out in whites and oranges and blacks across her delicate back like a natural canvas of art. "I may have been. Or I imagined it. It's hard to tell when I'm that deep into fever. Everything kind of blurs into blots of reality and delusions and hallucinations."

"Mm," Silmaria smiled lightly. She shut her eyes and relaxed under Rael's lightly tracing fingers. She enjoyed his touch immensely as his fingers slipped along her soft, short pelt.

"So how about you turning into some kind of animal?"

Rael's fingers paused for the briefest of moments, then continued their slow, casual sliding along her arching spine. "That's very hard to explain, too."

"Try," she replied softly, her lips spreading into a beautiful, if tired, smile. "I've got time. Should I expect you to go all wild if I get mouthy and make you angry or something?"

"If that were the case, I would have gotten plenty riled up a long time ago," Rael countered with a light smile. "No. It only really happens after I Mend."

The Noble thought for a moment, then went on, his eyes and hands working along her back. "It's like becoming a beast of some kind. That's the closest thing I can liken it to. Everything becomes instinct. Reflex. I lose all sense of conscious thought. Most of my emotions are gone. Well, not gone but ... simplified. All I do is feel, and all I feel is basic, primal emotions and motivations. Pain. Pleasure. Instinctive drives to be safe and dry and warm and fed. I don't think about things. I just act. I lose all concept of society, of other people's feelings, of the consequences of right or wrong. I am, and I do. It's simple. It's easy. And it's disastrous. I am capable of things, when I am in that place..."

"Tell me," she said softly, after he'd fallen silent for some time.

Rael shrugged. Silmaria sensed he was dredging bits and scraps of memories from someplace long tucked away. "I could easily murder someone, when in that primal and unthinking state, and not think twice about it. And it wouldn't be out of maliciousness or spite or evil.

"It could be because I felt threatened," he explained. "If I felt threatened, I'd kill the threat. If I were hungry, and I saw food, I would take that food, regardless if it were stealing or wrong, and regardless if I had to hurt someone to get it. I wouldn't bear the person any ill will, but neither would I care. I have no moral compass, no reasoning when in that state. I have no context to draw on. I simply ... am."

Silmaria leaned back against him, her hand reaching up to rest on his cheek. She'd seen that. Seen the primal, instinctive force hiding behind Rael's eyes that was nothing but fierce, basic desires and drives. "But you're still in there, when it happens. Somewhere. You wanted what happened."

"Yes," Rael admitted slowly. His arm went around her, his fingers brushing along the flatness of her lean belly. "It's all reduced to very basic feelings and desires and needs. But it's still me ... on some level, anyway. My need to be safe. My need for food. My desire to mate. It's me, only simplified, and focused. And even though I have no control during those times, it's not as if I'm blacked out during it all. I'm there. I'm experiencing it all. Just as an onlooker. A passenger, of sorts. I'm riding along, but something else ... some other aspect of myself that I cannot control, has the reigns."

Silmaria squirmed slightly against him, and her ass pressed to his lap, warm and firm and curving. Silmaria had an ample backside, and shapely, the kind of generously rounded flesh brought on by activity and vitality and strength and graceful movement. Rael felt himself stirring at the warm press of it. The Gnari noticed, too, and immediately pressed back more firmly against him, grinding into the swelling length of Rael's cock to nestle it between her buttocks, soft and supple to the touch while keeping a firm, sculpted shape.

"So you have these strange, violent changes. You're wounded, then go through this wasting and feverish period. Then you Mend, and after, you turn feral and uncontrollable. And no one seems to notice this about you?" Silmaria asked.

Rael was finding it suddenly more difficult to focus on her words. "Not many," he said, fighting to keep his voice level and stable even as the wicked little minx of a Gnari pressed and wriggled that lush ass along his growing endowment. "I had help keeping it quiet. The first time it happened, I was young. I was out hunting with Father, just the two of us. I must have been eight or so. It was my first hunt, and he was teaching me how to ride down a deer. A wild boar caught us unawares. Big old bastard, with tusks like spears. Skewered my pony, and me with it. Nearly ripped my leg to shreds.

"I was taken back to the Manor. Lirena tended me. She took care of most of our sicknesses and injuries even then. Back in those days she was even better; her eyes and hands weren't crippled with age.

"Father stayed at my side through it all. He was there, when the Mending came. He was there when I was an uncontrollable, wild thing of a child for a few hours after. Lirena knew my recovery was impossible. Father gave her a look, and she said nothing and asked no more questions. But she knew it wasn't normal, not by any means."