![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
They hate me.
They're still my children. I accept even those who wish me harm. It is a bond.
They're still my children. I accept even those who wish me harm. It is a bond.
( continued from. )
Alina looks somewhere between a drowned cat and a furious rusalka, dark hair plastered against her skin, and he feels a vicious satisfaction at having reduced her to his level of embarrassment. One must relish the little things.
That smugness is banished quickly, however, as she lunges forward and locks her fingers around his throat — and yet there’s an unexpected flicker of pleasure at it, her thumb pressed against his larynx and pinching his airways, and he finds that he likes it. The sting, that crystalline little burst of pain, her hands on him no matter the context. But then, too quick, Alina’s moved away.
What is wrong with you, she demands, and he retreats back into his own corner of the communal bath. (A sullen sea serpent, slithering away.) His gaze lingers and trawls down what he can see of her body above the water, because he’s an asshole.
“How are your Grisha abilities here?” Aleksander asks, instead of answering directly. “What are your capabilities? I’ve tested mine. They’re not what they once were.”
He can’t tap into that ink-deep reservoir anymore, those centuries of strength. He hasn’t been certain if his amplification still worked — he hasn’t let anyone close enough to try, no experiments done with a local mage — but it doesn’t seem to be there.
Alina looks somewhere between a drowned cat and a furious rusalka, dark hair plastered against her skin, and he feels a vicious satisfaction at having reduced her to his level of embarrassment. One must relish the little things.
That smugness is banished quickly, however, as she lunges forward and locks her fingers around his throat — and yet there’s an unexpected flicker of pleasure at it, her thumb pressed against his larynx and pinching his airways, and he finds that he likes it. The sting, that crystalline little burst of pain, her hands on him no matter the context. But then, too quick, Alina’s moved away.
What is wrong with you, she demands, and he retreats back into his own corner of the communal bath. (A sullen sea serpent, slithering away.) His gaze lingers and trawls down what he can see of her body above the water, because he’s an asshole.
“How are your Grisha abilities here?” Aleksander asks, instead of answering directly. “What are your capabilities? I’ve tested mine. They’re not what they once were.”
He can’t tap into that ink-deep reservoir anymore, those centuries of strength. He hasn’t been certain if his amplification still worked — he hasn’t let anyone close enough to try, no experiments done with a local mage — but it doesn’t seem to be there.
Page 5 of 5