“Rawrrrrr!”
I grab the first and loudest by the throat as he runs past, and the second, I seize by her raised, machete-wielding hand.
Both are instantly quieted. They stare at me in equally wide-eyed horror. The male has the entitled, aggressive vibe of a criminal type, though he points an accusatory finger at the female and babbles at me as if I care for his obvious lies. I turn my attention to the human woman, who holds no malice or murderous intent in her energy. Despite her aggressive role in their shenanigans, I believe her actions were defensive. In fact, all I feel while look at her is…peace. Sweet, soul-soothing peace.
Drawn in by an insane curiosity about this strange new sensation, I study her more closely.
Soft-looking and pale with a messy shock of deep, richly orange waves, she is very easy on my eyes. I smile at her, but she ducks her head to hide. She appears nervous and untrusting of me, but she is not exactlyscaredof me. There are inconsistencies in her energy, and it makes her disturbingly difficult for me to read. Is she able to cloak her true self as I can? Isshethe puzzle I was hunting?
Her pretty blue-green gaze darts around the trees before she eventually settles it on me. She appears to size me up — though for what, I do not know. She’s masking her thoughts as if she understands I might use them against her, which only makes me more suspicious.
I look her up and down, trying to gauge her nature, but no matter how long I scan her, I cannot make sense of my feelings. I can’t deny an overwhelming instinct to protect her — more so than any other human I’ve encountered — but there is something else at play between us. A deep, unfamiliarconnection that appears to trigger my usually intense sensory load into… peace. Again I arrive in this quiet, blissful place where the noise of my energetic surroundings fades enough to become an optional quest and not a constant demand.
I have never felt such a thing. Gifted since birth, I’ve had to learn to manage the constant flow of sensory input, but the ease in its cacophonic intensity that I feel in this intriguing little female’s presence has me a somewhat giddy inside.
I’m awash with confusion and struggle to stop staring into her sparkling eyes, but eventually, I force my gaze to the machete still clutched in her fierce grip. Her knuckles are blanched even paler than the rest of her fair skin, and she doesn’t show any intentions of releasing the weapon. She has spirit, I observe with admiration. Many of the mistreated humans have had their spirits broken or very badly damaged, but there is fight left in this one. Even now, in the presence of a protector, she seems reluctant to leave herself unprotected. I like that, but I do not wish for her to feel that’s necessary around me. I wish for her to recognize me not as a threat, but as the friend I am. In fact, my heart is beginning to ache with the need for her to feel safe.
“Drop your sword, sweet human. You are safe with me.”
She tugs her cute eyebrows downward and speaks her own language back at me. On some strange level, I had assumed we would understand each other, but I should not have expected her to be able to interpret what I said. It’s clear there is a language barrier when it comes to the spoken word.
I tilt my head at her machete and raise my eyebrow at her. She looks from me to her blade and then back to me. She searches my face with great scrutiny, and eventually appears to accept my request. The machete falls to the ground, and I rumble with annoyance when it slices my toe.
She inhales sharply and glances down. Her features twists into a wince, and she bunches her shoulders near her ears, as if trying to retreat inside her own body. “Soh-ree,” she squeaks.
Believing her to be apologetic, I grunt in response and look back at the man she had been chasing. His trousers are unbuttoned. Did she startle him mid-urination or is the reason for his state of semi-undress more sinister? I have an inkling, but I’m almost afraid to read his intentions for this very special female. He makes a strained, strangled sound as I tighten my grip on his neck, and I return my attention to the pretty human I prefer to look at.
She has grubby knees, her dress has been torn at the shoulder, and upon closer inspection, there are vague traces of fading red marks on her arm and her neck. I stare into her eyes, but her energetic story remains a mystery. I’m forced to tune into the obnoxious male, who is currently reliving his last actions with much regret now that he’s been caught.
He tried to attack this woman, believing he was entitled to penetrate her. Clearly, he did not believe she’d retaliate or inadvertently chase him toward a monster who would deliver retribution for such an atrocity. My claws bite into his throat, and his legs begin to kick. I hold him further away, sickened by his dark soul and red face. “You will die here,” I inform him.
But not in front of the innocent. Unless she desires to watch? Perhaps it will ease her mind to have proof he will not bother her again.
I slowly lower the woman’s hand. “You will stay,” I command.
She frowns and stares at me blankly.
I loosen my grip, but her eyes immediately seek escape routes. I tighten my hand around her wrist once more, recapturing her full attention. “Do not leave,” I say in a firm,warning tone as I adjust my hand to point at the ground. “Please.”
She swallows visibly, nods, and twists her dainty arm, fighting my grasp.
I let her go, and she holds her wrist to her chest, rubbing at her pinkened skin.
A terrible feeling rushes through me. Did I hurt her?
“I apologize if I caused you pain,” I say promptly. “That was not my intent. You are simply very delicate, and I am…”
I amwhat?
Oversized and brutish? Uncivilized? I would not usually describe myself as such, and my actions have been reasonable given the circumstances, yet I can’t help feeling shame for having accidentally marked her pale skin’s impeccable softness with its pretty speckles…
I shake my head and clear my throat to speak, but the words that come to mind all feel like excuses, and I have clearly done wrong by her — despite my whole chest demanding I protect her. I must make amends. “I beg your pardon, M’lady. I should have moderated my strength, so as not to harm you. It will not happen again.”
She gives me a strange look, views me from a different angle, and then looks between me and the male human I’m holding by the throat. I can only hope she’s not sensing similarities.
I wrinkle my nose at the human male. “His intentions were to harm you. Repeatedly.” I try in vain to unclench my jaw. “Intimately,” I growl as the man’s plan plays over in his head. “Even now he regrets not having succeeded. There is no potential for rehabilitation.”
When I look over at the female, she is glaring at the offender with as much disgust as I was feeling for him. Perhaps my feelingsarehers. I feel no blockage or absenteeism fromher currently, and I wonder if we are so energetically aligned regarding this matter, that our feelings are one and the same.
