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“Why are you-?” she stuttered over hiccupping breaths. “Cry, Amalia,” Rurik said, in his human form rather than his scaly one. He pulled her tighter. “It is fine.”
He wanted them on the same level so they could suffer together, by themselves.
“I was wondering. How would one mount you in order to ride you?” “By my hips, I would imagine.”
She didn’t turn to him, but she said, “The view is quite lovely here.” With his eyes still on her, he answered, “Yes, it is.”
“I fear pain.” She met his eyes with unwavering doubt. “I fear the agony of flames, I fear the stab of a knife, the suffocation of drowning. Death is an escape from worldly senses, and all I want is to not suffer or be afraid when I am living in this world – or dying in it.”
If she does not breathe, I will incinerate the world. A rumbling, dark growl bubbled from his chest like thunder as his face morphed into rage, and fury, and resentment so deep he knew he’d never felt anything like this before. If the world thinks I am hateful now, just wait until they see me if she is taken from it.
“When you shoved that blade into yourself, you took my heart, but not in the way they thought.”
He would set fire to the world around him, but never let a flame touch her.
He gave an irritated huff, gesturing to the spell again with his hand. “I love you. You love me. It makes sense I should have your mark.”
