Oso

✨Beyond The Veil✨

@ShroomNthusiast

Thank you so much for the character application! The GMs will take a look at it for approval and we'll let you know asap.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Day
Location: Sorian Park
Interactions: Violet @Tpartywithzombi
Mentions: Charlotte @princess, Kira @potter, Callum @Helo, & Alexander @FunnyGuy

---

Cassius could still feel Violet’s fingers laced with his. He squeezed tighter to ground himself, and only then did he realize his own hand was shaking… The tremor would be obvious to his sister, and unbeknownst to her she was the only thing keeping him from making really really bad decisions in that moment. Especially as Callum, liquor in hand, joined Kira’s venture to torture him and they both merrily called for more coin as though the woman hadn’t left him bleeding like a stuck pig about to be butchered… as if this were all a game and Charlotte was just another piece to move across the board. He wondered if Callum was somehow in on it all, or if this was just some kind of petty retort to their…less than cordial moment at the banquet. At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter.

He could taste iron in the back of his throat, could feel the healing scars tug when he breathed too deep, and somewhere behind the mask of an auctioneer’s smile he could feel Alexander’s eyes on him, weighing him, waiting for the crack, and when the crowd roared at the “triangle date” nonsense he remembered what it felt like to be surrounded, and recalled the importance of not giving his enemies the fucking joy of seeing him panic. So, with a still trembling hand he gathered himself and became all of the things Cassius fucking Vael was known for; that undeniable grin, the lazy, unbothered posture of a man in control even as his knuckles whitened around Violet’s hand so tight there was no doubt in his mind that she would know he was struggling. He pulled himself together, at least in an outward sense… He could already hear the scolding voice of his father when all of this would be over, but the Damien coffers surely ran deep… And there wasn’t a chance in hell that he would let the opposition win.

He looked up to the stage… to her… and the look she gave him could have boiled the sea. Maybe he deserved it, maybe he would always deserve it, but the truth rose anyway and sat hot behind his smile. Even if she hates me, even if she never sees me as anything other than a villain again…I’ll do what I must.

He took in a slow, deep breath, let the panic settle in his chest, and when he spoke his voice was the perfect impression of the bastard they all painted him to be.

“How about one thousand for the lovely lady.”

For half a breath, the park went still. Then the noise broke. Gasps, murmurs, even a few scattered laughs. Purses snapped shut, men muttered curses into their hands, women leaned to whisper to each other behind lace fans. People stuttered, scrambling to repeat the number as though it might have been misheard. A thousand in Damien gold. It rippled through the crowd like a grass fire, and every eye seemed to find him at once.

Cassius did not so much as blink.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Day
Location: Sorian Park
Interactions: Violet @Tpartywithzombi
Mentions: Charlotte @princess & Kira @potter

---

Cassius almost missed it at first, lost in the moment. It could have been just another bid, just another voice.

But the moment it touched his ears, he knew.

It was her.

The sound of it pierced through the noise internal and external alike, and the rest of the world dulled. He didn’t even need to look at her. That voice had been carved into his memory years ago, and again three nights ago when she plunged that dagger into him not, not twice, but three merciless times. Rage coiled hot from within, and along came the urge to dash from his chair and unleash every ounce of vile venom that lingered inside of him.

How dare she. How dare she show her face here, out in the open, as if his blood wasn’t still drying in some gutter. Like she hadn’t tried to gut him and let him die in the street. How was she even here at all? The Kira he knew…was dead.

And then Violet’s hand found his.

Her fingers were cool, steady. No words, just that quiet weight grounding his own. For a moment his chest eased, the gesture holding his anger at bay. He looked down at her pale hand wrapped in his scarred one, and in that moment, perhaps for the first time since his mother...he felt the true meaning of family. His sister’s touch was a lifeline, but the thunder and lightning inside him continued.

His gaze then found the stage.

Charlotte.

She stood there, beneath the sun…a ball of soft nerves with a good heart, there for the sole sake of charity, yet in so much more danger than she realized. Kira’s bid processed in his mind and everything became heavier. The crowd laughed, murmured, coins clinked. None of them knew what they were watching. None of them saw the game for what it was.

But he did.

It wasn’t about Charlotte. He was almost sure of it. Kira wasn’t really here for her. This was for him. A knife-twisting reminder of just how far Kira could reach and what she was capable of.

His blood turned cold. Dread clamped down harder than even the rage.

She can’t be alone with her. He wouldn’t allow it.

His hand lifted before the thought even finished, eyes never leaving Charlotte.

“Two hundred.”

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

---

Bastion

Race: Warforged
Class: Guardian
Location: Airship – Top Deck
Mentions: Phia @princess, Minerva @FunnyGuy, Menzai @samreaper, Captain Cindralis
Equipment:

equipment

☼ Tower Shield
☼ Greatsword made of Glacium (A material as hard as steel, yet formed from eternally frozen ice.)
☼ Titan Chain – A reinforced tow chain housed in his left palm, functioning as a powerful grappling hook.
☼ Aged Leather Satchel
☼ Worn but cherished scarf
☼ Maintenance Kit .
☼ Heavy-duty rations (for companions, not himself).
☼ A delicate glass figurine of a bird—an old keepsake.
☼ A locked, timeworn journal—contents unknown.

Attire:
☼ Etched and weathered plating with bronze accents.
☼ Fitted harness for carrying supplies.
☼ Worn scarf
Gold Balance: 52 gold
Injuries:
☼ Left shoulder was injured in the battle and is still leaking fluid.

---

Bastion left the dragonborn with his grief and turned, following the noise, scanning the area for the ones he knew aboard this ship.

The magenta familiarity of Phia’s hair was what drew his gaze first. His eyes found others as well, in time, just as the captain began his spiel.

He found her with a bizarre woman, a shifter like Menzai…Perhaps they knew one another. Bastion did not announce himself, he simply made his way towards them, placing himself nearby.

Then the strangers came. His threat analysis was off the charts. Before he knew it, the Captain screamed...his leg snapped in front of them all. Bastion’s chest whirred, his hand ready to draw steel whenever necessary. He was injured still, many of them were…but he would not let these pirates harm anyone else.

The crystal beat in the middle of his painted sun. It seemed...alive. Bright. He felt it answer when he thought of the others. "Bear it." That was the word that formed in his processors. They bear it together now. He wondered if the others could feel it too…that subtle connection of them all beneath the surface.

Minerva raised Phia’s hand…A choice made without asking. She was volunteered to go with the pirates to meet their Prince. Bastion stepped forward without an ounce of hesitation.

“If she goes…” He said, his voice carrying louder than expected. “I go.”

He looked at Phia, letting his optics soften as his gaze settled on her. The wind pulled at him, salt and ash mixing on the air. Bastion stood resolute, quiet and solid, waiting to be told where to walk or for others to chime in, refuse, volunteer, or whatever would come next.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Day
Location: Sorian Park

---

The first day was hell.

The pain. The nightmares. The memories.

“You scoundrel! You liar!”

Lottie…

"You should have never abandoned me."

Kiki…

“...you’re exactly like him.”

His blood dripped from Charlotte’s fingertips.

"Perhaps your sister can feast on your traitorous blood."

His blood dripped from the dagger in Kiki’s hand.

Charlotte’s cries as he walked away.

Kiki’s laugh as she walked away.

The laugh morphed into Lottie’s. Not the sweet one he had grown to adore, no, this one was far more malicious. His blood ran cold.

Once. Twice. Three times the dagger plunged into him.

He looked up, expecting to see the masked face of his would be assailant from the night before.

But no.

It was HER face. That beautiful face…those melancholy blue eyes. That raven hair. Those lips that had kissed him so tenderly.

It was Charlotte.

She was covered in his blood, the dagger dripping gratuitously with his very lifeforce.

She was laughing.

She was celebrating his pain. His end. She loved it.

He had hoped…wondered…if she could have loved him.

---

Day two was better. Someone progressed his healing a bit. He didn’t know who. He had simply been too out of it to know who had come in and out of the makeshift hospital room they had turned his chambers into there in the Damien estate. But he knew enough…had experienced enough wounds like this to know that the healing was, for lack of a better word…unnatural.

Though they had not healed the wounds on his face. Perhaps they had been too preoccupied on the critical injuries to worry about simple scratches. Little did they know that those three marks were more painful to him than any stab wound could ever be.

Still, he hurt like hell. His guts felt as though they would spill out from him with every movement. But Calbert made sure he was up and walking every few hours. Calbert had been…kind. The way a father was meant to be. It was a strange look on him. Cassius didn’t know what to think about it all, but it meant something to him. Even if he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

---

Day three was a different kind of hell. Cassius refused sleep, he refused the recesses of his mind; the dreams, the memories, the visions that came with it. He refused it all and he craved fresh air and hard liquor.

Calbert begged him not to leave, and Cassius meant it when he said he was sorry…but he simply couldn’t take it anymore. His father sent guards to tail him. Cassius evaded, not as easily as he usually could, but easily all the same.

The rest was a blur of alcohol induced oblivion.

---

Cassius Damien woke up in a bed full of other men and women. The room smelled of sex, sweat, and perfumes. He grabbed the wine next to the bed and had his first drink of the day. Cas could barely recall the events of the night prior but he could remember enough to know that he hadn’t partaken in the activities that they other men and women in his bed had indulged in. He recalled blaming it on the stabwounds…he recalled that those words had been a lie.

He took another drink.

After he washed and reapplied clean bandages that had been provided by the brothel’s proprietor, a beautiful woman in her 50’s named Leilianna, Cassius dressed. He very much overpaid his tab, then left as though he were in a hurry.

There was no destination in mind, he just needed the air and anything other than stillness.

Sorian park found itself graced with the presence of a, let’s be honest, worse-for-wear Cassius Damien. However, despite his slower than normal pace…every bit of that swagger remained in his steps. The charm in his muscle memory, however, did not find itself in his eyes. The three clawmark-like wounds across his face did not help his appearance, but rather it was the weight behind his eyes that truly deviated from his usual magnetism.

The weight became even heavier upon hearing a stranger's words from beyond the bend.

“From the very heart of Vermillion, Verimont's Darling—Lady Charlotte Vikena.”

His heart sank, not just into his chest but lower…so low that he felt the licks of flame from the very depths of hell itself. The cuts on his face began to sting. He turned to see her.

Cassius watched her emerge from the side of the stage. He took in the sun in her hair, her shyness, the elegance that came from years of nobility. The color in her cheeks reminded him of the timidness in her that morning at the lake. He...had seen so many sides to her now. The fire from their first meeting...Her kindness...Her levity...Her arousal...Her anger...Fear.

She curtsied, clasped her hands, and addressed the crowd in her gentle way. Beautiful couldn't do her justice.

“Good day to you all. It is an honor to stand here for such a cause, and in such lovely company.”

He fought himself to leave. He gave it everything he had, but alas, he found himself taking a seat at the back of the auction crowd. His eyes hadn’t left Lottie since they had found her.

She was covered in his blood. She was laughing.

She was celebrating his pain. His end. She loved it.

But that wasn’t true. She was right there on stage…those melancholy eyes looking so sweetly around the crowd like only she could. He begged those eyes not to find him.

Cassius felt afraid, more afraid than he ever had in warfare. He wanted to be invisible…he wanted to be safe. He wasn’t afraid of the ones who had left him for dead in the dirt only nights ago…no…he was afraid to be seen by her. But he could not for the life of him look away.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Dominic Blackmoor

Location: • The Undeground Time: • Night

Interactions: • Vex @Tpartywithzombi

The bass was a living thing in here, crawling through floorboards and ribcages, licking at nerves until everything felt too close and too bright. Dom shouldered through the crowd at the Underground, sunglasses pushed up into rain-wet hair, cut still weeping along his brow from the cage.

He saw it happen the second it started, the hand sliding where it had no business, the little glint of plastic kissing Vex’s back pocket...It was bullshit.

Vex spun and laid him out with a clean right that sang off the man'ssull. The crowd hitched, then swallowed the moment whole but Vein Theory's song never missed a beat.

Dom did not make a scene. He let the crowd swallow Vex again, then went after the man, catching him by the wrist before he could rabbit away, turned him with a hand at the belt, and walked him three quiet steps into the service gap between the bar and the hallway. One forearm eased across the collarbones, all that weight like a wall settling. His grip on the wrist tightened until something inside it began to splinter. Fingernails lengthened against the man’s skin just enough to break it, five small crescents that welled red and trickled down.

The man sucked air through his teeth, blood still coming from the punishment he received from Vex. Dom brought his mouth close enough to be heard over the music.

“You are going to listen…” he said sternly, “and you are going to learn.”

He rolled the wrist inward and down, slowly with the kind of pressure that taught lessons better than words ever could. Cartilage clicked, a metacarpal started to go with a soft pop that got lost under the bass. The man tried to twist free and found there was nowhere to go.

“You never touch her again.” Dom murmured, eyes on the room like he was watching weather roll in, “Plain and goddamn simple.”

He felt the panic arrive. He let it sit. His other hand found the rest of the baggies in the man’s pocket and palmed them clean, then he lifted the pinned arm a hair and gave the shoulder a small sharp turn that promised worse if the fool even thought about squealing. Bones did not snap…yet, but they wanted to, and that was enough.

“You are done here.” he said, easing the forearm off the man’s chest by an inch, “Walk. Pray I let you live to see the sunrise…’cuz I could still change my mind.”

He released the wrist last. The man’s knees thought about buckling from the pain of it all. Dom propped him with two fingers, turned him toward the door, and sent him into the crowd with the tiniest push. A couple of regulars saw the look and opened a lane. The Underground ate him, but Dom tracked his scent to the door. He was gone.

Dom came over to the bar. He took Vex’s lighter from her shaking fingers without asking, turned her hand in his, and cupped the flame out of the draft. The paper caught, the cherry bloomed, the tremor in her wrist settled under his thumb because he did not let it do otherwise. He looked at her knuckles, brushed a thumb once over the split skin, then set her hand back where it was.

He slid the baggies across to the bartender with a look that gave plenty of instructions. “Water, plate of fries, mozzarella sticks…anything bread and greasy.” he said calmly, “and no more drinks for her. Nothing but water.”

He let himself be a wall at her back, not touching her, just there. The bass rolled on. Neon burned her hair blue, then pink, then red.

“You’re being stupid again…” he said, eyes still on the crowd, “Do you think this shit’s cute?”

The water hit the bar and he nudged it to her fingers.

“Drink...” he told her...“Then eat. If you want air, tell me. If you want out, I will take you home. Your call, but you're staying where I can see you.”

A couple of men drifted by, caught his glance, and remembered they had someplace else to be. Dom did not look away from the room for a long beat, then he finally let his gaze slide back to her mouth, to the smear of blood on her knuckles, then to the light in her eyes.

He leaned an elbow on the bar and lowered his voice until it belonged only to her.

“And Vex...What the hell are you trying to prove with all of this?”

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Dominic Blackmoor

Time: • Evening then Night

Interactions: • Vex @Tpartywithzombi

The crowd pressed tight around the steel cage, every one of them howling for blood, the stink of sweat, smoke, and cheap whiskey thick in the air. The floor was sticky, the lights dim and swinging, and the pit smelled like iron and violence.

Dom leaned back against the fence, shirtless, wrists taped and dark with someone else’s blood. His own split eyebrow bled down the side of his face, jaw set, a hand-rolled cigarette burning low between his fingers. He dragged deep, slow, and let the smoke curl out of his nose.

Below him, the promoter was barking through the mic, voice cracking with excitement. A couple of women hauled the last poor bastard Dom had broken clean out of the cage. The man’s face was a mess of swelling, teeth scattered like dice across the floor, ribs caved where Dom had buried his elbow. He was alive, though he might’ve wished otherwise.

Somewhere in the city, Kess & Lucian were both digging for answers in their own ways. The whole pack was coping and hard at work. Dom was working too...working to get the devil out of him so he could be ready for whatever came next. This was mandatory.

He dropped the butt of the cigarette, crushed it under his boot, then whistled low for the waitress passing with the beer tub. She winked, slid one through the fence. He cracked it open against the steel and took a long pull, foam catching in his beard. Then he rolled his neck, shoulders popping, and turned as the next fighter stepped through the cage door.

The crowd roared louder.

A monster of a man, six and a half feet, tattoos climbing up a chest like a wall, nose already crooked from breaks that had never healed right. They called him “Brickhouse,” and for good reason. His fists looked like hammers, his grin was all hate and hunger.

The bell rang.

Dom didn’t raise his hands. He walked straight into him. The first punch snapped his head sideways, the second drove into his ribs, and the third split his lip. He let it happen, teeth bared, tasting the blood, needing the pain. The crowd lost its mind.

Then Dom spat red on the mat, and the switch flipped.

He fully came alive. A headbutt cracked Brickhouse’s nose wide open, cartilage bursting. Dom’s elbow smashed down across his cheek, splitting it open to the bone. He hooked the man’s arm, slammed a knee into his stomach until bile hit the floor, then dragged his head down and drove it into the steel so hard the whole cage rattled.

Brickhouse stumbled. Dom didn’t let him fall. He hammered fists into his jaw, one after another, until the man dropped. Then he grabbed a handful of his hair, dragged his head up, and whispered something low enough only the broken bastard would hear before slamming him down one last time.

There was a brief moment of awe and silence. Then the pit erupted, the roar so loud it rattled the lights above.

Dom stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping from his face, a wolf in his natural state. He looked out at the crowd for half a second, then turned his back on them all and going for another drink of his beer.

---

Later, in the dingy back room they called a locker room, Dom sat on the splintered bench, peeling tape off his wrists. A half full bottle of whiskey sat beside him. His knuckles were swollen, skin raw.

The door creaked open.

Boots scuffed against the floor, and around the corner came a tall, wiry man. Pale as bone, hair black and unkempt, a silver chain blindfold glittering faintly in the half-light. His jaw was sharp, lips set in a knowing smile.

Aeryn Vale; Frontman of Vein Theory.

He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, tilting his head as though he could see the room anyway.

"Hell of a show," Aeryn said, voice smooth, almost amused. "Good to remind this city why you’re king of the wolves."

Dom didn’t look up at first. Just kept unwinding the tape, shoulders rolling, calm as if he hadn’t just dismantled man after man in front of a hundred screaming degenerates. Finally, he glanced over, eyes golden and tired.

"That why you came here, Vale?" His voice was low, gravel rough. "To hand out compliments?"

Aeryn chuckled, pushing off the wall and strolling closer, every step sure despite the blindfold. He dropped down onto the bench beside Dom, grabbed the whiskey without asking, and took a long swig. Then he let the silence breathe, his smile faint.

"No," he said finally, setting the bottle between them. "I came to offer condolences. From me, from the band. Logan was one of the good ones." He paused as his smile twisted. "Well. If there are any good wolves."

Dom’s mouth twitched, just enough to show the hint of a smile.

"Fucker hated our music," Aeryn added, handing the bottle over to Dom. "But times like these call for release. And in case you haven’t heard big guy…Vein Theory’s back tonight at the Underground. Come on down. Drink’s on me. Iron Fangs don’t got to pay a dime tonight."

Dom took a pull from the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not the biggest fan of your music either, pretty boy." He said coyly.

"No need to answer." Aeryn stood, smoothing his coat. "Just think about it."

He left without another word, the door creaking shut behind him.

---

A couple hours later, Dom sat in his office at the Cracked Fang, a fresh bottle open on the desk. Logan’s ring sat there too, carrying the weight of the whole fucking world. Dom leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on it, jaw tight. The anger sat heavy in his chest, quiet but burning. He’d hoped the fights would help get it out of him…It wasn’t enough.

The phone on the desk buzzed.

He picked it up, thumb swiping over the screen.

A picture from Vex. Middle finger in the air, grin wide, pupils sharp as pinheads. The background was obvious…the Underground, no mistaking it.

Dom’s mouth set in a hard line as his eyes focused on those pupils. She was using again.

He stared at the picture a beat longer than he should have, thumb brushing the edge of the phone as he contemplated how to respond. Then he set it down, exhaling slow and putting the phone in his pocket.

“Goddammit…” he muttered under his breath.

A moment later he grabbed the keys to his bike, pushing up out of the chair.

Looked like he was going to the show after all.

Neo Genesis: Chronicles of Eberron

The Strangers

The sound of his boots against scorched planks was casual, unhurried. The Stranger moved like he owned the ship, like the battered souls gathered before him were already his for the taking. He stopped near the front of the crowd, turning to sweep his gaze over the survivors. The grin on his lips didn’t touch his eyes.

“Let’s skip the guessing games, shall we? My name’s Captain Beckett.” He gestured behind him with an easy flick of the hand. “That lovely mountain of a man there is Gnarly. Need I say more about him? And this vision right here is Rory. Dangerous doesn’t even begin to cover her, though I imagine you’ll get a chance to learn that firsthand if you’re unlucky enough.”

Gnarly gave a sharp-toothed grin as he folded his massive arms, his presence alone commanding silence. Rory, in contrast, leaned on the railing as though she were bored, her jade green eyes scanning the crowd waiting for anyone to test her patience.

Beckett then spread his arms like a preacher at a pulpit.

“Here’s the truth of it. It doesn’t matter who you were, what banners you carried, what gods you prayed to, or where you thought this pretty little ship was taking you. That part of your story is over. You’re in Port Verge now. Which means you belong to Prince Ravic Dane until he decides what to do with you.”

Murmurs rippled through the survivors, some angry, some fearful. Beckett’s grin widened at the sound.

“So I suggest you make peace with it, because we’ve got eyes on you, guns on you, and worse things than that if you start making poor decisions. Lucky for you, the Prince has a taste for introductions. He’d like to meet a few of you fine folk, see what sort of prizes fate has crashed onto his shores.”

He tilted his head, voice dropping into something crueler.

“But not all of you. Some will stay right here, safe and sound with your devilishly handsome captain.”

Jovik Cindralis stepped forward, jaw clenched, and shook his head. “You’re not taking my passengers anywhere… I’ll go, I’ll meet your Prince”

“Uh-uh-uh.” Beckett raised a finger and clicked his tongue, eyes sparkling with mock reproach. “You know better, Captain. A Captain’s job is to stay with his ship. Die with it, if necessary.”

The pistol appeared in his hand so fast it was almost magic, the gleam of polished steel catching the light. He tapped the barrel against Cindralis’s temple in obvious threat.

“I’m sure you understand the message. But… they do say caution is a virtue for a reason.”

He snapped his fingers.

Gnarly stepped forward and made his move. His boot came down hard against Cindralis’s knee with a sickening crack. The Captain went down with a strangled cry, sweat breaking across his brow as he hit the planks.

Beckett crouched just enough to smirk at him.

“See? Just as I said. You’ll be staying here with your ship. And now you’re in no condition to travel.”

He straightened, holstering his pistol with a spin of the wrist, and turned back to the crowd.

“Now then.” His grin returned, pretty and entertained by his own antics. “The boss beckons. So…” He spread his arms wide, inviting the silence to stretch into dread. “Who wants to meet a real Pirate Prince, eh?”

✨Beyond The Veil✨

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Location: Locke's place • Time: Night

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Locke didn’t flinch when she dragged him in. He simply let her.

For a heartbeat, he let her have the illusion of control, her kiss hitting sharp against his mouth, frantic and angry and desperate all at once. Then, he took over.
Slow, but not rough, his fingers curled at her jaw, steady, grounding her even as her pulse raced against his skin. He kissed her the way he always did when she broke first, drinking in her desperation. The heat between them thickened, breathing heavy enough to fog the windows.

And then...he pulled back.

Not far enough to give her space…but just enough to remind her she wasn’t in charge here. He was her favorite drug, and the chaos in him couldn’t help but make her body beg for more. He dragged the tip of his thumb across her bottom lip as he looked at her with eyes like hunger. His voice, when it came, was low...threaded with that Irish rasp that he knew did things to her she’d never admit.

“Thought you didn’t need me tonight.” He said teasing, his head lowering so his lips could press the faintest kiss against the sensitive skin of her neck.

Without breaking from the act, Locke flicked his fingers once, and Mercy bolted out the window, wings catching the rain as she vanished into the night. He kissed Sable’s neck again, this time with a little more desire...eager to see her next move.

Her chest heaved with both need and frustration at herself. Sable narrowed her eyes at him when he pulled back, knowing exactly what he was doing. The damn man knew her more than she would ever admit to anyone. He was something she craved, and she absolutely hated that he knew it.

The throbbing in her temples was all but forgotten the moment his lips hit her neck. A growl reverberated from her chest. ”I don’t need you. I hate you.”

Letting out a shaky breath, her eyes closed once more and she bit down hard onto her lip to not give him the pleasure of her sounds. She was not going to fall for this again. Damnit, she was stronger than this.

”You know I can make you stop.” A warning, yet one that held no real malice.

The grin that appeared on his face, now reaching territory that could be described as utterly arrogant, was one that he felt he had earned here. “Oh I know you could...You could open that door and walk away right now if you really, really wanted to...” He said, his breath hot against her neck. “Or, you could be a good girl and show me just how much you hate me...We both know how good that hate feels, don’t we, love?” His hand trailed up the distance of her leg as he kissed her neck again, letting her feel the desire coursing through his body.

Her eyes had momentarily darted over to the car door, her eyes on the handle. All it would take was to reach one hand out to pull it, and she would be outside. Sable extended the fingers of her right hand and moved her hand to the side. However, the praise that left his lips immediately made her body freeze. She couldn’t help the parting of her lips or her eyes starting to roll back in her head.

Damnit.

Bringing both hands up, she shoved them against his chest hard enough for the Fae to fall back against his own seat. She growled under her breath before bringing one knee up to her chest. It didn’t take much for Sable to push herself off of the passenger seat and climb into his lap. Straddling both thighs on either side of his legs, she looked down at his face and shook her head.

”This doesn’t mean anything.” She had said it every single time, and meant it. Yet the fact that he had saved her from dying shifted a foreign part of her that she wasn’t ready to face. The woman grabbed at the bottom of his shirt before crashing her lips once more against his in a fiery kiss.

Locke didn’t fight her when she shoved him back...nor did he resist when she climbed into his lap like she owned the very space between them. His hands slid to her thighs instinctively, and he couldn’t help but squeeze them as he pressed his body upwards against her.

Sable played her little game like always, but her mouth on his told the real story. He caught her lower lip between his teeth in the kiss, slow enough to make her shiver, then pulled back just far enough for her to see the grin curving his mouth.

“Oh no, of course not, love...It never does.”

His voice dropped low, laced with that Irish curl, and Locke’s lips found hers again, hotter...hungrier, as the car’s windows began to fog with the evidence of what neither of them could deny.

There was no more talking.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

@FunnyGuy Tobias is approved as far as I'm concerned