Flora & Fauna Pt. 06

The thump of the sprite flying into my closed window makes me jump. Before letting it in from the cold, I rush a few steps away to lock my bedroom door. One side of my hair hangs down in tight waves, the other side is still trapped up in golden pins. The color makes me think of him and I flinch back from my reflection in the vanity as I head to the window. The red beads of dried blood on my neck, nearly behind my ear, are why I've had to keep it loose and wild since returning a couple days prior. The sprite keeps hitting against the glass as I fight with the remnants of nightly frost to force the window open.

"Sorry, sorry, I know," I whisper when I finally get it open and the circular puff of light darts inside.

It flies past me without a word and pauses beside the fireplace. I apologize again from a distance as it bobs around before the flames. The palm-sized leather satchel hanging from it makes my pulse uneven with expectations. The stone-colored sleeve of a sweater sticks out from under my bed and I kick it back into hiding while I wait for the sprite to acknowledge me.

Sufficiently warmed, the sprite flies back over to me where I stand next to my nightstand. The violet-pink glow is so bright I can barely make out the lithe, alabaster limbs that emerge from the center of it, the rest of the creature's body hidden in the epicenter. My heart stops as it tugs the satchel open and tips it over the nightstand. Coins clatter out onto the wooden surface.

"No recipient for message," the tiny voice recites, "Half-payment returned in accordance with our contract."

"No..." I stumble back a step, the words making my head ring like a physical strike, "recipient?"

"There is only one building fit for centaurs in the central forest. The inside was dark and there was no answer to knocks on the windows or the door. Do you have another address for the message? We're currently having a deal on roundtrip bundles of-"

"No," I interrupt hoarsely, "I don't have any other address for him. Thank you for trying."

The sprite wiggles in the air, as if it is shivering at the thought of going back out into the cold. It's gone by the time I think to offer it a place near the fire for a bit longer. The colorful glow reflects on the white veil draped over a dress form in the corner of my room as it zips by. The sight of it makes my stomach sink. Saliva floods my mouth, warning me that I may soon be sick. Again.

.

A cloud fogs my vision as I let out a tired, solemn sigh.. People on the street are hustling into restaurants and shops to escape the chill in the misleading afternoon sun. I secretly wring my hands inside the fur muff held in front of my dark wool dress.

Another day of snipping at that innocent tailor weighs down on my mood. I've lost count of how many times I've lied. And I'm starting to become numb to feeling bad about it. Each time they reveal another alteration to the wedding dress, I block the sight of it with my hand in disgust and pronounce it to be all wrong. I'm running out of creative ways to describe what I supposedly want and then act like it meant something else days later. I had hoped it would make Claudius stop wanting me. But he keeps paying them. They keep setting fitting appointments. My father keeps expecting me to go to them.

I reach up to feel for the healed bite mark, struggling to find any evidence of it. Any evidence that he has ever touched me. Or that he ever existed. I wish I had stolen that soap.

A comforting puff of warm air ruffles my hair as the door to a cafe opens beside me. I squeeze past the trio of girls that are leaving. One turns back to smile at me, I wave in return without pausing my entry. An acquaintance more than a friend. Someone I've danced and gossiped with a handful of times at otherwise painfully dull, stuffy parties. But I don't need to have this conversation again. I don't want to hear how lucky I am to be marrying Claudius. Or have her grab my hand and gush about the ring shackling my finger. A ring that I would happily force onto someone else's hand, if only someone would take it from me.

Happy voices chat all around me at the small, round tables. The warm smell of tea, coffee, and pastries offers me some reprieve from the cold and my gloomy thoughts. Normally I'd buy my weight in buttery sweets. But normally my stomach doesn't feel full of lead. The lone, stout mug of chamomile tea I order warms my hands as I turn to search for an empty seat.

"Flora."

I flinch so hard a bit of tea splashes out and burns my hand as Claudius approaches me. My breath freezes in my lungs and I slowly retreat until I feel my backside pressed against the curved glass of the display case. The broadness of his muscular form blocks the thin path between the small tables and the entryway. The door that feels a hundred miles away now that he's between me and it.

"I need to talk to you," He says in an uncharacteristically quiet way.

I reach back to set down the tea cup and hear it shatter on the stone floor when I miss. All the chatter stops around us at the sound. His hand shoots out and grips the muff slid up over one forearm as I turn to escape him. The intensity of his blue-grey eyes being focused down at me makes me feel sick with fear.

"Flora, we-"

I bolt the opposite way, leaving the muff in his hand when I straighten my arm. I nearly collide with a waiter as I run behind the counter. The woman at the front calls out that I can't be back here, but I'm already past her. Someone yelps and jumps out of my way as I sprint through the small, cramped kitchen space. The backdoor is unlocked and I slam it open without stopping, coming out in a shadowy alleyway. I look back only long enough to check that he hasn't followed me before pulling the door shut behind myself.

.

"Wrong," I say flatly.

The tailor's hopeful expression deflates. His assistant pulls out a notebook and plucks a pencil from behind her ear, sighing loudly enough that I know she means for me to hear it. The tailor pushes a hand over the top of his head as if he's brushing his hair back, even though he only has hair on the sides. He turns the dress form and gestures to the deep drapery of the silk and the layers of pearls hanging across the empty space.

"I said mother-of-pearl. Not pearl."

"My notes very specifically say pearl," the assistant says in a quiet, cautious voice.

"Hm," I snip out the sound and look down to toy with the ring on my finger, "You must have written wrong."

"Without the pearls filling the empty space," the tailor adds, "I worry it will be a bit more... scandalous than your fiance would prefer."

"Sounds like a him problem," I say without looking up, feeling whatever remains of my acting skills being exhausted beyond function.

"I don't know if we have enough mother-of-pearl to fashion that many beads," the man says in a tired tone, "And I think the cream color would actually look better on your tone-"

"I'll wait." I interrupt.

The tailor and his assistant look at the dress like it's their own personal purgatory. I leave a stack of coins as a lavish tip on the counter as I walk away. But I can already hear them mumbling about me. And I can't even blame them. I feel like such a bitch.

Outside, I embrace the punishing bite of cold that blows across my face. I don't bother digging in my pockets for my gloves, letting the icy wind twist around my hands as well. As I walk through the store lined streets, I carefully scan the sparse crowd to make sure Claudius hasn't returned to Leaven early. The freedom I feel on days he leaves town on business is the only benefit to him insisting that my father inform me of every detail of his schedule.

The silky timbre makes me stop in my tracks. My breaths are short and fast as I turn toward the muffled, recognizable voice. The leathersmith's signage hangs out over the street from the squat building of dark wood. The window only shows me the thick curtain drawn across the glass to block out the cold.

Inside, the two voices echo slightly down the short hallway that leads to another curtain. I take a deep, bracing breath and slowly pull the curtain away. The leathersmith's gravelly voice is reciting prices and wait times for some kind of repair work. I step to the other side of the fabric and freeze with my back against it.

"Oh, I'll be right with you," the old human male says over his shoulder before he goes behind a heavier, dirtier curtain.

The golden fur and long hair bundled up in a leather tie make my heart stop mid-beat.

"Is it you?" I breathe out.

Andrius turns, giving me a glimpse of the withdrawn expression just before his eyes find me and go wide. He glances once more to the front before turning fully to me. Tears blur my vision and prickle my eyes the instant his arms go around my middle. He picks me up and crushes me to his chest. I slide my hands under the layers of his clothing until I can feel the hard muscles of his back under my touch. At the contact, he pulls back just enough to kiss me. I try not to moan around the taste of him that I'd been so afraid I would forget. I pull one hand out from under his clothing to reach up and trace the contours of his face. The point of one ear feels like it twitches under my fingertips and Andrius quickly releases me before facing the front again.

The leathersmith sweeps back into the storefront, still struggling to pull away the strap holding the thick, protective glasses over his eyes. I glance down at Andrius' hands at his sides, watching them clench tight. The gears turn selfishly in my head.

"Oh, Miss Hawthrone, I didn't realize it was you. What can I do for you?" The man pulls a clean cloth from one of the many apron pockets and wipes absent-mindedly at his glasses.

"I wanted an estimate for some mending work actually," I say in the same haughty voice that I've been using on the tailor. The same haughty voice that I am getting very sick of. I can only imagine how sick everyone else is of it.

"Oh?"

I can feel Andrius watching me in his periphery, the heat of his gaze gliding over my face and silhouette like fiery silk. Resisting the urge to look at him twists in my muscles like holding in a tic.

"My fiance has a leather bag he uses for everything, but the straps are becoming worn. I think I'd like to get it repaired for him as a wedding gift," I almost gag on the words and swallow the sound, "It's a very particular shade though. It would have to be a perfect match."

The smith turns around to pull a collection of leather-dye samples from the wall, the straps all together looking like a flogger. I dare a glance at Andrius and see him acting as well. He's turned nearly completely away from me, looking through a hanging display of intricately carved belts. I'm relieved to see that he's good at acting uninterested in me no matter what he's looking at. As if a creature that never wears pants gives a fuck about belts.

"Well, it really depends," the smith explains, "Some dyes are more expensive on my end. Darker colors can require multiple layers. And I couldn't possibly guess at an exact shade. Do any of these look-"

"I could bring it by," I offer with impatience in my tone that I don't need to feign, "Claudius has already sent me a key to his estate on Penrose. And he's away on business until at least supper time tonight."

"Really? Oh, lucky you. That place is beautiful."

I nearly break character and roll my eyes.

"I would only need a few moments to look over the color and work out a dye mixture to match it."

"That will work."

As I turn to leave, I can see the stiffness in Andrius' movements when he turns back to the front counter and continues speaking to the smith.

The world around me feels unreal as I try not to obviously rush through the streets while the last bits of planning snap together in my mind. Blood rushes audibly in my ears as I barely feel my steps on the cobblestones. Like the feeling of falling right before sleep. But suspended in the jolt that thinks it's saving you. Trapped and floating in bewilderment.

.

"Yuck," I say with sneer as I pass through the brassy gates to the pointlessly giant house.

Maybe I wouldn't hate the blue color with the metal adornments if it belonged to someone else. But as it stands, it's the ugliest thing I've ever seen. The front door at the top of the glossy stone steps is so big and heavy that it's a pain to open on my own.

One of Claudius' maids rushes forward and starts trying to pull my cloak off my shoulders before I have the door shut behind me.

"Go home for the day," I say, dropping a heavy cloth bag of groceries necessary for the deception, "And tell the others the same."

"Well, I... but-" she glances behind her and back at me, nervously not finishing any thought.

"I want to prepare dinner for my fiance," I say, head held high and tone agitated, "I don't want anyone in my way in the kitchen. And I don't think Claudius would appreciate my first wedding gift to him being late. Do you?"

Her eyes go wide and she nods quickly, "Oh! Of course, Miss Hawthorne. I'll let the others know."

I wait at the door until she and the several other employees hustle by me in their plain clothes. For a few more minutes, I stay in that spot, listening to the complete silence of the empty house to be certain I'm alone. Taking a deep breath, I turn and kick the bag as hard as I can. Something glass shatters inside and liquid seeps through the fabric. Wine, based on the color. I leave it there and hope it stains the marble floors.

.

The sound of knocking on a door makes me snap to attention. I look curiously at the front door, the opposite direction of the sound. Hearing it again, I run through the silent home. The empty kitchen is chilly and sterile with lack of cooking. I unlock the wide, square service door and step back as Andrius enters from the shadowed alleyway. Seeing him in a house not meant for him gives me a fresh vision of just how massive he is.

"I can't really walk up steps like those ones in the front," he says with a shrug.

I nod pointlessly, so much to say and all of it gone out of my mind.

"I figured the gaudiest house on the street would be his."

A sob breaks out of me and I hide my face in my hands. Andrius' hooves are loud on the tiles as he rushes forward and pulls me into his arms.

"It wouldn't have worked anyway," I sniffle.

"What?"

"I lied to him. I told Claudius we slept together. It didn't change anything. He just made some disgusting crack about me being 'broken in' for him."

His arms close tighter around me, more possessively. I hug my arms around him as he picks me up and walks me out of the kitchen into the warmth of the lounge.

"I'm sorry," he says into my hair as he walks, "I should never have let them take you. I didn't want to. I've been coming out to Leaven and running all these pretend errands to try to run into you. But I never saw you. I was afraid they had moved you away to some other town, and I would never find you."

He sets me down on a divan, I kneel on it so I can keep my arms around his neck.

"I tried to send you a message as soon as I had a moment to slip away. You weren't there."

"I went back to Prophia when they took you away from me. I was there less than a day before I came back," he pauses and pulls away just enough to look at me, "What was the message?"

"It doesn't matter," I tangle one hand in his satin hair and pull his face down to mine.

I can't marry Claudius, I think anew as Andrius kisses me and his hands explore my shape, I can't stomach another male touching me like this. I can't.

"I hate this," Andrius breathes out against my throat, mirroring my own thoughts, "I hate the thought of another male mounting you."

Andrius grips my hair tight and pulls my head back with it while his other hand takes mine. I realize he's looking at the icy platinum and diamond ring on my finger. His brow furrows angrily before his gaze trails up my body to meet mine.

"Tell me you're not going to marry him," he snarls.

"I'm not going to marry him." The proclamation sends a shiver through my body, making goosebumps rise all over my skin and my nipples harden against the heat of him.

His mouth goes the length of my throat, kissing, biting, and marking all my healed skin.

"He can't have me like this," I gasp out, "I won't let him. I've never let him."

Andrius' forelegs kneel on the divan to enmesh his body more with mine. The couch groans under his weight and I feel him pull away. I savagely twist a hand in his hair to keep him with me.

"It's his," I hiss, "Just fucking break it."

His forelegs go back to their position and his mouth locks over mine again. Underneath us, I hear the wooden frame breaking apart. I squeak as the legs on one side snap out from under the divan and it falls to the floor.

"Is this his?" He asks, tugging at the fabric of my dress.

"If I say yes?"

He smirks at me and tears the fabric to shreds. It hits me how much I missed not just his touch, but the sharpened ferocity in his expressions. The way even his most savage fondlings come with an undercurrent of affection and warmth. That warmth is the only thing that can make my body being exposed in this house feel right.

Andrius' mouth returns to mine as he rips the seam on each side of my panties. I raise my hips to let the fabric fall away and push at his own clothes with my hands. The heat of his skin pours into mine when all the barriers between us are finally gone. Between the soft soles of my feet, I feel the shaggy fur of his lower body. A shiver runs through him when he reaches down and strokes his fingertips from my wet sex up to press against my clit. I open my eyes and my breath catches at the sight of his face. His eyes stare back at mine in a distant, dreamy way. The gold of his irises is reduced to a hair thin ring around each completely dilated pupil, making his eyes look obsidian and primal. A growl rumbles in his throat as his eyes flicker over my naked body.

"Get on your hands and knees."

It would put me too low for his body. I don't vocalize the objection as his breath pants out hot against my lips. His eyes keenly follow me as I slip out from under his forelegs and walk a few steps away to a low, sturdy armchair. The skin over his knuckles turns white from the tight clenching of his fists as I move. My pussy throbs impatiently as I position myself and another growl thunders in Andrius' throat as if he senses it.

The front of my thighs press against the arm of the chair as I lean forward and rest my chin on my arms in the seat. My breath catches as I hear Andrius' hooves stepping back and forth, trying to position himself before my raised hips and exposed sex. A tiny frightened sound escapes me as he rears and his forelegs reach forward to hook around my arms. His movements pause even as another intense shudder rolls through his muscular flesh.

"It's okay," I pant out against the cushion, "Do it."

The forelegs release me and have to reach even further. They drape over the opposite arm of the chair, stretching past my head and hanging over the edge. I gasp at the wet, burning heat of his manhood reaching me as he steps forward. The hard, throbbing tip drags up the back of my leg as he adjusts his hips. The sound of breaking fabric calls my attention upward. I look up through the russet waves of my own hair and see one hand gripping the back of the chair. His nails sink deep into the patterned cushion, puncturing the fabric even more. I reach out a hand and stroke affectionately down the length of a foreleg. In the tension of his hand, I see the line he's desperately attempting to walk through the trance. Wanting to surrender to his instincts enough to take me, but wanting to keep enough control to avoid hurting me. I watch his hand relax as my own pets the length of his leg.