You Can't Run From The Dark

{Part 33}

~Dessa~

Dessa had to blink a few times, before she realized what was going on. A clawed hand was laying on the blanket in front of her. The weight of an arm draped over her was so unnervingly comfortable. How many times had she wished that she could sleep in someone's arms, and wake up to the feeling of someone holding her? How many times had she cuddled with a pillow, and pretended that it was someone who didn't want her to sleep alone? 

The Fae man had come back at some point, and had given her just that. She knew that she should be terrified that the very same creature who could slaughter her with ease, was snuggled up behind her like the imaginary boyfriend she had fantasized about. But damn, if it didn't feel so right, she would slip out from underneath his arm. Instead, she turned carefully in the blankets to face him. Of course, he was wide awake, and his hand immediately went to stroke her back through the shirt that belonged to him. He didn't smile, but his mismatched eyes had a softness to them that she had never imagined that she would see. 

"You're back," was all Dessa could whisper, enjoying the warmth of his body heat far too much. 

She felt like she should apologize for questioning his identity, for touching his scar, and causing him to vanish, but how ridiculous was that? Something flashed across his stoic face, and he grimaced, his hand stilling at her waist. His wings of shadow were rippling loftily behind him, and once more, she found herself gazing at them in wonder. As if her attention called to them, they loomed closer, hovering just above their embrace, like they wanted to wrap around her and hold her, too. The Fae man seemed to be struggling to choose his words, but he didn't end up voicing a single one. 

"Am I crazy?" Dessa wondered out loud, her fingertips tentatively grazing the hard muscles of his chest through his shirt as she looked at that familiar-looking scar on his throat. "I thought you were someone that I've met before . . . "

His breath hitched, and his white eye brightened. It was so clear that her caress was something that he enjoyed immensely, yet he was trying hard not to react to it. His hand tightened on her hip, and she felt the faint pressure of his claws digging into the fabric, but it wasn't hard enough to rip through. The sensation of it was a little thrilling, and she realized that she didn't mind if he punctured it again. She was already feeling more at home, wearing his shirt that was riddled with holes, than she did when she used to wear her favorite hoodie. Like the shirt exemplified how this monstrously divine creature owned her, and how he could easily tear her apart with his claws, but instead, he was careful not to. She was insane, that was obvious. Because knowing that made her feel . . .  special. She had never felt like that before. 

"Do you want me to be that man?" 

His question struck an odd chord with her, and her eyes snapped up to judge his expression, but his face was willfully blank. She didn't know how to answer that. 

"Would you rather have him as your mate?" 

As he spoke, Dessa couldn't help but gasp, because his form started shifting like the other Fae creatures had, and she was suddenly seeing him as Zaire, though it wasn't a solid illusion. The real him was underneath, and it was hard to focus on the details of either form as neither took a firm hold. The form that was the Zaire that she had met - his eyes matched, both equally dark, closer to brown than black, his features were less sharp, his skin had more of a golden tan, and his wings were invisible, blinking in and out of her periphery. She looked down at the arm that was wrapped around her, and saw his winding tattoos.