*From Paradox (formally titles Evermore). All works belong to me and are copyrighted.*
“You said you would tell me everything.” I insisted, still watching him closely.
“No, I said I would tell you everything you needed to know.” He patted my arm like a parent pats a child on the head when their good. “Now why don’t you go back to bed, princess, before you get too tired.”
So I very calmly punched him in the face. His eyes widened in shock as his hands went to his nose. It wasn’t broken—not that you could tell from the way he was moaning about it—but I had no doubt it hurt like hell. Two years of karate do come in handy.
*
My bag was too full, per usual, but I had no problem finding the giant flashlight I had packed away earlier that day. It was one of those high powered ones that could shine all the way to the moon or something.
I cranked it on and shined it around, earning a grumble/shout combination that could only come from a man. I moved the flashlight to just below his face, so there isn’t a spotlight on his lower parts. But his arms, however, were on full display in his white v-neck shirt.
That is so not the point, My mind reminded me. Yet my mind had no control over the fluttering of my heart. “Was that too bright?”
“No, I like it when my eyeballs bleed.” He remarked sarcastically, continuing down the tunnel without looking back.
Fine with me. Surely some higher power had been thinking of Jude’s butt when they had designed denim.
*
He stared down at me, one eyebrow rising. “Is that a nail file?”
“It’s the only thing I have.” I held it up, showing him the sharp edges, yet he continued to chuckle behind his hand. “How about I stab you with it and then you complain about my choice in weapons?”
*
So my blood was super special. People, human and paranormal alike, desperately crave power, which makes the means of attaining it—me in that situation—the target of many.
And about this Lucian fellow. I had half a mind—correction: I had a full mind—to beat his beautiful face in with a shovel. No, a cinder block. No... Something bigger…ah hah, Australia. I'd beat his face in with a country and continent.
So I'm working on a new story (*sigh* Again?) and I have a serious problem.
I'm very sad about it, but I have to kill off a character (either the mom or the dad), but I've kind of fallen in love with my perfect family. :(
So would you do me a favour and decide which parent I should kill off? *sob* (Oh, and please try to ignore how many of the names/pictures are based off Supernatural lol.)
No posts since tuesday?
What has the world come to?
In other news though, my exams are DONE! D-O-N-E! :')
Just saying.
I have a four day weekend now; maybe I should try to, finally,get some writing done, hmm?
So I don't know if any of you know this, but I love writing poems. I write one pretty much every single day. It's sort of my way of venting out and getting out all the feelings that I bundle up inside. Soooo I'm thinking about putting some of them on WOP. Not like I'll ever get them published, but it might be nice to post some of them up? I mean, why not right? Hahaha.
Well anyways, I feel like posting one of my poems on here. So I guess I'll do that..
“How far to where Arthur is?” I asked quietly, already freezing cold. The hallways were vacant, so my voice seemed to be everywhere all at once.
Lancelot frowned, checking his sword yet again to avoid making direct eye contact with me. “About three hours.”
My eyebrows rose as we passed throughdoor to the courtyard. There were a few guards on the other side, so I spoke in a hushed voice. “Are we walking the entire way?”
He sighed and—I couldn’t quite tell in the darkness, but I was pretty sure—rolled his eyes. “No. We’re going to ride.”
I thought about that for a moment as we rounded a corner. There was a stable on the other end of the trail, but knights were stationed all around it, protecting the horses. “Jeez. I never knew horses were so important. I mean, come on, they’re just—”
He clamped a hand over my mouth, his eyes reminding me of the North Atlantic: cold, fathomless, and cold as glaciers. “Be quiet!” He hissed, his grip tightening.
So I did the mature thing and licked his hand.
He looked down at me in disgust, his face twisting up as he stared down at his hand. “You little…! That’s just…ugh.”
“Well, don’t try to suffocate me!” I snapped, staring over at the stable again. “It looks nearly impossible to get in.”
He glared at the knights, as if this entire thing was their fault. Lancelot’s hands balled into fists as his gaze swept from me to the barn. “Well then, I guess we will be walking the entire way!”
His tone wasn’t very nice. “Fine!” We ducked behind the wall when a guard turned toward us, alerted by my outburst. When we dared to rise enough so our eyes could see over the ledge, he was look away.
Lancelot motioned for me to stay crouched down as we crossed the courtyard. It was kind of hard to do, considering I was in a flowing dress that was quite possibly made of silk. And the fact that the shoes I wore weren’t exactly comfortable for crouching in.
But we crossed none-the-less. And when we got to the other side of the courtyard and after Lancelot alerted the guards of a commotion near the stable, we made it through the gate and on a trail.
I rubbed my arms which, even though they were covered with sleeves, were still growing cold. “How far until the forest?”
“Past the village.”Lancelot’s eyes flocked to me, but didn’t stay on my face for more than a second. He reached up to his neck and undid the ties of his cloak, handing it to me.
And who said chivalry was dead? Then again, I was breathing medieval air…“How far the village?”
He focused straight ahead. “Just past the gate and over the hill.”
I felt instantly better once the cloak was tied and I wrapped it around my small body. The bright red cape was already warm from his body heat. It smelled like him, too: that tangy, metallic smell that was nothing like Arthur’s but somehow just as pleasing…if not more so. “How far to the hill?”
“Must you ask so many questions?” He finally turned to me, his eyes cold as ice, yet burning like fire all at once.
I took a step back, not even meaning to. It was just…those eyes. Those gorgeous, blue eyes that looked like black fire in the darkness…
I quickly regained myself and gave him a glare. “Fine! I’ll just stop talking.”
“Fine.” I could practically hear the eye roll in his voice as he began to stomp away down the path.
I had a hard time matching his steps because they were so long. He was taller than Arthur, whom I could walk comfortably next to, by a good half foot, if not more. “Fine.”
He huffed, “Good.”
“Good.” I snapped, pulling the cloak tighter around me as he sped up.
Only to stop so suddenly I almost collided with his chest. “Must you always have the last word?”
I tried desperately to keep my mouth shut and just ignore him, but his demeaning look and my nature forced me. “No.”
He went back to sulking and marching down the trail. An awkward silence filled the air, only interrupted by the sounds of an owl or twigs snapping under or feet.
I wasn’t exactly used to zero light. I mean, I would have brought a flashlight or something, but I doubted there was one lying in a nightstand back at the castle. After stumbling a few times and muttering curses, I was so sick of the darkness and silence that all I could think was, Arthur needs you.
“Well, we can’t walk the entire way in silence.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to say anything!” I glared over at him disbelievingly, realizing as I had been walking we were slowly both drifting toward the middle of the path.
“Would you just…just do what I say?” He barked, throwing his hands in the air and making his chainmail rattle.
I sighed angrily and glowered in his general direction. “You know what? I’m about sick of your crap.”
“My what?” He sounded genuinely taken aback.
“Your chauvinist crap.” I said, enunciating every word like I was talking to a kindergartner. Honestly, it kind of felt that way. I was really at the end of my rope.
“Beg pardon?” Lancelot stared at me, coming to a halt. He towered over me a bit, but enough to make me feel defensive.
I pushed against him, but he stayed rooted in place. “You heard me. You think women can’t do anything, can you?”
He stared at me, confused, looking back and forth between my futile attempts to push him. “Might I suggest you recall the last time we had this conversation—”
“No you may not suggest I recall the last time we had this conversation.” I snapped, mocking him. God, you’d think people would start taking a hint on the whole ‘I don’t remember anything’ faze. “Look, I get the whole medieval thing and women were treated differently and knights and blahtity blah, but come on. I mean, there were plenty of cases where men were the pawns and not women. And besides that—”
And then he kissed me.
Grabbed me by the forearms, pulled me toward him, and kissed me.
There was so much passion behind it that I couldn’t move for a second. Maybe it was shock or something, but it took a moment for me to close my eyes. My fingertips found his shoulders as I grasped for something to hold onto as my entire body turned to mush.
And then I was trying to get nearer to him, pushing myself closer until my body was pressed against his so tightly we might as well have been one person. He responded with ferocity, his hands sliding up to grasp my shoulders and pull me to him, his lips moving with mine so perfectly it was like they were two matching puzzle pieces.
Every inch of my body screamed for him, my heart racing faster and faster and the kiss lengthened. I wrapped my arms around my neck as his slid under the cloak to slide around my waist.
Suddenly, the cool night air felt like a hot August day. It was sticky and thick with humidity, making the cloak feel much too warm and the dress stick to my body. My eyes shot open and my lips stopped moving.
I untangled myself from Lancelot and backed up far enough to stare up at him. “What’d you do that for?” I had wanted to sound accusing, but instead I sounded breathless.
“Don’t you remember the last time we spoke of such things?” He took another step toward me, reaching out with his hand and running the tips of his fingers along my cheek.
“Whoa, buddy!” I almost gave in to the tingly sensation, but I gathered the very little bits that knew we should be looking for Arthur and swatted his hand away. “Obviously not! I already told you that! Look, we’ve got to find Arthur before it’s too late.”
He mumbled something that sounded like precious Arthur, but stomped on his oh-so-merry way up the trail. As I followed him through the village and over the hill my brain told me over and over again was how much I truly disliked him.
Yet the other, much meaner part of me, namely my racing heart, told me I wanted him to kiss me like that again.
