Blood Harmony

Like a crimson tide his lifeblood flowed from his veins, thick and warm, pooling at his feet. The Wind bit at his wounded flesh, a sharp breeze, in constant motion while the surrounding world seemed to standstill. The beat of his heart was dull and hollow, reverberating through the empty corridors of his broken mind, telling him that he survived while long ago he had ceased to live. Through blurred vision he gazed up in silence at the moon feeling the warmth of her soft rays on his face, so aware of the ropes that bound him, tearing into his body more with each move he made to free himself. As a roar in his ears and a constant pull at his body, Cyan felt the moment the sun began to rise, and his long dormant power soared, preparing him for the struggle that lay ahead. Cyan growled deep in his throat, his fangs bared against the steady throbbing of his wounded flesh. Alone he thrashed against his bonds, his screams echoing through the abandoned woods. And then…

Cyan shot upright his pale eyes wide in the darkness of his room, the steady beating of his heart the only sound to pierce the silence. Lately his meditations had been taking him to places he thought he’d forgotten, places he would rather not revisit. He cursed, pushing a trembling hand through his shock of colorless hair. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, bending to pick up the pair of dark blue jeans he’d abandoned the previous night. Cyan pulled the jeans on as he made his way over to the floor to ceiling window gracing one side of his room. He knew what would have come next, he’d seen it. Isladora. She’d rescued him from that torture. For weeks they’d held him, draining him, burning him, breaking him. They had nearly succeeded and then, like a breath of fresh air in a sea of burning bodies, She had come. Isladroa had been his answer. From the moment he’d buried his hands in her hair like fine spun silk he had belonged to her. Even now, even after she had left, had abandoned him, some small part of himself still belonged to her.

Cyan leaned against the cold window and stared out into the wintery night. He was grateful that the city was far away. Here he could think, here there was some semblance of beauty.


Elana paused in the entrance to the dark room, her icy eyes taking in the man before her. He stood, his back to her, his eyes concentrated on the world beyond the picture window. He was beautiful, the rays of the full moon streamed past the sheer drapes, caressing the scars marring the broad expanse of his shoulders. Cyan. The pale one. The tortured. She knew what was on his mind without asking, Isladora had left years ago, but still. His mourning was endless, intense and all consuming. They all saw how it ate at him, how it was destroying him. Cyan didn’t live, he survived.

“ Elana,” Her name flowed from his lips like silk in on a breeze, but he did not turn, his head was lowered, his hand pressed against the glass of the window. Elana hungered to be beneath his gaze, her heart pounded in anticipation of it, her body burned with the need. The desire. Ever since He had found her that night, the feelings she’d had, those feelings had spread like wild fire, blazing burning away any reservations, any inhibitions. She knew only this. Cyan, Cyan and his touch, his scent, this man had become her reason.


“She is not coming back Cyan.” Her voice was harder than she’d anticipated, as she made her way across the black marble floor of his room. She paused a mere arms length from his body, he was clothed in nothing more than a pair of flawlessly fitting dark denim jeans. Heat rolled from his body in waves almost visible, and Elana longed to reach out, to lay her fingers along the muscled contours of that skin, like alabaster, carved by a masters’ knife. “You wait here, why?” She wanted to scream to lash out. Isladora had left, but she , Elana had not. How could he not see her? Elana braced herself as he turned her way, his frame six feet plus towered over her slight form, and she was forced to lift her face to his, suddenly unable to breathe. “She’s not coming,” She muttered the words again, her eyes trained on his, held captive by his gaze, his eyes were like a winter storm, eyes nearly colorless. How long had she loved the warrior? She took a tentative step forward, her slim hand fluttering up to rest against the hard planes of his chest. They stood in the silence that had suddenly become so loud. Volumes spoken in the small touch. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, soft and hard all at once. Her breath caught in her throat when he brought his hand to rest over hers. His eyes were soft as they held hers, and Elana felt that fire in the pit of her stomach flare. “I don't have to tell you, you aren’t alone here Cyan.” She watched as his expression hardened, that perfectly sculpted jaw clenching tightly. She longed to reach up, to push the stray strand of his pale hair back off his high forehead, to press her mouth against his full lips, to taste him, to taste love there.


“I don't want to hurt you Elana,” His voice was hard, his words like daggers seeking her heart and finding their target, bared and vulnerable. He dropped her hand, moving past her and out of the dark room.

Elana moved to the place he’d occupied, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Her breath fogged the smooth surface as she watched the steadily falling flakes of winter coat the ground below.
          When Aidan had come for her so long ago, she'd been so afraid so unsure, she'd felt defeated. Then Cyan. With his softly whispered encouragement, and tender understanding, he'd given her something back. He'd given her a will. Elena closed her eyes to the wintery scene outside. Cyan, The Pale One. Eyes the color of ice, hair so fair it was white. She'd heard her brother mention that it had been black once, a long time ago. Before Isladora...

Elena lifted a shaking hand and pushed it through her dark hair. She'd only known Isladora for a short time, but that was sufficiant to understand that she hadn't been what Cyan needed. She'd had her own agenda all along.