Maybe I just fit into the healing role a little easier than most women. Of course the other women in my pack were raised that way, that we were to hunt when called upon and dance and entertain when it was warranted and see to the wounded when they came back from a fight. It was just a way of life for me. I've never seen anything wrong with it and I certainly don't now. Davante's injuries may be minor but they could be much worse with his temper and way of thinking when it comes to fearful women such as myself so maybe my knowledge could really come in handy some day. I find myself relaxing more and more around him as the time goes by, small conversation between dabs of the rag on his knuckles as I entertain him with stories of the wounds I used to tend to in my pack. He seems amused for the most part, his lips curling upward as I mention the more severe ones I've had to help with. He almost seems excited by the aspect of such a thing and that sends a small shiver down my spine. Who would want such a dangerous life style? Why is it so bad to be plain and safe?

Every time he sighs, I breathe in his fragrance and it's enough of a distraction to make me concentrate just a little bit harder on what I'm doing. I can't forget that he's a man and men are bad, at least in my experience. Sure, there are exceptions, I'm slowly learning, but I don't know enough about him to put him in that category just yet. What if he turns on me as easily as he turned on those men? What if he goes for option when it comes to seeing submission so plainly in another creature? Tobias seems to tolerate me better just knowing that I submit to his power but I know there are people out there who seem to get off on inflicting pain on other people. I remember well the look in Davante's eyes as he glanced back at those men in the bar, the same men who chased us down the street toward Raven's house. He almost seemed eager for the chance to confront them and that scared me. It scares me even now, not just because he did it to protect me but because if he found it so easily then, what would stop him from looking at me the same way if I were to say or do something out of line? I know that I don't know all of society's rules just yet so sometimes I slip up. Is that a risk I'm willing to take with my safety?

When I mention someone waiting on him, he tilts his head as if the comment amuses him, confirming that he does in fact have someone and for some reason, it makes my stomach flip with unease at the thought of someone biding their time until he gets home. Of course, it's none of my business so maybe I shouldn't even have mentioned it. I do wonder briefly if it's the same girl from the party, the witch that I saw him talking to. But just as quickly, I brush the thoughts away, focusing instead as he tells me that the someone will be hungry and then he drops the bomb on me. Cats. He has a cat? My eyes widen at the thought of such a creature.

"You have a cat? I've never seen one before..."

My voice trails off, since that probably sounded pretty lame and I couldn't stop myself in time from uttering it. I duck my head, my gaze sweeping down to the floor once more as my cheeks flare with embarassment at my recent confession. I look up only when I feel his own gaze dragged away, following it to the fire, the very thing of my worst nightmares and yet more mellow in its glow in the hearth. He sighs, a welcome sound that seems to aide in soothing my tense muscles. And just like that, they stiffen once more as he speaks of scars, asking about my own in as gentle a voice as he can. I feel myself draw back a little from him as if the very question wounds me, my eyes blinking cautiously in the firelight as I look down at the fingers splayed across my lap.

"Um...the kind you can't see, I guess. We heal pretty fast."

I say the second sentence almost as an after thought, shrugging my slender shoulders in an offhand way like it's not important. I feel the memories dragging down on me, almost to the point of overwhelming as I think about the things my father did to make this way, the way he walked and hit me, the way he yelleda nd made me pick out my own torture devices. He was a cruel man, something I've always known, but something that's slower to come to me is the fact that I didn't deserve what I got. I did kill my own mother, after all. That warrants punishment, right? That's what he always said and I didn't know better than to believe it. I guess you could say I never did learn better.

alexis wilde