Brennan ran his hand through the messy now wet mahogany locks of his hair, exerting a sigh. "I don't even know myself anymore, I only know very few things and you are one of them." It sounded harsher than it had vulnerable, all those years have been cruel to him, assaulting him physically and mentally. He was a bleeding and drowning man all at once in this very moment. Serafina was so familiar to him, how she looked, how she smelled was all how he remembered her. She simply felt natural. He wondered if she still tasted the same. He peered into those stormy grey eyes and for a moment he is unabashed to be soaking her in even as she remains irate with him, the anger practically steaming off of her in the cool rain.

That look in her eyes and the incredulousness in her voice only served to make her look more appealing. Was that possible? He liked to get a rise out of her, to tempt the fury in those eyes, much like coaxing a vicious storm. He wants to see her fire for him, her passion in a way that should have surprised him and yet didn't. Yet he is fighting this war with his own mind that the man might as well have been wild and rampant as a wolf running free with its pack in the forest.

He was born in the fire, dancing in it longer than he could even remember. Even before the shit hit the fan he was doused in the flames he was forged within and tragedy that eroded his very being had already sealed his wayward fate. His whole life had been spent getting revenge and wading shoulder deep in trouble. The drink, the women, the countless near death experiences. The most peace the man had known was with Serafina, the witch that lead him out of the tumultuous waters of his life. He could let go of a past worth letting go. Just as things were going as they should, as the fates designed it, he was cast out from this world. It nearly destroyed him, it truth, it was arguable if it actually did.

He could not hold back the vulnerability in his statement even if he tried. He could see that harshness in her face melt as a sigh brushed her full lips. "Truthfully, I don't even know. It was somewhere far away and foreign to me. I could not even reach you no matter how I tried." Another dimension filled with satanic creatures and demons didn't quite roll off the tongue. But there was time to get there.

He ignores the reluctance within her for the simple fact that he could not accept her rejection, not when she was the reason for his breaking point, to risk it all. He remains steadfast until Sera finally gave into him, nodding to his terms. A mini-victory etched in the charred remains of his life. He would take it almost greedily.

The warlock remained close to her so that they touched at times, as though he sought the protection from the umbrella's shield. But that was most certainly not the case, he craved being close to her. He had suffered far more cold than this. Even as his skin grew cool to the touch and his wet flesh crawled with goose bumps.

There wasn't a natural beginning to the story as he sets up the tale with something fearful like demons. As though that alone would explain everything, the man remained careful despite that nagging feeling as though the shadowy demonic force could watch and hear all he was saying. How could he make sense of something that was nonsensical? He began to massage that mark on his wrist with his thumb roughly, as though he could rub that mark away from that battle worn skin. "In order to return to Sacrosanct, I made a deal with a demon. I owe him a favour that he can call on whenever he likes and ask whatever he wants of me." His voice sounded dead and deflated. The deal itself sounded almost innocent and simple, but a demon always ensures they get the better end of the deal, every single time without fail. They had a way to weave and twist their words that it was never a mere favour but a life of servitude or to ask for something that was too steep of a price. A desperate man will do desperate things.

The warlock now mentions her mentor and she hardly seemed flabbergasted at her mentor's hand in his hell. Yet somehow she understands enough, impressively so as she attempts to connect the dots of his disjointed story. This was harder to formulate and explain, more than he ever thought was possible. He explains that he wishes to seek his vengeance. Yet even within his nonsensical splendour she still tries to draw clarity from his words he would not be able to convey otherwise.

Serafina's words strike him hard, as though she punched him right in the ribs."Why is killing him not possible, Sera?" His eyes narrow, his expression dangerous and predatory, clearly displeased with this knowledge, unwilling to accept this notion. "I want to do a lot more than yell at the man who destroyed my life. He messed with you and he has to suffer for all he has done." His jaw clenched as a deep frown etched deeply into his features. That constant urge for revenge for those that had wronged him had probably done more harm to the man than good. Yet he could not simply let sleeping dogs lie.

Drawing in a deep breath that fills his lungs, he tried to find the best way to continue, his mind was too riddled with all that has happened. He swore that shadows still moved as if they were poised to attack, all that real paranoia-rich within his world was not a good burden for such a lethal man to possess. He uttered that defenceless admittance and he hopes she could understand, if only in slight. He truly did not know where to begin and there is an internal struggle that is suffocating as though it choked him. Oddly, her response was comforting to him. Perhaps he hadn't lost her entirely yet.

"Okay, once we are inside." Was all he said as they neared her home, shrugging slightly his shirt restraining as it clung sopping wet to his body stiffly binding his movements. They arrived at her home, the moments climbing the steps to her home and entering it seemed like a blur. She mentioned something about getting dried off and an eyebrow quirked skyward. Even he knew what the meant, yet the scoundrel didn't dare to utter a word. Keeping his up to no good thoughts to himself for now.

Within the entrance of that home, a roguish smirk spread across the Irishman's features at her mentioning of stripping. "All you had to do was ask love." His mind was suddenly distracted from his woeful tale and fixated with the thought of her naked body. Stripping for the sake of being dry was just a small technicality that he would happily ignore for now. Immediately, he removed his boots and peeled off that shirt from his body exposing that mark on his inner wrist. His chiselled body exposed, including a variety of new scars and marks that were still healing. It was like they defaced that strong and muscled body. Next, he unzipped his pants, shedding those sopping jeans from his form with effort. His socks came next as he stood in only a pair of boxers, almost considering taking those off too. He peers at her with a mischievous look upon his features, his eyes glitter with that iconic unruly gleam. "You know I could help you with that shirt, it looks like it could be a little difficult to come off." That suggestive lilt clung to those words which were made to entice her. Those lyrics may have sounded innocent at face value, but his intentions were not.

He would be happy to forget about his story for now, all too content to give into the innate impulses and cravings that seemingly took hold over him.

Brennan O'Connell