DO ALL RIDICULOUSLY TALL MEN LIKE TO HEAR THEMSELVES TALK? Kagura ignores him for the most part, taking advantage of the time given to remove her boots and shirt, tossing them somewhere in the fog. She’s left in a lace bra and leather leggings, not much room to move and certainly not enough support, but she needs to feel the water droplets on her skin, snaking around her arms, torso, and legs.
Jade eyes shift raging blue, and the fog gathers at her back, revealing her position. She stands several meters away, raven hair billowing, and with a mental command, the fog changes states. A restless tidal wave crashes against an invisible wall at her back, depicting suppressed fury, screaming for release. The only hesitation comes from being recognized. No one has spoken of her nature in centuries, and the wave weakens as her composure breaks.
If she can’t focus, she can’t fight. Whether it’s a mob of human men slaughtering her coven mates and chasing her for weeks through the forest or her husband’s comrades driving her from his village. Nothing good comes from discovering her identity. And after so many years of silence, of never meeting another of her kind, how does this one know? It’s unlikely that someone else told him. Is he ancient, then? Can she even beat him? Or will she be forced to run away from yet another man?
No. Anyone who knows must die. It doesn’t matter how powerful they are. The wave regains its strength and her eyes redden as steam rises in the air. She pushes the water’s temperature beyond boiling, until a lone droplet promises to burn through skin and muscle.
“ You get one chance. How do you know what I am? ”
He doesn’t so much as blush at the sight of a woman half disrobing in front of him, all too focused trying to gauge her power level and determining if it was even worth fighting her or more optimal to retreat. Clearly something had triggered her ire and earned her animosity, but he genuinely cannot fathom what he could’ve done to deserve it. Was his existence as a non-mortal reason enough? It’s only natural that those of the supernatural/nonhuman can detect one another, but he always let them be or sought out an alliance.
He has no desire to fight her, but if she insists on emitting such a menacing aura, he may have no choice. Despite his strong inclination and preference to throw fists and unload several rounds first, he isn’t trying to disrupt the life of another being masquerading themselves among humans, especially since that’s what he’s trying to do.
A tilt of the head followed with a quirk of the brow at the harshness of her reaction. Was he not supposed to know? Arms fold across his broad chest, observing her powers with quiet fascination, catching how it faltered when he declared the name of her kind.
“You’re in our textbooks from the time I’m from. I’m not from this era. I’m from well into the future, and I’m here in this specific year because …”
No. It would be unwise to tell her that he was being chased for going against his fellow council by acting on his own, denouncing their uncompromising and absolute methods of preserving the forces of time. How was he supposed to know she wasn’t working alongside them? If they had an arrangement that he wasn’t privy to? If he willed it, he could look into her precise vitals, her memories, what she’s done, if she would die… but he chooses to learn nothing beyond what she was in favor of respecting their privacy.
And she’s making it difficult to continue doing so.
Kill this person, they were supposed to die. It matters not if they’re young or or destined to contribute greatly to mankind.
Keep this person alive. It doesn’t matter if they’re a criminal and a blight on society. They’re meant to be alive. We are impartial. Compartmentalize or be taken out.
His defection had put a target on his back. And he had little reason to trust she wasn’t with them. “I have no business with you. I don’t care what you are or what you’re doing. Either let me be on my way, or I’ll make you. If you’re working with them, tell them I don’t regret a damn thing.”
The ocean’s tempest that raged behind her person answered his question. The vapor that emanates from it disclosed her deepened incense, and his cerulean eyes return to its natural red, and his long, soot black hair turns to its true white color. Turning his back to her, he lowers himself to a sprinter’s starting stance, mirroring that of a tiger stooping down as though readying to pounce, and he launches himself off, leaving behind vibrant streak of red lightning behind him.
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