not safe.

witch

Rafael steps out into darkness. Strides through the narrow hall that comprises the entrance to the witch's hut, opens the wooden door to the village lit by sunrise, and steps through, taking his shadow,

which vanishes.

Where he is, it is dark. There is no smell of goat manure or the oxygenated richness of air that comes from grass and trees and gardens. His chest is bare. Something soft on his legs, softer than anything he was just wearing, and looser. It's pitch black where he is, but the ground under his feet is soft. A tad ticklish on his bare soles: carpet. More to the point, familiar carpeting: he walks over this spot nearly every day.

A drop of water separates itself from his bathroom faucet and plops to the bottom of his sink. His eyes, which surely should have adjusted when he got up from his bed to take a piss, take several seconds to find their way. The scant bit of moonlight coming in through the window, the reflection off of a slender, winter-pale arm.

Can't smell her, but as his eyes begin to see through the dark, Rafael can make out Devon's shape. Devon's shoulder. Devon's dark hair, silken-straight around her narrow face. Devon herself, lying in his bed, propped up a little on her elbows. It comes to him: she was not there when he went to bed. When did he go to bed? What day is it? He can see moonlight but not the moon itself, or its phase: Devon is watching him and Devon has not been in his bed for...

...when was the last time she was in his bed?

She's there now, though. He gave her back her key to the house, because she's his girlfriend. She lives downtown, really not that far away, with her red-haired roommate and her exposed brick walls and stainless steel appliances, and she has a key to his place and he keeps a toothbrush and a change of clothes in her bedroom there for when he stays over. Normal. More or less.

She wasn't there when he went to bed, but now she is. She's lying there in that little grey, pink-edged nightgown, already under his covers. Snuck in. While he was in the bathroom.

Or in medieval Europe.

wolfman

Wolf doesn't know where he is.

Wolf doesn't know when he is. Or why, or how, or -- how much of that a dream. How much a hallucination, brought on by girl's herbs perhaps. Magic.

Stands there in the archway between the en-suite and the bedroom proper. Wears his lounge pants and his bare skin; his brutal bones, his thick muscles. What a beast he is, his very body a traitor to that refinement in his blood. Somewhere in there, anyway. Muddied and muddled.

Stares at her. Nostrils flare, chin lifts, eyes narrow: trying to catch her scent. Just not there. Girl's there, that black hair, those shocking eyes. That narrow, fine body that he wants so much sometimes he has to stop himself, check himself, keep himself from ravaging her like a wild thing. All of a sudden he's moving, coming forward, bare feet soft on thick carpeting. Comes around to the side of the bed.

Her side of the bed. Throws the covers back, baring her to the night; covers her with his body in another instant. Climbs over her and wraps her in his thick arms and presses his face to her chest, the center of her breastbone; his nose rumpling that cute little nightgown. Buries his face there with a low, rumbling sound.

witch

He moves so quickly. Devon almost flinches, but not quite. The speed he takes towards her makes her think he knows just why she's here, and he wants her back. Her breath shoots into her lungs from a quick inhale and she slides down the bed a bit, but then he's flipping back the covers and climbing onto her

and she nearly loses her mind. The edge of her nightgown has ridden up. She's here, in his bed, in her nightgown, because she can't get enough of him. She thought maybe he wouldn't mind if she showed up like this, naked under that thin scrap of cotton. He doesn't seem to mind at all.

And yet: he doesn't kiss her. He doesn't suckle at her tits through her nightgown, or yank it up so he can paw at her. He just... envelopes her. Hides against her chest, making that sound she barely understands and can't entirely interpret. Her hands come to rest on his shoulders, upper arms. One smooths upward, touches his hair.

"Rafa?" she asks, with a thread of concern woven through her voice.

wolfman

Wolf sees that flash of quicksilver lust in her eyes. Or maybe he smells it. Smells it even though she doesn't smell like anything. Smells it even though she's never had a scent.

Still he goes to her, whips the covers back, climbs over her and wraps her up. Doesn't pin her down. Doesn't flip her over. Doesn't tear her clothes off and fuck her even though she looks like she might not mind that so much; even though he might not mind that so much either. Still he presses his face against her chest, the thin walls of her body, the beating heart beneath. He feels it slow a little, marginally, as her hands touch him. Carve him out of darkness.

She says his name. He rubs his face against her breastbone, murmuring wordlessly. She touches his hair and he closes his eyes. Says nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

And then something:

"You're here."

witch

Devon doesn't trace her fingers through his hair. She touches him lightly there, and then cups her hand gently over the crown of his head. She's a little weirded out. Her breathing is steady, though, even if her heart skipped a beat a moment ago. He's not turned on. He's anxious. She can read that much, even in the way he's rubbing his face against her, holding her. She's so rarely seen him anxious. It's unsettling.

"Yeah," she says, to the weird thing he says. Her brow furrows. "Is that all right?"

wolfman

Wolf pushes up on his forearms - heavy eyebrows knit together. "Of course." It's soft. So little about him is soft, but his voice is right now. The words. That kiss too, when he leans down and rests his lips against hers for a moment.

Rolls aside, then. Wraps her in his arms, pulls her against his chest. Takes a breath; lets it out.

"Something strange is happening to me," he says, low. "Don't really understand it, but I think I'm ... going into a past life or something."

witch

Of course she kisses him back. Softly, with a touch of that ache that speaks of what originally brought her here. But her eyes are opening when he lifts up again, and she's watching him, wary. He's never been like this that she can remember. Conflicted. Or even... soft. Not unless she asks him to be, she thinks.

Is now. He wraps her up and turns in his bed, holding her. Devon goes with him, frowning a little, lost. Tucks her bare feet under the covers and close to his calves; she didn't wear her socks to bed, because she knows. He likes her naked. Utterly and completely naked. He wants to keep her warm. Something. Or maybe he's just weird about feet. She really doesn't know.

He speaks.

Devon blinks, slowly.

"...What?"

wolfman

Wolf grimaces. It's a physical thing: a twist of mouth, a tightening of shoulders, arm. "Know how that sounds," he says; hint of defensiveness maybe. "But it was real. Was in a different place. Different time. Medieval. Was myself, but not. Had different memories crowded in with my own, like I was two people at once. Or ... two versions of myself.

"You were there too. Someone that looked like you, anyway. Another witch, older than you and more powerful."

witch

Devon shakes her head. She's got her brow furrowed; she's confused. "Wait... when? When were you gone? I heard you go into the bathroom when I came in. You were here."

She pushes up on her elbow a little, but doesn't reach for the bedside light. She stays close to him. He can see all the wrinkles in her forehead. "Is this something that happens? To werewolves?"

wolfman

Doesn't try to hold her when she rises up. Just watches her, making her out of the darkness. Shine of her eyes. All the crinkles in her brow, which stir some errant fond humor in him. He rubs his thumb over her brow, corner of his mouth edging up just a little.

Exhales, then. Shakes his head. "Don't know. If it is it's never happened to me before. But always been told our spirits get reborn over and over. Same spirit, different lives. Think I was just ... in one of those lives.

"You saw me though, a minute ago? What was I doing?"

witch

Her arm is over his middle. Her leg is gently over his thigh. She's close. She's propped up but she stays near, giving him a weirdo look when he tries to rub her frown off. She hangs on to it, wriggling her head away like a cat, looking at him again.

"Didn't see you," she says. "Just heard you, moving around." Smirks a little, sidelong. "Wanted to sneak in. Surprise you."

Her hand reaches out, and fingertips stroke his hair a little. Smiles at him, fondly, even though her brow never quite unwrinkles from it's concern. Or wariness.

"What was going on?"

wolfman

Wolf gets the point. Stops trying to smooth her frown out. Settles that hand on her back. Girl's naked in his bed, he thinks. Wanted to surprise him, and here he is talking about his fever dream or some such shit.

"Was a knight," he says. "And a Silver Fang Ahroun, just like now. Was watching over some sacred rite. Got interrupted by someone or something. There was another Fang. Outranked me. Blamed it on the Fianna. On you. The other you.

"I was trying to protect her. You. Whoever that was." Wolf grimaces again. "I have to go back, but I don't know how."

witch

Nearly. Nearly naked. Little slip of a nightgown, all soft. Not like it makes a difference; fabric is so thin he can see where her nipples are. Probably came over in a coak and those knock-off Uggs and slipped upstairs before her feet got cold to surprise him, romping around in his bed. Good times.

She tips her head as he talks. He was a knight. Sacred rite. Fianna. Her. He grimaces, and she winces, coming down beside him on the bed again.

"Did you do anything to get there in the first place?"

wolfman

"No. Was watching TV. Maybe I fell asleep. Must've been hours ago though, and when I came ... back, I was in the bathroom washing my hands." Wolf's disturbed by the thought: "Guess my body was just... sleepwalking in between."

witch

Devon shrugs. "Maybe don't have to do anything to get back, then," she suggests.

Her fingertips go on stroking his hair.

"Want me to stay? Or should I go?"

wolfman

Wolf frowns. "Course I want you to stay." His turn to rise up, then. Levers up on an elbow, looks at her. "You believe me? About this whole past life thing?"

witch

As he rises, she descends. Lays herself down on the pillows, looking up at him. Her hand falls away from his hair, but gently.

She shrugs. "Don't know," she admits, as honestly as she can. "Could have been a dream." Thinks a moment, before adding: "Meant: is it safe for me to stay, do you think?"

wolfman

"Didn't feel like a dream." He's adamant on that point. "Everything was too linear. One thing to the next. It all connected, all made sense. It was real. Need you to believe me."

Beat.

"Need you... want you to stay, too. Don't know if it's safe." He's honest too, nakedly so. "But need to know what happens to me when I'm not here. And maybe need someone to watch me. Make sure I don't do anything dangerous.

"Rather it be you. But if you can't, I'll go to the Sept. Find a Guardian." Wolf's teeth catch his lip briefly, release. "Wouldn't blame you, if you didn't want to."

witch

It was real.

Need you to believe me.

Her heart breaks a little. Her brow re-furrows, all the plow-lines run deeper suddenly. He's never used the word 'need' in relation to her that she can think of. He uses it twice now. It makes her distinctly uncomfortable and a little afraid. She takes a breath, and she winces a little.

Moves closer to him, and puts her brow to his brow.

"I've heard of frenzies, Rafa," she says softly. Is quiet for a while after that. She can't tell him she believes him utterly: it sounds so far-fetched. It sounds like a dream. And she wants to tell him she believes him one hundred percent but... it would be a lie, now. Doesn't tell him to forget about it or that it was all a dream, let it go, but... she can't tell him she believes him. Not right now. "Don't want to..."

Well, we know how that sentence ends. She doesn't want to die here. She doesn't want to get ripped apart. Doesn't want to think about screaming for help that can't possibly get to her in time while he kills her, lost in some hallucination or dream or past life where she is someone else who might well be a threat to him. Or an enemy.

Devon looks sad, her eyes tightly closed. "I don't think I should stay."

wolfman

Of course it hurts.

Of course he doesn't want her to go.

Wolf isn't so selfish as to not see sense, though. Sees it immediately when she says that word: frenzy. Sees it in terrible, vivid detail, an impression of violence, blood on the walls, torn flesh, staring dead eyes. Wolf shudders; shakes it off.

Puts his hand behind her head. Kisses her, full and deep. Wraps his arms around her when it's done and hugs her, holds her tight.

Lets her go. "Okay," he says. "Go. I'll call you when I think it's over. Don't worry about me."

witch

Devon has never seen a wolf in frenzy. She's heard about it. She's been warned. She's seen the look in the eyes of a wolf who wants her dead, who doesn't like her, who thinks she must be something wicked. She's been educated on how quickly she can die. She's felt the panic of running up stairs and being chased, she's thrown up on herself like any prey animal would, trying to make itself less appealing to a predator.

All she does is mention the word, the reminder of just how unsafe she can be when he isn't in his right mind, and Rafael knows. He knows what he could do to her. What would be left. Devon watches him shudder and snaps a little inside: her eyes hurt, and her chest hurts, and she wraps herself close to him while he's here, pressing her face to his chest.

He touches her, brings her back, lowers his mouth, kisses her.

This is not expected. She breathes in a little, startled, and then relaxes, relenting, opening her mouth to his. She exhales softly through her nostrils as he kisses her, deeply and wholly, and falls a little bit asleep in his arms with it. Opens her eyes very slowly when he draws back, only to find herself being cradled tight and close to him once more.

To what he says, she just huffs a laugh. Nearly snorts it.

wolfman

"What?" Wolf's almost a little affronted. "Mean it. I'll call you when it's over."

witch

Just squeezes him. "Rafa," she sighs.

Says nothing, for a moment, because it's weird, and dumb, and uncomfortable for her. But holds him, tightly. "Can't help but worry."

wolfman

Quick as it came that pique dissipates. Exhales with his next breath. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulls her just as tight as she holds him. Wraps his other hand around the back of her head, over her hair. Kisses her temple, a hot press of his lips.

"I know." And an admission: "Me too. About you. But I'll call you, soon as I can. I'll come find you when it's safe."

Takes a breath, then.

"You should go."

witch

He's so dumb and grumpy, she thinks. Fondly. She cuddles close to him, tight with concern, while he kisses her. His me too. about you. sounds like how he would handle most expressions of emotion: love, concern, even 'like'. She still thinks it's funny that he thought she was snorting at him calling her, and not don't worry. Like she could stop.

He might be losing his mind. He might be like all the wolves she's ever heard of from his tribe. But she doesn't say those things now. She just holds him, and rubs her face against his chest, sniffing once.

"All right," she says.

But she doesn't go. Not yet. She holds onto him for some time after that, just to feel him holding her. Went weeks without him, didn't she? Waited a whole few days after their reconciliation before she snuck into his bed. And now... she has to go away again. Feels like karma. Feels unfair.

She loves him so much.

Tells him as much, softly, hiding it like a secret in his ear when she hugs him downstairs. She's got her coat on again. Her dumb boots. About to climb into a car to go back to that downtown loft with Naomi. But she says that: mutters that she loves him so much like it hurts her, which is the only way she seems like she can say it right now. Love's a bit of a headfuck, to tell the truth. No wonder they've both avoided it so carefully.

But she goes, eventually. Gets into that car and is taken away from him again,

watching him through the car window until he closes the front door of his house, shrouds himself in darkness,

and finds himself slipping once more

backwards through time.