ALTHOUGH mortal desires and needs were not something that came to him, he found himself wrapping her up in his arms, in curling up beside her and pulling her in against his chest. It took him a few moments to wrap them both up in the sparse blankets, to be sure to keep all the heat that radiated off of her like the sun under wraps. If she had a fever, she needed to stay warm. That much he knew.
Only when they were settled, snug together, did he move to cradle her cheek, looking down into her eyes. As she moved to kiss him, he leaned in partway to return it with tenderness, with care. She was in his charge now, his beloved lost soul he would protect for an eternity if he must. “Oh, but thou are an angel to me,” he breathed out in the silence. “My angel. Thou taught me something no one else could… What it is to feel love.”
Thank god for Ambrose’s hand he let her hold onto — all those five fingers that were so long and thick and
perfect to squeeze for comfort. Had he not sworn to stay, Sally would
have cut them right off just so she could keep them… for no one else
but herself. “And how does is feel, baby?” A soft peck to each of
his knuckles was given in between words, the woman’s ice cold feet
cozying up to his leg beneath their set of heavy blankets. Although they
smelled like centuries old, which ( given the history of the place she now referred to as home ) they probably were, Sally’s light perfume still lingered around them. Like a dangerous curse hanging right above his head.
“Does it feel good, having me so close… knowing you’ve got me and I’m yours alone?” Her cheek pushed against the gentleness of his touch, slightly flushed now that his body and clothes were doing one hell of a wonderful job at keeping her warm. More than heroin ever could — the cold stroke of a syringe probing at her abused skin.