There had been a time when he was akin to the rain. Grey and steady and predictable. He'd been drawn to Twinge because she had been his complete opposite - a creature of fire and rampant emotion with skin the smell and color of rich spices and burning eyes that commanded attention. He had worshipped her against his better judgement (he did still). He had been caught up in the feminine spell of her ferocity. He couldn't place the exact time he had become the thing he loved. The time when the rain had burned away with the constant rage and the grey consistancy had been overtaken by a cracked shell that harnessed the new inner fire only half the time. He only knew that it had. And the rain had become a bittersweet stranger.

Until this woman had come. She seemed drawn to him in the same fashion - steady water that loves fire though it goes against nature. She was irritatingly patient and was surrounded by a sense of serenity wherever she went - a fact Joel found frustrating. But whatever she was searching for, she would not find it with him. He was damaged goods as far as any sensable relationships went, romantic or platonic. There was an impregnitable wooden door there, one he had built himself (and all of Shaman knew better then to try to test the strength of Joel's craftsmenship) and it would remain for the rest of his life. He wished she would realize this and just leave him alone. He wished he could give her what she deserved, what would ease the ache of want so strong it made his teeth hurt. He wished he could stand so close to her without the conflict warring inside him.

"Damn these people," he scoffs with a false smile, dismissing the rest of the world as he turned fully to watch her from under hooded eyes, feeling all at once too hot as if the heat from the dying fire had made one last gasp and flared right next to him. It was dangerous for her to assume his loyalty to any soul not sharing his immediate bloodline. He couldn't bear to have her naivity making him out to be a better man then he really was. "I need so very little. You overestimate me. I am not the hero here." His face was shadowed with a seriousness that could not be ignored. He stalked toward her slowly, watching her like a hawk with weaker prey caught in it's sights. He was sure she could practicly feel the heat radiating from him.

It sudden, like the strike of a snake. He latched his large hand on the columns of her upper arms and jerked her forcefully against the hard expanse of his bare chest. She was so slight compared to his towering form and tucked so securely against him, she would have little time to fight him off. He knew she wouldn't fight him. "You should though," he whispered fiercely into the space between their lips, getting all to quickly intoxicated by the heady scent of her. "You should run from me if you know what's good for you. You're not her. You'll never be her. And I can never give you what you want." It was spoken in a passionate rush, every other word puncuated with a small shake of her shoulders. Then he was done talking. He was done fighting with himself as well.

He mashed his lips down upon hers, knowing the stubble of his jaw was marring her fair skin, but he couldn't stop. His mouth was demanding, his tongue searching for possession of her own. Possessive. That was the only word to describe his hold on her, hands moving to fist so tightly in the silk of her hair. He felt like a man dying of thirst given a gulp of fresh water. For this fleeting moment, he felt almost alive again. But this struggle to return feeling into his dead heart would only sap the life from her. "I can't let you," he murmured into her mouth, unwilling just yet to give up his claim on their kiss. "I'm sorry."