Even for all the commotion, Abendrot has been slow as of late. There are wolves on the borders being greeted by Kershov as they should be but there's nothing big going on, nothing juicy. Kershov still looks for his puppet though by the smells of testosterone and lust on the borders, I would see he's pretty damn close to chosing one himself. I watched the crimson and white female sashay to the borders like she already owned the joint and I thought he would treat her just like that joke, Calypso and put her in her place but I don't think he did that at all. I think he liked her spice. I shrug it off, though. Whatever he'd like keeping him warm at night. I do hope he intends to make her just a puppet for show thought. Otherwise, I'd better get to interviewing. If the bitch don't agree with me then there's going to be a major problem in Abendrot. Kershov can wink and please himself all he wants but I won't bow to someone I deem unworthy. He knows this firsthand. He had to prove himself to me at one point or another.
I hate to admit it but my heart is strained lately. I keep thinking of Marx, wondering when our next awkward confrontation will occur. He's supposed to be near the borders, calling wolves together for sparring but so far I've only heard one answer. I feel bad for that one wolf really because I bet Marx is going to be pissed, for lack of a better word. Perhaps he'll spar the wolf himself just to take his anger out on something and then Ivev or one of the other healers will be called in to patch up the poor mess. I've seen Marx kill before and believe me, it wasn't pretty. In fact, kill doesn't even begin to cover the limb from limb ripping of pieces that went on that night oh so long ago. Massacre may begint o curve the first letter for what that was. I just keep replaying what happened after though, the lust filled licking of blood and the straddling and the biting and the...I stop that train of thought with a screeching halt as my ears lay back and my breath catches in my throat. Can't go back there, may be too late for that now.
Marx is still weird around me and I know that I'm not too smooth around him, either, though I try. Believe me, I try. Maybe I'm trying too hard, trying to show him what he's missing, show him what he could be having all to himself if he'd just give a little. I 'm not sure what I even want from him. A confession of true love? A one night stand? No, Marx could never be a one night stand. Not with this stupid pining I've been doing ever since he left. Yes, I'll admit it. Pining is exactly what I was doing and I'm disgusted with myself. This is not me. I'm Enigma, the flirtacious mystery who teases and pleases, out-wits, out-smarts, and can kick your ass as a bonus. I'm the all in one package but I feel like a weak link when I'm around him. My head goes numb and my legs feel weak and my eyes feel like they're telling all my secrets. He unhinges me like nothing else and I know Kershov can sense it. I felt his tension grow a little the last time we came together. He sensed something, even when I didn't want that at all. He can go have fun with his pretty little crimson mistress. I'll just sit over here...alone....and bored.
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