He shivers and quakes, the anger that is so evident in his heated gaze that it takes all of my determination and focus to hold his gaze. If I back down now, from this, what will become of me? I would have no right to call myself worthy of being queen if I buckled before the intense glare of Leonidas. But he had an effect on me that I could not give a name to. At least with Meryl there was an explanation, reasoning behind it. But this? This held no fathomable justification. Just as my eyes narrow to a glare, so too do his match mine. He is no more ready to back down than I am. And perhaps deep down within me that scared me a little bit, but there is no room for fear here. This is Leonidas, my painted warrior, my elusive shadow; I refused to fear him. His breath is hot on my snout and it sends a cold shiver down my spine.

Now I am quivering as well, with all this pent up emotion. It is a constant thing, his hostility, and he becomes more and more so as the moments pass between us. His ears flashed backwards, mimicking my own, but did not pull forward again as mine had. When he repeats my own words to me I huff a short, hot breath out through my nostrils and my glare deepens. But maybe he was right. Maybe I just needed to open my eyes a bit wider and truly take him in to see the cracks and dents in his psyche. I knew full well of his fractured past, that he had no real family. “Where you come from does not have to dictate who you become. You are strong, Leo; make your own choices.” I reply, convinced that he can overcome whatever it is that has shattered him so. Convinced that maybe I can pick up the pieces and mend that which is broken. But I am young, and I do not know where to begin. He tells me then that he follows his heart and the instincts that grip him. And before I can retort, suddenly our eyes are no longer locked.

I gasp, a short and quick inhalation of breath as he unexpectedly draws near to me and presses his maw into my neck. However, I do not recoil. It takes me half a second to realize what is happening before I lean into his embrace and bury my own nose in the fur of his shoulder, breathing him in as deeply as I can. To touch him feels almost forbidden, as if I am crossing some line that no one should. When he withdraws it is all too soon and the space between us feels like a thousand miles. My eyes are wide now, no longer glaring, filled with bewilderment. He pivots again so that we are side by side, and I find that my jaw has gone slack and my lips are parted in a soft ‘O’ shape.

His eyes return to me, still burning with the passion and torment that roils within him. I snap my mouth shut, willing composure back into my face. Drawing a deep breath, I allow myself to blink. I let his questions hang in the air and my eyes dart back and forth between his multihued pools. It is as if I am searching for some kind of explanation, some reasoning for the way he makes me feel. But it is not there. So I answer him as honestly as I can. “There is no name for what I feel when I am near you. It is, the most obscene combination of joy and frustration that I have ever felt in my life.” The most obscene, yes; but the strongest? That could be rivaled only by my encounter with Meryl, and the thought of my other painted boy pulls at my heart. This was so confusing! “Some part of me tells me that we should not be together, but it is miniscule. The rest of me wishes only to know what you are near, even if it is only as my shadow.” My brows furrowed once more as I spoke. “And what about you? What is it that draws you to me? Why do you insist on always being so near, and yet constantly distant from me?” An urge deep within me begs me to bridge the distance between us again, to touch his fur once more and let his scent wash over me. But I restrain myself; I keep my composure now that I have found it again. And who knows, if I were to be the one to extend myself to him he may very well snap. Perhaps touch was something that I would allow to be on his terms.