Life's a Golden Platter, Baby

She looked at him - and Idal’s heart leaped a beat. He had seen wolves with crowns of antlers, wolves with luxurious feathers caping their backs, wolves with gleaming scales lining their limbs. Once, he’d thought he’d seen the glow of an unnaturally tall ghost flit through the grass and be gone. He’d heard stories of fearsome predators with black blood, and horrifying stories of vampires armed with pointed fangs and burning ruby eyes. He knew of the hunters born to fight back against the demons and their gleaming portals of blue. But none of these things, witnessed or listened to, could have prepared the rose-gold prince to meet a living fairytale. Somehow, the mutations some wolves wore seemed natural in comparison, for birds and deer and reptiles were natural . . . and the Tempests? This girl, with these eyes? It was as though a living, breathing burst of magic had spontaneously taken form in front of him. Idal had never stumbled across anything that could rival the shimmering sapphire of her beautiful oceans. What he had mistaken for starlight illuminating her features was really the flicker from her own irises, washing her youthful features in gentle cerulean. If he hadn’t been paralyzed by her presence, he might have seen how that same cool light bathed his blond coat like ripples from the surface of a lake. Fascination held him rapt. A Tempest. A real, live Tempest . . .

Faintly, Idal could hear the rapid thump of her heartbeat, muffled in its secure cage. His experienced gaze did not miss the way her posture swayed toward him . . . the spike in her body heat and faint arousal in her scent, like a mouthwatering whiff of freshly ground spices. Although this lass might be considered even more gorgeous than himself, Idal allowed a proud masculine puff of his chest; it was him inspiring such nascent lust in the pretty creature - not Ingmar, not anyone else. So what if he lifted the green-yellow feathers on his spine to better catch her light? So what if a playful smirk tipped the corners of his mouth, encouraging her attention? There was nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting. Idal would never forgive himself if he let the Tempest fae get away.

“You find me handsome? The young lady flatters me.” The Avian couldn’t read her mind - he had no notion of whatever nervousness flustered her previous calm. But he knew better than to come on too strong upon the first meeting, especially with such callow quarry. Her body was held taut with interest as she approached him, her swoon-worthy stare studying him closely. Look all you want, baby. The clean smell of pine trees sewed itself into her fiery pelt . . . along with cold clear water, mountain air . . . and the unmistakable mark of a pack. Siblings. Friends. Family. Shamefully, Idal knew next to nothing about the kingdoms in Blossom Forest. He’d been too busy searching for the next good lay, the next pulse-pounding hunt. In the back of his mind, the merle knight knew he should be worried - or at least wary of entangling himself with this femme, no matter how badly he wanted to. Too bad Idal was really, really good at ignoring those kinds of thoughts. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Ziva. My name is Idal . . . but you may call me ‘the male of your dreams.’”

He winked an ice-blue window - teasing, lighthearted, yet smoldering, not intending at all to make Ziva feel like a child in over her head. This was all a game: meant to be fun. Feigning more relaxation than he felt, Idal folded into an easy sitting position, tail curled lazily around his paws. Honestly, the pair could not ask for a more romantic evening . . . autumn had made nights cool and cozy, and chased clouds from the heavens to give them an uninterrupted view of glittering diamonds. This portion of the river coursed slowly by, swollen by snowmelt, its musical current a deep black tipped with silver. “I’ve never met a Tempest before. Does your kind often set off on their own? You only hunt vampires, I hope . . . though I would not mind falling prey to you.” He was grinning like a boy now, thoroughly enjoying his insufferable flirtation. Should the princess show any sign of uneasiness, however, the butterscotch brute would pull back with a wry smile, directing his too-intense stare toward the water.

Better Eat it UP

Avian Prince | Abandoned his throne | Heartless | xathira