Noir

Minutes later, I once again stood outside Noir's tent, the faint scent of campfire smoke lingering in the air. The wind rustled the fabric, creating a soft whispering sound that echoed my racing thoughts. I wrapped my arms tightly around my middle, trying to steady the quivers that had taken hold of me. Emotions roiled within me, like a tempest threatening to consume everything in its path.

I had just witnessed once again a side of myself I didn't know if I much cared for. I had never been such a wanton, except with Noir. But inside Noir's tent, I had unleashed a primal desire that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Yet, I couldn't shoulder all the blame. Noir was just as guilty as I was in what had transpired between us. This cat-and-mouse game we played had grown tiresome, leaving me feeling drained and shattered.

NOIRText © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Several hours later, I found myself staring into the abyss of my coffee cup, the aroma of freshly brewed beans filling my nostrils. I ran a shaky hand through my hair, guilt gnawing at me for keeping the secret from Lyra-that she was my mate. As I took deep breaths, I tried to regain a semblance of composure, but the turmoil inside me persisted. I pondered what I should do next, feeling lost and uncertain.

Being around Lyra was a constant battle, a hunger that consumed me, urging me to claim her completely. It wasn't just a physical longing; it was a hunger that threatened to consume us both. Each encounter fueled the desire to taste her blood, a craving that grew stronger with each passing day. If I gave in to this need, the consequences would be catastrophic. It would mark the end of the world as we knew it. By draining her blood, I would not only complete my transformation but also initiate hers. Lyra was more than just an Eton Witch; she carried the blood of the Cyprians within her. It was that part of her that would ultimately take control, surpassing her Eton heritage.

Unable to contain my frustration any longer, I stood up and crumpled the Styrofoam cup within my hand. The weight of the situation pressed down on me, leaving me with a sense of urgency and an overwhelming need to get Lyra to her ancestral grounds.

ETON

I should have made Noir hear me. But as I hadn't found any further trace of the werewolf, the scent of damp earth having filled my nostrils, I figured it was a stray who had been pushed out of the pack.

Now, a sense of unease lingered within me. I suspected it had become a spy of the New Order, and if that was the case, the tension that hung heavy in the atmosphere would be the least of our worries. If the werewolves were joining forces with the vampires, then the future was shrouded in uncertainty. But beneath the moonlit shadows, an undercurrent of tension had sprung up between Noir and myself.

I could feel it in the air, like a crackling energy. I could see it in the way he averted his gaze, his eyes darting away from mine. He was holding something back, and I wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was just the weight of responsibility pressing down on him, or maybe there was more to it than that. After the attack, I had spent the next few days patrolling the borders, the crunch of fallen leaves under my boots a constant reminder of the danger that lurked. But the sense of foreboding only grew stronger, wrapping around me like a suffocating fog.

I'd tried to talk to Noir about it, but he'd seemed distracted, almost preoccupied. He'd barely listened to what I had to say, the words I'd uttered slipping past him like a mist.

As the days had continued to pass, I'd begun to wonder if there was something more going on. The tension was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. It was as if we were dancing on the edge of a secret, a secret that threatened to consume us all. But whenever I'd tried to bring it up, he would change the subject or ignore me altogether, leaving me to puzzle over his actions.

His actions not only infuriated me, they worried me; he had never acted this way before. Something was definitely wrong with him, I just didn't know what.

The days stretched on, the sun casting long shadows across the forest floor, and the tension between us only grew. I found myself constantly on edge. Noir seemed to be even more distracted than before. His actions were becoming more strange by the day.

LYRA

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Time doesn't bring answers I'd found. The relentless journey through this God-forsaken jungle had left me questioning our purpose. Days turned into a blur as we trudged through the dense vegetation, the passage of time escaping me. The suffocating heat and oppressive humidity clung to our every step, smothering us in discomfort. The monotonous rhythm of placing one foot in front of the other threatened to drive me to madness, accompanied by the incessant buzzing of insects and the daily drenching of sweat. Green, an endless sea of green, dominated the color palette of this living hellhole. I grew to despise its shades, longing for a splash of pink, a glimpse of orange, or the purples that greeted us at the start of our journey. But here, there was only green. Even the scent of vegetation, once pleasant, now overwhelmed me, devoid me of any fresh oxygen.

I'd begun to doubt our journey would ever end, that it was all a futile wild goose-chase. And as I questioned the sanity of my ancestors who chose to dwell in this god-awful place, Noir's avoidance of me only fueled my irrational irritation towards him.

With each step, he seemed to deliberately step on my toes, bruising my feelings. The tension escalated until it erupted in a nuclear explosion of words, as he hissed, "God save me from the Queen!" in response to a simple question. Unable to contain my anger any longer, my hand met his cheek in a stinging slap, and Jericha's voice pierced through the chaos, demanding to know what was wrong with us.

With the realizatin of what I had done, I let out a loud gulp, the sound reverberating in the air.

Suddenly, his face grew dark and he lunged towards me and with a snarl, he forcefully grabbed me, lifting me off my feet and threw me over his shoulder.