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Cause I told the Goddess that i would Cyra couldn't breathe. She could feel the heavy intake of air, feel the gasping pull of breath into her lungs, but there was no relief. Could you suffocate from heartbreak? Her mind struggled valiantly against something her heart already knew. NO! They LOVED me! They did! I'm their daughter, they can't just stop caring! There's some kind of mistake, they must have thought she was someone else! They can't have meant her. Her father loved her, he would not have disowned her! They couldn't... The thoughts slowed as she clutched at her chest, wondering if tearing it open would help her lungs get the air they so desperately desired. She made it to the far back field, where the wilderness had reclaimed part of the stone fence and an old drainage ditch created a protective alcove, before the wracking sobs shuddered through her. When you don't open your eyes, time can't catch you, right? The next morning dawned grey, and with an encouraging prod from one of the shepherds, she stood, feeling hollow, empty, but not yet shattered. When her conscious thoughts stuttered to a halt, her body took over, taking the steps necessary for survival while she struggled with an identity she could no longer claim. The body required food, water, and protection from the elements to survive. The coins she had left could be stretched for sustenance in the days ahead, and water was always plentiful, but the winter would be cold and the winds bitter, and it was with that thought that her feet turned south, toward warmer climes and easier days. The first few weeks passed without incident, skin darkening, toughening against the sun, wind and rain in equal measures. Without the drive to strengthen herself, she became ever more lean, subsisting on what little she needed to put one foot in front of the other, making the few coins she had last well past when they should have run out. When even they, too, ran dry, she took to stealing, an apple or two from the orchards she passed, a few eggs from some unsupervised chickens, only ever enough to get her by. By the start of the fourth week, like coming out of a fog, she started to recognize the looks of mingled disgust and pity in the faces of the farmers and villagers she passed on the road. With the intrusion of distant memory, dripping like hot vitriol on the cold stone of her numb heart, she now knew what, in her childhood, she hadn't grasped: shame. She had not taken back her life, her freedom, to become a beggar on the streets, scrambling for scraps of food. Enough. I am who I've always been, and I will be what I choose. With a little twinge of regret at the need, she went to the far end of the village where the laundry was done and let her sticky fingers gather a sliver of soap and a fresh towel, hesitating a moment before also risking the theft of fresh, if careworn clothes. With the utmost care, she trims her shaggy, disheveled locks, letting the river carry them away as she works to scrub the old from her skin, along with the grime from weeks on the road. Making herself as presentable as possible, she slips into the first pub she finds, the thick scent of stale alcohol, leather, unwashed bodies and the strong spice of a midday meal marking the building as clear as the bright orange sign above the door. The room was raucous, a little surprising for the middle of the day, with a large group of men in one corner talking and laughing loudly as they downed a substantial meal, along with equally substantial amounts of ale. Turning her back on the group, she addresses herself to the woman behind the counter “Excuse me, ma'am, I'm in a bit of a tight spot, and I was hoping you might know of anyone in the area needing another pair of hands, or a strong back? A couple days of food and lodging is all I'm really looking for...” The place, and the smell, made Cyra twitchy. After months without being confined in any way, being indoors, with only one visible exit and more men than she knew she could defend against, she was a bit jumpy. Flinching a little at a particularly loud bellow from the man in the corner, her fingertips brush over the handle of her knife as she made a concerted effort to ignore the rest of the room. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Oy! Lad! We need refills over here!” Logan, with his sable hair and piercing grey eyes, was not a man much used to being ignored. When Cyra continued her conversation, and consequently ignored him completely, he finally stood and made his way over to what he took to be the serving boy. Listing a little from the two strong drinks he had already consumed, he was nonetheless steady enough when he reached her to stand straight. “Hey! I'm talking to you boy! Are you really going to treat a loyal, payin-,” As he was speaking, he finally reached out and gripped her upper arm tightly, his large hand easily wrapping around the painfully thin arm, turning the 'serving boy' around to force an acknowledgment. He only got so far in his tirade before wide green eyes met his stormy grey, and like a punch in the gut, realized his error. In fact, it was so much like a punch in the gut, it took a moment for him to understand that he was actually wheezing from a jab just under his ribs, and another moment too long to realize that her hand was now somewhere a bit more intimate, and holding a blade where an ill-timed sneeze might give him a bit too much extra room in his pants. “Do not touch me,” she said in a low growl, the usual cadence of her voice marred by a hoarseness that spoke more to long disuse than the hollowness her eyes might suggest. His hand springing free of her arm, she slowly straightened, still holding his gaze with her crystal eyes, he caught but a glimpse of black between her fingers, there and gone so fast, he wasn't sure it had truly been there. Taking a step back, giving him a short nod and a brief, assessing look, she turned and practically fled the pub, leaving him slack-jawed, a half-formed apology on his lips. When Kesney finally stepped up and clapped a hand to his shoulder, Logan could do little but give a bemused grin, a small shake of the head, and a lingering glance to the closed door before returning to his comrades, with drinks in hand. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Outside the pub, Cyra leaned against the wall, her face had gone a sickly pale beneath the tan, breathing hard as the magnitude of what she had done came over her. Not only had she threatened an armed man almost twice her size, she had run away from a potential source of income and food. If he wasn't angry enough to come after her, she still couldn't show her face there again, after embarrassing herself. Besides, the thought of running into him again made her cheeks flare red, and sent her looking for a different pub where she might manage to go unnoticed.
"No, he doesn't have particular regard for you," the voice behind her made Cyra jump, only relaxing and sheathing her knife when Jonathan stepped up and rested his arm on her head. While normally dismissive of Jonathan using her as something of a mobile piece of furniture, today she watched as the juicy fruit he held came dangerously close to dripping on her forehead before he caught the drip with another loud, slurping bite. Shaking her head, as much to dislodge him as to deny any of the thoughts he hinted at. "I don't know what you're talking about." Going back to her task, she loaded a few more goods into crates, giving an occasional glance out into square, where he stood. Jonathan looked as well, though his observations were somewhat juxtaposed to hers. Completely out in the open, dressed modestly in dark shirt and heavy cloth trousers, and even during the busiest time of day, tucked against the opening of a wide alley, she was nevertheless invisible to the general population. Even knowing her, looking directly at her, his eyes and mind wanted to skip over her, to disregard her existence. He had never understood how she managed that. Get into town, and five minutes later they had lost her as she disappeared into the crowd. After a year and a half of this, they simply shrugged and trusted she would reappear on the way back to camp. It was some measure of her agitation now, that he could not only find her, but sneak up on Cyra. The reason for her distraction was evident enough, as Logan stood in the doorway across the square, talking and laughing with a pretty young girl, long blonde hair glinting in the sun. Her eyes sparkled as she talked to him, flirting outrageously as she flaunts curves to make any man drool. Well, almost any man, Jonathan amended, his boi still teasing the edges of his thoughts. When the girl took Logan's hand and led him inside, he could see her tremble the moment the door closed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jonathan, as usual, seemed to know right where to dig the knife in to create maximum effect. "Sometimes, I wonder if we're just, useful," he gives a small shrug, takes another bite of fruit before tossing the rest behind him. "Don't worry about that. Ultimately, he always comes back to you, right?" Giving Jonathan a distracted smile, she goes back to loading the crates and the wagon, taking his silent offer of assistance to finish, managing just moments before the groans and screams began, seeping through the walls, and pouring from the open second story window. Blushing a little, she leaves the wagon and its contents to Jonathan to handle as she takes the chance to bolt, feet swiftly taking her away from the center of town, only slowing when the only screams she heard were the seagulls, and the steady thunk thunk thunk were her own boots on the planks of a little used dock. She knew the difference, of course. Between romance, love or relationship, and sex. But then, she had never before felt so irrefutably that she was nothing more than another whore, rutting and humping her way to food, protection, safety. While true that he always came back to her to sate his need, there was nothing acknowledged between them, and who was she to be anything beyond another open pair of legs. Her thoughts turned darker, as the sun began its slow descent, taking the warmth of the afternoon with it. She wasn't beautiful. She knew that. Any kind of feminine vanity had burned away in the forge of slavery. Every now and then he still slipped and called her "lad". Trying to grow her hair out gave her panic attacks, her hands shaking so bad, Jonathan had to trim it back again. She had never doubted his desire, or questioned his satisfaction. Since the night she had taken her pleasure in his bed, she had believed it made her something more. She had never doubted her value before. Should she now? Thinking of the way he brushed back her hair, the way his lips found hers in the dark. The way her heart pounded, struggling against her bonds, trapped by her pleasure. He had been insufferable for days after that, nearly bursting with satisfaction whenever he saw her color. The ghost of a smile teased across her face at the memory, noticing for the first time how late it was. Drawing a deep breath of the cool, river air, she smiles a little as she can feel the heavy footsteps vibrate through the wood as they found her. Turning, she saw Logan waiting, face impassive as he considers her. Behind him, Jonathan stood, his face a mask of bored annoyance, his eyes watching her with the barest hint of pity. "Ready to go, baby girl?" Logan's face broke into its easy half-smile, seeing her safe and unharmed. Her lips twitching into an answering smile, she nods, following as he turns away, leaping to land lightly on his back, vaguely pleased when the move doesn't even draw a surprised grunt, merely a shifting to hold her legs as they head to camp. Watching Jonathan's back as he leads the way, tightening her hold, she sighs as the sound of the river fades. Maybe Jonathan was wrong.
This is, if possible, even more lewd than the first one. You have been warned. >:3 She was free. Her effervescent joy was marred only by the sour tang of Logan's sad frustration. I upheld my end of the deal, so what if he isn't thrilled with the results? What did he expect, that I'd be thrilled to have my options ripped from me, forced to take his cock every night? At least it had stopped hurting. He had made some effort, but he was just too big and thick, his need too great to ease her into the coupling. She remembered with a twinge the first week under him, how raw and sore she had been, before her body adjusted to his demands. Approaching the first of the farms along the outskirts of the large town, she followed the stone fence until it met with the wider road. Dawn was still several hours away, her feet and legs burned with the effort of walking so many hours so quickly, and her stomach growled, reminding her that dinner was a distant memory. With few options left to her, she makes space beneath the wide branches of pine trees, and tried to sleep, the ground hard and cold, and her fear a living thing, chewing on her heart. The next morning dawned bright and clear, the soft blue and pink blush of sunlight peeking over the horizon, lifting her heart, though it did little to ease the ache in her belly, or the tight muscles of hard night. Entering the large town, her hope further eroded by the distrust and underlying tension from the residents as she kept her ears open, listening for the vague leads and hints of rumors that might lead to any kind of job that might sustain her for a time. It was a fruitless day of searching, checking all the pubs and a few of the shopkeepers in town, earning nothing for her efforts but sneering civility and curt dismissals. When she accidentally found herself talking to the Madam of a brothel in a seedier part of town, she made her excuses quickly and with the woman's cutting "all for the best, what man would want you anyway?"still ringing in the still air, she wanders. No where to go, no one to give her a chance, she didn't notice the three men that followed her from the brothel. A scuffed boot let her know they were there, and once she realized, the cat calls began. "What a pretty little hornless boy we got here boys!" "I've got a horn for 'em alright" "Nah guys, prissy little bitch, doesn't even know what she is. Cutting your hair won't show off what u don't have, stupid cunt." Fingers brush over the handle of her knife, still concealed in the band of her pants. In another moment she felt hands close around her wrist, crying out as her shoulder was wrenched back and up, the man behind her reeking of sweat and stale booze. Driving her into a wall, she could feel his 'horn' growing, his other hand groping over her modest curves, catching her other wrist as she tries to fight back. Flipping her around, he gathered both wrists in one big, rough, filthy hand and held them above her head, giving her a good look at his wide, mean, sour face, recognizing in him the same type of cruelty that drove the slave owners to whip the merchandise ruthlessly. Watching her eyes, she could feel his gleeful pleasure pressed against her as her fear mounted higher and higher. Drawing his knife, he made a slow show out of parting her shirt, the threads screaming as he slices down and between her breasts. "Maybe it just takes a real man to make you into a real woman, huh?" Grinning like he had made the best joke in the world, his knife hand going to his trousers as the other two men watched in sickening anticipation. Mind struggling with disbelief, "they are actually going to rape and kill me, just to prove they weren't attracted to a boy," she thought, taking advantage of his glance downward to wrench her left arm free, the same time she drives her knee into his groin. Her hand free, she draws her black knife, feeling it glide smoothly into his shoulder, the obsidian red as she pulled it free, holding it to his throat as she urges him and his companions back. Swallowing back bile as she saw the blood and pain she caused, she shook her head and making sure her exit was clear, she gave the wounded man a kick for good measure and took off toward the main street, trusting in the crowds to hide her until she could get-- She paused at the thought, that she would go back to the mercenaries, but taking a deep breath she continued on, treading the same path she'd taken 12 hours earlier. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Logan's temper, while usually a steady burn, held in check by an easy personality and the needs of those around him, was now sparking, sending flares that bit into the trust and morale of those around him. His own needs unfulfilled, he snarled and snapped his way through the day, trying not to think of the empty bed awaiting him that night. With the mood that was riding him, not even the seediest of brothels would let him in the front door, and risk the lives of girls and patrons alike. His member was dry tinder, just waiting for a spark to set him ablaze, aching for more than he could give. He stayed out far later than he normally would that night, trying not to consider the sadness he felt when thoughts of the empty room crept in, souring what already promised to be a miserable night. The rainclouds overhead matched his grim mood, and the fat drops that fell upon him as he entered the simple cabin were enough to tease thoughts of her to the forefront of his mind. Was she well? Was she out there now, getting soaked through? Did he let her go just to die? Shaking his head, he downed a glass of whiskey and stripped free of the confines of the day. With worry, exhaustion, frustration and sadness wearing on his heart, Logan fell into fitful sleep, plagued with teasing green eyes and a growing, guilt-tinged emptiness. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ She slipped in amidst a crash of thunder. Clothes damp from the rain, she was grateful for the dying light of the fire and the gentle warmth that lapped over her skin, producing a wave of shivers. The owner of the humble quarters was asleep on the bed, dreaming in fitful starts. Sitting by the fire, she warmed herself, finding a moment of peace as she watches him twist and turn, unconscious mind wrestling an active body. In the short time she was with him, he had never treated her as less than she was. She was a prisoner, yes, but she was still a person, with all the dignity and respect that commanded. Brushing the bruises on her wrists, she watched as he turned onto his back, saw the bulge between his legs that had dominated her existence the past few weeks, flushing a little at the teasing tingle along her thighs. "Cyr-" the breathy sound of her name made her jump, heart pounding before she realized he was still asleep. She couldn't go into town, couldn't make it on her own. Adrift at sea. She could do worse. But something had to change. Standing, she slowly strips out of her clothes, quivering as her skin pebbles from the cool, damp air. Pulling the thin blanket back to expose him, she glimpses his passive face, confirming he slept on, though standing stiff and proud in the firelight. Indulging her curiosity, her fingertips slowly trail from base to tip, tracing over the hard ridge, stroking the smooth skin. Her teasing, light touches drawing a bead of wet to the tip. Biting a lip briefly, she leans forward, slowly, carefully drawing her tongue over the engorged head, almost distracted from the taste of him by the velvet-smooth feel of his skin against her tongue. Potent, almost earthy, the tang of man teased her tongue as she wraps her lips over the tip, coaxing more from him as her mouth flirts with his head. When next she looked, his eyes were open, watching her with a hungry curiosity. With a startled pop, she jumps up and makes to move to the other side of the room, stopping as he catches her arm. It wasn't a hard grip, only meant to make her pause. Looking at his face, she struggled with shock at seeing the vulnerability leaking around the desperate hunger in his eyes. "Please." Her own desire nibbling the edges of her self-control, she finally nods, putting a hand to his chest as he moves to grab her waist. Shaking her head, she turns the word back on him, asking for herself, for the moment to be hers, for his patience. "…please." Trailing her fingers slowly up his chiseled abdomen and up over his chest, she feels the hard muscle shift beneath the exquisite sheathe of smooth skin, straddling just in front of his stiffness. leaning down, she followed her fingertips path with her mouth and tongue, placing his hands along her hips as she nibbled at his collarbone, shivering as he stroked her spine, her lips finding his neck. The feel of his heartbeat against her lips was all the more sensual when it quickened as she pressed firmly against his member, feeling it nestled in the soft crease of her bottom, so close he could feel her heat against his shaft. Pulling herself up slightly, her mouth seeks his in a searing kiss, growing more demanding as their excitement grows. Her hands buried in his hair as his hands lightly tease over her ribs, thumbs brushing across the hard nubs as her hips start trying to grind against him. She finally breaks the kiss, and positions herself over him, desire etched across her face as he follows her body, tongue continuing what his thumbs had started, pulling and teasing at the sensitive nipples. Slowly sheathing him inside her, she could feel the quiver of pleasure shudder through him as she starts moving, the soft noises coming from her throat fraying his self-control as she rode him. Breath heavy as she takes her pleasure with him, he holds her close, the intimacy both terrifying and wonderful as he watches her face raptly, green eyes locked with grey as she quivered. With husky breath she leans in, body tense, primed, waiting, she nibbles his ear and begs with voice dripping with pleasure. "P-please." His blood searing away the last of his restraint, he drives into her, shuddering as she crests, toes curling as she comes with absolute pleasure, her moans and the feel of her surrounding him drove Logan over the edge, holding tight as he floated in ecstasy. She was everywhere, senses overloaded with her and it was all he could do to not be set adrift. As they slowly calmed, heartbeats slowing together, still entwined, he considers her, eyes tracing every line, as though he could capture the way her dark hair curled against her forehead, or the way her heartbeat felt against his tongue. It was the same. It was completely and irreversibly different. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When mid-morning rolled around and Logan was still no where to be found, it fell to Jonathan to approach the simple cabin. After yesterday's temper, it was impossible to know what frame of mind he might find their fearless leader. With a peremptory knock, Jonathan opens the door and steps in, eyes briefly scanning the room before lighting on the bed. Logan wasn't alone. One arm caught beneath the girls body, Logan gave him a bemused look as he slowly pulled his arm free, standing and stretching as the girl quickly filled the warm spot he vacated. Focusing on the girl, lest he get distracted by the nude, very masculine wolf still looking for his clothes, Jonathan blinks, slightly taken aback that it wasn't just a whore that looked like Cyra, but Cyra herself who was quickly taking over the large bed. Rolling his eyes, he shoves a pair of pants at the wolf, whose interest grew each time he glanced at the bed. Jonathan waited at the door while Logan got partially dressed, and walked out to the crisp bright morning. Closing the door with a quiet 'thud', Jonathan follows, shaking his head to clear the heavy scent of sex from his lungs, and the mental image of their busy night from his mind. "I thought you got rid of her," Jonathan said flatly, fighting a feeling he had no right to, watching his friend carefully. With a wide, satisfied grin, he looks at Jonathan, stretching in the gentle breeze. "She came back," the smug, pleased happiness the man was exuding was too much for Jonathan, who turned on his heel to head back to camp, his original message forgotten. "Just cause she keeps your cock happy, doesn't mean she's worth anything," Jonathan shakes his head, muttering to himself. "I think he'd disagree," grinning, Logan claps him on the back, giving a friendly push as he perks up, hearing faint noises from the cabin. Already stirring, he gives a small barking laugh and trots back to the cabin.
Not too lewd, but would still advise caution on public computers. There was very little soft or gentle about Logan. She was coming to realize this. With a hint of a growl in his voice and eagerness in every move of his powerful hips, her breath was coming in short, gasping groans, her mind going blank as she crested, fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders, urging him on. Mouth hard on her neck, she felt his hips quicken, followed by heavy grunt as he comes with her, bodies entwined in the shade of a great oak. Their breath keeping time together, as their bodies relax, the chill seeping in as the sun sets. Kissing the hollow of his throat as she tries to curl in closer to his delicious heat, he strokes her back, the simple contact arousing even as it calms. "Alright baby girl, lets get back to bed." A smug little smiles tugs on his lips as she makes no move to disengage, her small, content sighs stroking his ego as skillfully as her body stroked him to climax. Nevertheless, he wanted a bed, and the longer they stayed there, the less likely they were to find one. When a gentle nudge produced little beyond a curled lip and half-hearted snarl, he finally picks her up and drops her on the torn rag that used to be her shirt. Brushing off his pants, he pulls them on before looking over and seeing her flat-eyed glare. Crouching in front of her, he holds up an index finger and grins. "No yelling, no grumbling, and I'll carry you back." The small tilt of her head was only indication she even heard him, until she held up an index finger. Touching the others nose at the same time, he smirks and finds his shirt, tossing it to her to wear while he tracked down her pants. Finding the soft, supple leather in the bushes, he starts back to her, the feel in his hand and remembering the way they had hugged her curves made his mouth water all over again. No longer as thin and boyish as when she arrived, having plenty of food and work to keep her toned, she had filled out into being a perfect chewtoy. One he was eager to sink his teeth into again. He found her standing, and more or less cleaned up, the torn and soiled shirt discarded. Wearing his shirt, almost comically long on her, she reached for her pants, shimmying them up over her hips with a little wiggle that did no favors to his self-control. Unwilling to wait any longer, he scoops her up and trots back toward camp, his footing sure in the deepening indigo twilight. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Slipping into their simple, shared cabin, Logan takes a deep breath, smelling the cold ash of the fireplace and something slightly out of place. Dropping Cyra on the bed he prowls the room until he spots the small meal box and note, the faintest scent of sweet perfume telling him Jonathan had come by. Reading quickly, he gives a small snort and brings the box back to bed, where Cyra had sprawled out, leaving him little room. "Jonathan left you dinner," he says, considering where to sit, grumbling a little, "take up lot of room for someone so little." When she simply settles in deeper, he sets the box to the side and hauls her up and off, setting her on her feet in front of him as he takes a seat on the edge of their shared bed. Her eyes still closed, she gives a wide yawn, hair disheveled in a way that soothed and excited him. When she makes no move to undress or get back in bed, he struggles a little between annoyance and amusement, pulling her close enough to tug the oversized shirt up. The faint scent of her trapped in the fibers tickled his nose, a teasing possession that wrapped around his voice, declaring she was his, the same lingering smell on his skin, marking him as hers. His hunger was a warm ember, settling between his legs as he nibbles and nips at the soft skin of her belly, her arms lifting as he draws the shirt further up. Lips drawn to the round swell of her bare breasts making her gasp as his tongue finds the hard nub. Savoring the taste, his mouth pulls gently, drawing small, furtive sounds as she discards the shirt, his hands dropping to settle at her waist. Her fingers tangling in his hair, she pulls a little, tilting his head up. Her eyes were open now, crystalline in their purity, bright with her excitement, she lowers her mouth to his, holding nothing back as she lets him feed her hunger. The fingers at her waist drop to the top of her tight leather pants, breaking the kiss only to watch the supple leather peel away from her pale, shapely hips, exposing a mouthwatering expanse of soft flesh, his for the taking. Her hips swaying as he works the pants slowly down her legs, her impatient, annoyed huff making him smirk as he enjoys the way the pants mold to her body, taking a moment to appreciate the shape of her legs as the thin leather is tossed aside. Taking in all of her taut, enticing curves, she ignites the smoldering ember, looking him in the eyes as she straddles his lap, arms loose around him as she brushes full lips over his neck, feeling the steady strength of his heartbeat as she presses close, breath mingling in the cool air. "Take me," the words a pleading command. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After her hunger was satisfied and the simple meal consumed, Logan contemplated the shapeless bit of leather that lay where it had been thrown earlier. "Where did you get the idea for those pants, anyway? Wouldn't offer much protection," Logan mused, idly stroking her hair. "Oh, hmm, Jonathan mentioned tight leather would be good for riding horseback, thought I would try it," she replies, yawning a little as she tries to cuddle in closer. Logan froze hearing Jonathan's name, tucking her in closer, unsure if his shaking hand was from anger or amusement as he resumed stroking her hair, nearly black against her pale skin. "What were his exact words, baby girl?" "We were by the horse line and I just dropped Jake off when he said, umm, 'a soft, supple leather pant is best if you're going to be riding the beast' and gave me name of leather worker…" Cyra trailed off with a yawn, drifting off in spite of the slight shaking as Logan fought to contain himself. "Remind me to, ah, thank Jonathan tomorrow," he whispered, voice strained. With a small, innocent smile, she just nods and falls asleep in his arms.