“I'm so tired of this shit.”
Lilith side-eyes Wolf with slight irritation. Her ire for him has been subtly building in her gut since this morning. He’s getting cocky. At first, it was entertaining—almost endearing, even—but now, after an entire day of non-stop teasing? It is nothing more than a nuisance. Sure, the young man saved her, but had he not arrived, another surely would have. It isn’t as if he is anything special. And so, precisely one hour ago when the sun began to merge with the sea, Lilith decided that she did not want him anymore.
He is too much of a hassle.
They would get caught.
He is rowdy.
He would make noise.
The head of guard tugs on her horse's reins with a huff, and the full intention of letting her mare strike Wolf's own travelling companion—one he had insisted on riding himself, without the help of any soldiers, who were more than willing to volunteer. “You should watch your tongue.” It is the breath of a menace disguised as a hushed whisper.
Wolf does not try to run like another might have, however. Instead, he falls into her pace and scoffs. “I will do what I please with my tongue, thank you very much.”
Their eyes meet. The tension between them makes her want to punch him until he knows better. She doesn't, of course. She is not a violent person—at least, not in this way.
“Yes.” Lilith exaggerates a yawn. “I can’t say I'm surprised by your answer.”
Wolf hunches over for a second then smirks. “Do you fancy surprises?” he asks, and, Lord, Lilith hopes he isn't planning on fleeing—that never ends well. The least civilized prisoners usually try once when they’re under the impression that their freedom has been regained, though this is most definitely an illusion, for the guards catch them every time.
With this in mind, Lilith mutters a mere, “Why?”
The young man hums. “You seemed like you were going to perish from boredom.” He shrugs, then adds, “I figured I could cheer you up.”
Please don't, Lilith wants to tell him. “It would have to be an incredible surprise then,” is what she settles for.
“Oh.” Wolf orders his horse to halt and waits for the rest of the guard to travel slightly further up ahead. He licks his lips. “Trust me, it is.”
Lilith isn't sure what to make of this. She doesn’t sense any malintentions from the young man—and he never seemed like type to murder someone on an open road anyway to begin with—though, as she orders her noble steed to pause in turn, and asks her modest army to carry on without her, Lilith cannot help the way her fingers falter to the hilt of her sword and come to rest against its, chilled, comforting silver. “You have a minute,” she tells Wolf. “You should be happy I'm even willing to give you a second.”
He chuckles and leans in, toward her. “That's fine,” the young man whispers. “I don't need more. Thank you for your generosity, commander.”
This time, it is not a mere punch that Lilith wants to throw at him for his insolent tone, but the edge of her blade. Had Wolf not been a friend to the Halloran she seeks, she doesn’t doubt the act would have already occurred.
Her eyes do not leave his. “It seems you are in need of a reminder that my patience wears thin,” she says.
Wolf laughs again. He shakes his head, in a playful manner, not an apologetic one. “I have not forgotten.”
“And yet, you still test me like this?”
“I am a prisoner. I've no other ways to pass time than to engage in friendly chitchat with the woman holding me captive.”
She squints. “You would leave if I were to let you go.”
“No.” Another smile—another proud, ridiculous smile from him. “No,” Wolf echoes. “That’s not true. I wouldn't.” Lilith parts her lips to speak—to claim that he better not make any more stupid jokes, for she is sick of them. But Wolf is faster. “I wouldn't leave because I'm aware you're not tracking him like a regular human would,” he whispers. “You're working with a shaman, or a witch, aren't you?”
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There is silence. If this is what Wolf had in mind when he spoke of surprises, it is not the least bit funny. “You don't know that.” However, now he does. Now, he definitely knows. Because Lilith spoke baring teeth and invisible fangs. And her tone is filled with a rage she cannot stop, because how dare he?
How dare he waltz into the guard, be given a horse of his own—when he was nothing but a prisoner. When he has not worked for any of this privilege, that some would die to even catch a glimpse of in their lifetimes.
How dare he?
Does he think he is better than her? Is that what this is?
“Get off your horse,” the order is out of Lilith’s lips before she can even consider what it implies. It will ruin her entire plan to earn this man’s trust. But it is too late. He has heard it. He is cringing.
“What?” Although Wolf tries to appear unaffected, Lilith can very well see his grip tightening around the reins of his mount. “Why?” he asks her. “So you can mock me from where you are?”
Lilith grits her teeth. She is tempted, too much, to give him the lesson of his life. Someone has to teach him, she thinks, how respect works around here. “I'm leaving you behind.” Her voice is cold, void of emotion.
The young man seems torn between believing her and thinking it is just a joke, or perhaps, a rite of passage between the soldiers around here. He clears his throat. “Come on, we're in the middle of nowhere, Lilith. You can't do that.”
“I can,” Lilith tells him.
Someone has to show Wolf he is wrong, or else he will know he is right, and she can't have that happening.
Never.
“I can for your insolence, and I will.”
“What insolence?” Wolf nudges his horse so that his hooves fall backwards, and away from the object of his troubles. “I was about to say that I wouldn't leave because it looks like you've been following something all day, and I know it cannot be orders because you're in charge here, so I wanted to ask, do you have a proper lead on my friend? Did someone tell you something? Are you using magic I am not aware of? Can I help you find—”
She does not let him finish.
She takes out her sword, points it to his neck. “You have two options, now, Wolf.” Her is low. This time, she sees it in his eyes, that he has finally realized she is not joking. “I kill you here in self defense because in a fit of anger you attempted to take my life and I could not stop you otherwise”—Lilith watches his face turn to disgust. Good, she thinks. Learn. “Or you give me your horse, follow the smoke that will rise into the sky tonight and possibly lead you back into our camp, and—” Lilith approaches him. Her posture is frozen in complete and utter calm. “Once you arrive,” she whispers. “We’ll pretend this conversation never happened. We’ll pretend, that you are just what you are meant to be.”
“And what is that?” Wolf glances down at her sword, not with fear, but with a certain offense that catches Lilith off guard. “What am I meant to be? I don't recall being given a script when you came to fetch me with your horde of careless buffoons who would not even hesitate to slit your throat in exchange for power.”
“A good little prisoner,” Lilith tells him. “That’s what you are.” She forces herself to smile. “One who does not ask questions.” She lowers her voice. “One who follows my lead without overstepping his boundaries. One who does not disobey.” She moves in, closer. “One who listens, and does not speak out of turn like you. Asshole.”
Wolf cocks his head to the side and huffs, as if disinterested. Then, he drives his neck forward, onto the sword, until crimson is dripping down soft flesh, and covers the metallic glimmer of Lilith's weapon. It is not enough to kill, but it will scar, that is for sure.
“You choose death, then?” Lilith's fingers shake—even if it is unlikely, she prays Wolf does not feel this.
The weapon draws more blood. But Wolf does not flinch. “I choose neither,” he says.
“You are mad.”
The young man laughs. The grey in his gaze is empty, like clouds perpetually stuck between the moment where a storm may or may not begin. “We both know you won't kill me,” he tells her. “It would go against what you are trying to accomplish here.” He reaches for her. She does not stop him. Soon, his fingers are wrapped around the hilt of her sword, and her wrist, and then, her sword only, as he takes the weight of in his palm, and points it to Lilith’s own, fragile skin, that hides beneath her chin. “I wish I could do it,” he tells Lilith, who has gone completely immobile at the face of this scene in the morbid, curious kind of way that people sometimes are when faced with the possibility of death.
“I wish I could do it,” he echoes. “And I am not joking.” Wolf makes the same movement that had turned his skin to red inches away from her neck. It is merely the ghost of a possibility that could have been, in another life, if Lir had not existed. “But I can't.”
Wolf's arm drops back down to his side. He hands the sword over to Lilith once more, who takes it back without question, as if this were a habit, a daily ritual of theirs that has been going on for many a moon. “I need you,” he tells her. “So I will not betray you.” He pulls on his horse's reins. He passes her by and heads toward the crowd of men, who have turned into a dark blotch in the distance, with how far ahead they’ve gotten ahead of them.
Yet, before joining the army once more, Wolf pauses next to her ear. “And I hope, that you will not be tempted to desert me again,” he whispers. “Because you need me, too, Lilith.”