Branded

This is a short story with my character and a character created by myself and Miss. Salina. It's just a little something I did for me, and now I'm using it for a test post. =)

His mind wanders as he prepares the funeral pyre going, surprisingly, not back to that fateful day but to the beginning of his life. He reflects on his humanity, the doomed romance with Genkai, days of dark demonic deeds, and redemption in a strange town with a damaged woman.  It’s impossible, in that moment, not to compare the two great loves of his life. Both were strong, independent women and powerful psychics. But, where the first would only have him on her terms, so long as he was human, the second only wanted him, however begrudgingly. She didn’t care that he had willing sacrificed his humanity to become a demon. Would’ve supported him if he was a hero or damned the world to hell. Understood him better with the quirk of an eyebrow than the other ever had. Even her humanity was tenuous if they’d wanted eternity. He wishes he had asked, because she would have done it.

He wonders idly, as her body begins to burn, if this is his true punishment and the horror waiting in the afterlife is simply a reprieve. Though it would have been his ultimate damnation at one time, he doubts it will ever compare to her calling his name as a hand erupted from her chest. Across the battlefield the spray of her blood managed to stain his clothes. His green coat is flecked with brown, but he can’t be bothered to change.

He watches pale skin darken to ash as a knot tightens in his stomach. Embers spark in the lustrous sheen of her orange hair and she glows, radiant, before the stench of burning flesh fills his senses. For the first time in his life he hates orange. Hates the fact that she always had one handy. Hates that she used to bake him orange cake. He especially hates that she began to smell of citrus. Nuzzling her hair he would breathe her in, filling his lungs with oranges, peanut butter, and a faint hint of something wildly untouchable. Normally she would pinch him in affectionate reprimand, occasionally grinding her elbow into his solar plexus, but sometimes she would lean against him, entwine their fingers and give a long suffering sigh while he smiled against her hair.

He watches that hair curl and sizzle like black poisonous snakes. For a ridiculously long moment he considers lying down beside her. The fire would only be a minor annoyance, even as his clothes burned against him, because unlike her he’s impossibly durable. It never occurred to him just how fragile she was until her body crumpled to the ground like a string-less marionette. It doesn’t seem right that she should be alone in this, even though she preferred it. He doesn’t want her to be alone. Not when he’s right here.

Something aches in his shriveled black heart because she’s gone someplace he can’t reach her. And it is shriveled. Decades of cruel demonic activities caused the unnecessary organ to rot in his chest. She’d teased him about it, of course, pressing her ear against him trying to find a heartbeat. Her mood had been unusually carefree as she lay on top of him, his large hand resting on the curve of her back keeping her in place and warming the skin. There was the faintest brush of lips against his as she snatched his sunglasses, carefully placing them aside with her own.

She never kissed him. It was always a caressing almost touch that made his nerves spark with a need to feel more. He’d kiss her fully, and she’d respond in kind letting him set the pace. Sometimes he was bruising, punishing her for loving him. He’d growl into her mouth as her teeth sank into his lip, pulling each other closer. There would be livid bruises shaped like his hands marring her skin for weeks afterwards, and he’d feel a primal sense of pride that she was clearly marked as his. She’d be just as arrogant in her possessiveness despite the fact that the marks from her fingernails disappeared in seconds.

Other times he was gentle. His hands would tangle in her hair cradling her close as her arms entwined around his neck and their bodies would fit just so. A lazy hum of contentment would vibrate beneath his lips as he’d press warm open mouthed kisses down the length of her neck. Later, her head tucked under his chin, she’d tilt back just enough to leave the brushing caress of a kiss against the center of his throat.

On that night the fingers of her right hand interlocked with his left, her body draped over his, long orange hair liberated from its braid covered them better than any blanket, his hand on the small of her back, her voice teasing and the warm glow of innocent happiness that neither could have identified. Eyes the color of quicksilver met almond and softened in a way he never thought possible as the sweetest smile curved her lips.

“You have a heart,” she said with soft authority, “beating in time with mine.”

Leaning down she pressed her lips to his chest, over his heart, in a full lingering kiss. It warmed him, down to his withered soul, searing her mark on him as nothing else could. The steady rhythm of her heart echoed through him and he knew his battered, shriveled blood box would sluggishly follow its beat.

Her body is gone but he keeps the fire burning, waiting for her bones to crumble. Raising a hand he places it against his chest resting over his heart. He can no longer feel the blistering press of her kiss. His heart has finished beating.