Word Count: 437
Prompt: 021 - Heat
Characters: D'Hoffryn, Dark Willow
His every nerve was strung achingly tight just beneath the rough layer of his skin. A crisscross of sensation, reverberating through his bones, arcing between his muscles, gathering at the base of his skull and whipcracking down his spinal column to lodge in the flared points of his hips. He had to put a shaking hand out to steady himself, his palm slick against the tree trunk, talons scraping bits and pieces of bark. He leaned forward, watching her. Waves of her heat crashed against him and he wanted nothing more than to be pulled under her dark waters. He could feel the energy vibrating off her body, out of her mind, forming words and those words punishing the man hanging by her will in front of her.
She was exquisite.
It had been a century since he’d last been so physically called to a woman. He closed his eyes at the thought, remembering Anyanka in a montage of images, her thin shoulders, her slight hips, her beautiful face, the time she hexed that cheating husband in a dale in Norway…oh…two or three hundred years ago now…giving him the genitalia of a Great Dane. Poor sod didn’t realize he’d actually been cursed, at first glance. D’Hoffryn smirked, but the sound of a full-grown man crying pulled him out of his reverie.
Rosenberg. This witch, she was something else entirely. Yes, yes, she was consumed with grief at the moment and one small part of one of his hearts clenched with the thought. The lover dead, he understood…but none of that seemed to be affecting his physical reaction to her. He opened his eyes again and lowered his shoulder to the tree and leaned heavily against it, breathing hard up into his nostrils. She was going to wreak her vengeance on the killer; he approved of this and oh gods how it made him wild with desire. He wanted her, the moment she finished with this poor brute, he fully intended to suggest it to her. On the forest floor, down amongst the blood-soaked ferns, up against a tree, over a rock, down in the creek…His eyes had closed again and then he heard voices. Someone was calling for the witch, someone or three were fast approaching through the woods. He swiveled his head trying to locate the voices.
A ripping sound tore through the air. D’Hoffyrn swung his head back. Too late. Too late. He’d missed it. Flayed. He sucked air in through his teeth.
The body burst into flames and he himself disappeared in a cloud of smoke. There would be time later. He had time. Eternities of it.