Disclaimer: I don't own the World of Two Moons. I do, however own a few of the characters in this story.
Chapter Eight: Not Understanding
Dewshine started as the door opened and Bretch came in. He seemed friendly enough, so they ate, but the elf never once took her eyes off him for more than a second. Bretch was dangerous- that much she knew already.
The man came by twice more, with lunch and then with dinner. When they were both finished the evening meal, the man put out one hand, palm up, to her. Dewshine tensed, ready for a renewed attempt at her. At last, when he showed no signs of becoming hostile, she warily slid her hand into his own larger one.
He looked into her blue eyes. "I am sorry. I love you, but I see I must wait until you are ready." Bretch said, quietly in her language, then let go of her hand and picked up the tray and took it to the door.
"Wait, Bretch." He turned back at her soft voice. "Thank you," she whispered, and he nodded, but she went on, and he set the tray down and came back to sit at the table, hands folded in his lap. "You are right- I am not ready. I shall always count you as a friend, and nothing can change that, but I am not your kind.
"I will never be ready for love with you. For lying with you. You are human, and I'm an elf. We cannot be together. Ever."
Dewshine had been studying the stone table as she said this, but now she looked into his eyes. "I love Scouter still, can you not see that? Perhaps we have grown apart, but never fallen as fully away as you think. Still he knows my soulname, as I know his."
Bretch was still silent. At last, he reached out and patted Dewshine's hand where it still lay on the table.
"Thank you for understanding, Bretch," she told him, lowering her eyes to the table once again.
They sat there for a few minutes, and the man still held her wrist.
000
He had thought she and the black-haired elf had fallen out of love fully, and she was ready to take a new lover. Now Bretch saw he was wrong. His flower was yet a bud, and he had to open up the petals forcefully so that she would bloom to him all the sweeter.
The man prepared himself, and slowly took a firmer grip on her arm. He leaned over the table and took her other arm just as tightly. Bretch saw her eyes go wide, with a puzzled expression in them. Then realization hit her.
"I thought you understood, Bretch!" she said softly, pulling away unsuccessfully. He merely tightened his hold on her and came around the table. He needed to start pruning his flower.
Dewshine franticly yanked harder, visions of the inevitable swallowing her up. "No! Stop, Bretch! Stop!" she cried in terror. "Don't…" whispered the elf, turning haunted, betrayed eyes on the man, who only leaned close, forcing her arm apart as he bent her backwards onto the table and kissed her fiercely, with all his love for her sent to his mouth, bruising hers.
But Bretch knew, as he had two nights before, what they needed. With his eyes closed, he didn't see the tears running down her face, but he did feel her go limp as she had the day before. This time he did not care. She was his and his alone.
The man scooped her up in his arms, and once more carried her to the tree-bed. He released on of her arms, and put his free hand on her neck, then to her shoulder and her upped arm. As it moved, it swept off the color of her shirt.
He moved his lips to the now-exposed skin on her shoulder, the kissed down to the bare skin of her chest. One arm out of her shirt, then the other. The leather gathered at her waist and he reached his right arm behind her back, and around to the other side.
Bretch used the other to find the laces of her skirt. She remained quiescent under him, not even protesting when he discarded every bit of his own clothing, and rolled onto his back, dragging her on top of him.
He pulled the blankets over them both and kissed her neck again, running his hands from the small of her back to her gold hair.
"I love you Dewshine," he whispered in her ear, pulling her closer to him even as she cried out in pain, anger and fear.
