[ P ] something to hold onto

Maybe Nylah hadn't meant it quite so literally, but she'd asked for dinner that night, so Kieran had provided it—that night, and every one that's followed since. He wouldn't go so far as to call them friends, and they're a laughably far cry from lovers, but they're...co-existing, at least. Nylah makes herself busy during the day, proving her resilience and reminding him of himself, honestly, when he'd been overwhelmed with the reality of Aislinn's death. Kieran doesn't say anything, and he doesn't try to make Nylah talk about it; he may be the most familiar face to her here, but that doesn't mean she wants to lay her hardships at his feet.

So, he brings her dinner at night, and hopes his effort brings her at least a small comfort. Except tonight, he's late. It's no fault of Kieran's, but it doesn't much matter why he's late, only that he is. There's still blood on his brow from the job that Ruarc had sent him on when he steps into their den, a muntjac dangling from his jaws as a peace offering. Only...Nylah is nowhere to be seen.

Kieran drops the deer and heads further into the darkness with a slight frown. "Nylah?" he calls, as though it might make her appear from the shadows like an apparition. It doesn't. Shit. Her absence at this hour is more worrisome than if she'd been here, waiting for him and seething. With a low groan, he turns back for the exit to go and track down his errant wife.

i've seen the day's fading begin

code // art

you're in the dark
just you and anger

your oldest friend
your closest lover

Ever since that night, they ate dinner together every night. Kieran had made it a point to be home every single night to dine with her. This definitely wasn’t her intention when she said dinner but so far, she hadn’t been disappointed. Where he was once avoided her, they now spent the evening together, every day. The routine had settled her, made the days pass a little easier for reasons she chose to ignore. Some days, she found herself looking forward it dinner. Even if they shared no words, there was something to be said for shared silence - which was most nights. She wouldn’t say they were friends, because how could they be friends when they still shared little personal details? But surely they were long past acquaintances.

So tonight, when he was late, she was left alone with those very thoughts. Patience was not a virtue she possessed, unfortunately for her tardy husband. He hasn’t ever been late before. Why tonight? Distrust spread like shadows with the setting sun. What was keeping him? Huffing, she paced until she could pace the same line of her den no more and she left.

The young deer that ventured too far from its mother was a blessing, its lifeless body now resting at her feet. Dark jaws gaped in a pant as she sank to the ground. Long legs sprawled as she attempted to cool off in the warm summer air. The heat was waning but not nearly enough.

Tonight, the moon was full, blanketing the bogs in a silvery glow, the fallen heiress included. Enveloped in a bubble of forced silence, something that was customary in the wake of death, she basked in her victory. With her fur slightly disheveled, she looked every bit of the wild predator that she was. The hinterlands were not always kind, the fight for survival was very real and it was evident in every hard line of her body, each muscle carefully trained to maximum potential. Nylah wasn’t all hard lines and unyielding strength though, the femininity she possessed was subtle but impactful, natures selection to attract the optimal mate, whether she wanted him or not.

The promise of an easy meal brought scavengers into the woman’s proximity, their glowing eyes peeking at her greedily from the shadows. The silence was different now, as if the bogs held its breath in preparation. Bloodied lips curled back, her snarl a warning - stay away. Hackles bristled as she was forced to her feet, her tail curling to its almost natural place above her hips. She was a Queen in her own right, born and raised to harness the power of a pack. She bowed to no one. Not even as the coyotes emerged from the shadows, their eyes glittering with hunger and their jaws dripping with saliva. Just like that, her temper was ignited all over again, tapping into the darkness that swirled just beneath the surface - the crazy that Kieran thought he knew.

When she lunged, it was without fear. The scavengers were bold for being on pack lands. All it took was the shrill cry of one to start a frenzy. Frantic yips competed with her deeper snarls as her teeth sank into her second hunt of the night.

"speech"

code // art

TW: violence/gore

He has no reason to be initially concerned, so Kieran's departure from the den isn't rushed, nor is his prowl through the woods in pursuit of the freshest scent his wife has left behind. He half expects her to be playing a game, leading him on a merry chase through the trees to exact her penance for his absence, running him in circles until she's grown bored of it and enacts her teeth or tongue as a weapon. He's accepted this fate with the same sense of apathetic duty he applies to most other things in life—namely the things that Ruarc requires of him when the hour grows late.

Then he hears the yipping, the howling, the snarling, and his demeanor changes in an instant.

Kieran's skull snaps up, his nostrils flaring as he takes off at a run towards the source of the noise. Whether Nylah is at the other end of it or not, coyotes should not be over the borders of the pack; something must have been of substantial value for them to take such a risk. Mud splashes up his legs and belly as he hurtles through the trees, moving with the swift, practiced paws of the enforcer.

There's no hesitation when he breaks into the clearing. Kieran enters the fray in dead silence, barreling between two of the mutts and sending them scattering in opposite directions to regroup; he has eyes only for Nylah, and the coyote approaching from behind her whilst she's fighting one at her front. He lunges, his head swinging down and his teeth snapping mercilessly into the meaty thigh of his wife's would-be assailant. There is no mercy in Kieran's grip, his jaws clamping tighter and tighter until the smaller canine is screeching and twisting desperately to get free, only for the grinding crack of its femur to resound between his teeth.

He tosses aside that predator and whirls back towards the ones he'd bulldozed through before, who have now regrouped enough to come for Kieran. Idiots. He is a machine, mechanical and automated, and the lack of structure amongst the coyotes is embarrassingly obvious as he dispatches one with an equally savage grip on the back of its neck. Whilst he has it still in his grasp, the other assailant manages to dig its teeth into the side of his neck, ripping free a chunk of flesh and muscle that only serves to fuel his adrenaline further. The coyote doesn't stand a chance before he's whirling on that one too, bullying it swiftly to the ground and coming back up with its throat between his teeth, wrenched free of the now-still body.

Kieran swings for the next opponent, only to find that there isn't one—the coyotes who are lucky enough to still be alive are wisely fleeing now, sprinting back over Claddagh's border with panicked yips. His blazing, furious eyes whirl around in search of Nylah, and the second he spots her, Kieran is lurching in her direction, ignoring the blood streaking down his neck in somewhat disconcertingly thick rivulets in favor of checking on his wife. "Are you alright?" he asks as he closes the distance, his eyes racing over her in the dark for signs of injury.

i've seen the day's fading begin

code // art

you're in the dark
just you and anger

your oldest friend
your closest lover

The greedy little bastards aren't swayed by her threats and the bravest of the group would inch closer. Until she lunged. Dark jaws snapped savagely, hungry for a taste of the little vermin. This pack seemed to have forgotten their place on the food chain. Painful yips pierced the air as she grabbed the coyote by his side of his neck, throwing her weight into him like a battering ram, forcing the predator turned prey to carry her larger figure.

Unbeknownst to her, chaos was unfolding behind her. At least until the coyote that had been sneaking up on her screamed in pain. Despite her immediate questions, she didn't take her eyes off the coyote in her grasp. Not until she wrestled to the ground and sank her teeth into the softness of his throat. Blood welled in her mouth, spilling down her throat. It was pleasantly warm against her skin.

When she finally did look up, pastel eyes searching for the source of coyote yips, her brows lifted in surprise. Standing over the dead vermin, she simply watched her husband. He moved effortlessly, like a finely turned machine who knew all too well how to end an life. One by one, coyotes fell, systematically incapacitated. Some wouldn't even die all that quickly. Kieran, of all wolves, was grace in motion. He didn't hesitate, he acted. On her behalf. She was stunned.

A silence would fall upon the bog, like everything in their vicinity was holding its breath in the wake of such violence. He approached just as quickly, coming to her side, asking if she was okay. She could practically feel the way his eyes darted across her skin, searching for injury. The few she had would heal. She didn't know what to do with his concern, it was something she hadn't experienced from a man in her life. Ears splayed out wide, undecided but unafraid. She didn't cower, she didn't like this was the worst thing she had ever witnessed because she had seen worst. She simply stared at him.

"Impressive." She commented dryly, not answering his question. Her eyes flicked to his neck, were he had gotten bite. "Considering your inability to be on time." She tucked all that emotion back in its box, poking harshly at him reflexively, keeping him at arms distance. In an attempt to dull the prick of her blade, she would step into his personal space, breathing him as she inspected his injury. He'd live to see another day but it still should be tended to in some way. "We need to take care of this." Her tone was softer, kinder and maybe, if he listened hard enough, something akin to concern.

"speech"

code // art

Nylah ignores his question, but it doesn't stop Kieran from looking her up and down thoroughly, his eyes pausing briefly on each of her own wounds, all of which seem to be superficial. His thundering heart slows, just a little. This moment is nothing like what had happened to Aislinn, but it's still roused a sense of panic in him that's uncomfortably familiar, and despite his attempts to keep Nylah at arms length, he knows it isn't only duty that's driven him to act with such precise savagery tonight. In the hazy rush of adrenaline, he doesn't care to shove that part of him aside, either.

He doesn't balk at her snide remark, instead using Nylah's nearing proximity to stretch out his muzzle, inhaling sharply at a puncture wound on her shoulder, and then higher at the metallic scent of blood staining her neck—though he can't tell if it's hers or theirs. "I'm sorry," he huffs against the fur of her nape, his tone gruff, like it's taking effort to rein back in his beast. "I was on a job." He doesn't elaborate, though he knows Nylah isn't stupid and is more than capable of picking up clues from what she observes on a daily basis. There is much he cannot tell her until Ruarc has decided she's loyal enough to the family—a feat he's uncertain if she can accomplish, no matter how hard she works.

Kieran pulls back slightly at her observation of his neck, turning his head enough to eye the blood dripping down the plane of his shoulder. "Looks worse than it is," he mutters with a slight shrug, but he isn't denying Nylah's apparent desire to help; he remembers what it felt like to watch Aislinn bleed and be able to do nothing about it. Even if Kieran is far from fatally wounded, he won't stop Nylah from cleaning and dressing the injury. "I have supplies in the den," he says absently, glancing back at the one coyote that's still alive and prone on the ground, its shattered leg oozing a pool of blood into the swampy grass around it.

Leaving the maimed dog to its fate of death by bleeding out or festering infection or another predator, his muzzle swings back towards Nylah in an effort to herd them both further into pack territory and back to the safety of their den. He's on edge and agitated, his attention split between an instinctive concern for his wife and the surrounding woods, not entirely certain that the coyotes who fled won't come back without reinforcements. It would be a stupid move, but so had their initial attack. Right now, Kieran is more enforcer than husband, all his typically soft edges now razor sharp.

i've seen the day's fading begin

code // art

you're in the dark
just you and anger

your oldest friend
your closest lover

The air around her husband was charged with chaotic energy. She could feel it in each heavy pant, she could see in the sharpness of his stare. Long gone was the soft and passive husband that she had known since the day they met. This was a man she didn’t know. But she felt the pull all the same. While she had no idea what to do with his concern, she found it charming in some sick and twisted way. It drew her in, dangerously close to the tightly wound wolf. In his proximity, she stepped into the proverbial lions den and she had no idea if she’d be bitten for it. When he moved, her body tightened reflexively, preparing for a blow that wouldn’t come. Would he notice?



He muttered an apology, claiming work had kept him. The mystery of his work evaded her still and would continue to do so, so long as she remained an outsider. Her bloody lips pressed into a thin line. But Kieran didn’t explain any further, per usual. So Nylah huffed, unsatisfied. She’s also distracted - Kieran stands partially over her, his neck extended so that he could better inspect her wounds. His breath tickled her skin when he spoke. Triangular ears flattened against her skull, uncomfortable despite the way the her head tipped slightly away from him, giving him an unencumbered view.

While he brushed off the severity of his injury, he didn’t fight her on getting it cleaned. Giving into her demands did little to soothe the predator at her side though. The air around him still crackled with tension as he herded her in a way he hadn’t since dragging her from her family home. This time, she almost let him. Until she remembered what had started this fiasco to begin with. Digging her paws into the earth, she balked. “I’m not giving them a free meal.” Indignation colored her words and she left his side only long enough to fetch their meal, since someone had to be responsible for their meal tonight.

"speech"

code // art

If Kieran notices her tension—and he does—he shows no trace of it. The part of him that's both a guardian and a mercenary is a living, breathing inferno in him right now, capable of cataloging every subtlety and prioritizing the things that matter most. His primary goal at this particular moment is just to get them out of here, but as she so often does, Nylah throws the wrench of her stubbornness into his plan. His muzzle swings towards her as she digs in her heels and snaps a quick argument; Kieran growls softly, but he doesn't move, watching her with hawk-like intensity. Thankfully, her detour is quick and he's calmed slightly when Nylah returns to him, his muzzle snaking down to usher her back into the depths of their territory.

By the time they reach the mouth of the den, Kieran's fur is dark and sticky with coagulating blood, and he's certain that he's dripped a trail of it in his wake—not an uncommon occurrence, truth be told. He pauses to usher Nylah in ahead of him, ducking his head to slip in after her. The proof of his intention earlier still lays discarded in the middle of the floor where he'd left it, and in any other scenario, he might have jested that they have a feast between them. As it is, food is the furthest thing from Kieran's mind.

Wordlessly, he gathers the medical supplies from the crude woven basket they occupy, bringing the moss and herbs to Nylah, from whom his eyes have barely wandered this entire time. That rippling, vibrating energy that had spiked with his adrenaline is calmer now, but still there, shifting like sand just beneath his skin—a hairpin trigger ready to be pulled. "Do you know what to do?" he asks quietly, forcing his mind to focus on the present moment. He's uncertain if Nylah has any medical training, and a part of him is annoyed for never asking her before. There's still so much he doesn't know about his own wife, and for the first time, it's eating away at him.

i've seen the day's fading begin

code // art

you're in the dark
just you and anger

your oldest friend
your closest lover

The walk back to their den was silent, no words were exchanged between them. Not that Nylah could talk with her mouth full of her kill. But still, she could feel Kieran’s eyes boring into her and she couldn’t pinpoint why. Those pastel eyes were like fingertips tracing her spine, sending goosebumps across her skin. She wasn’t accustomed to this level of scrutiny from him, from anyone else yes, but never Kieran. To some degree, the chaos that swirled around him quieted, the man seemingly no longer coiled tight. But it was there, just beneath the surface, begging to be lit by a flame. Nylah knew because she knew that feeling all too well - the tight leash kept on the monster to keep it at bay for just a bit longer, until the urge to snap wasn’t so overwhelming.

Nylah did love to watch her husband squirm though.

He busied himself with collecting the medical supplies before returning her. In their den, both kills lay side by side, the scent of death and blood filling the space. He may have been late, but he hadn’t been empty handed. She considered saying something, some snide remark about him still managing to hold onto his sense to bring home dinner. But he cut her off with a question of his own. Do you know what to do? “More or less.” Was her flippant answer. Her pack had a healer, one she saw frequently, but in the immediate wake of her husbands deaths, she patched herself up. Showing up with defensive wounds was hard enough to explain without them all leaving a scar to be remembered. “Sit.”

Blood had dried and coagulated on his coat, making him sticky in the best and worst ways. With her eyes on his, she again invaded his space. His body heat seeped into her, pleasant against her skin but she wasn’t here for herself. Tentative at first, her tongue swiped at the cooled blood, its metallic tang exploding across her tongue. She didn’t clean him up entirely, only around his weeping wound. Her touch was both carefully and unyielding, her wet tongue pressing against fur she hadn’t felt beneath her touch before. This close, this wrapped up in his space, Kieran was everywhere. His blood and cologne filled her nose, assaulted her senses so that the two halves of her warred.

Pulling away to inspect what he had on hand, she thumbed through the items until she found what she wanted. With infection kept at bay, he’d live to see another day. It dawned on her then, the raw power her passive husband possessed, the lethal skill he wielded without hesitation. Kieran wouldn’t be so easy to kill.

"speech"

code // art

Her answer is somewhat dismissive, but Kieran accepts it with a slight nod, wisely keeping his mouth shut from offering any direction. He might be more concerned with a more grievous injury, but this one is far from life threatening, so when Nylah bids him to sit, he does. That watchful stare remains fixated on her, but he's statue-still as she comes closer, swallowing the lingering distance between them. Physical contact has been notably absent before now; perhaps a brush of a shoulder, or an exchange of items between their hands—purely transactional. Despite the fact that Nylah is helping him, this moment feels nothing like a transaction, charged instead with a sort of electricity he's felt before but is unwilling to name.

When her tongue laves against his skin, it should be clinical—but it isn't; a ripple courses its way down his spine, so intense that his fur shifts slightly in its wake. With Nylah's gaze elsewhere, Kieran allows his eyes to slide shut for a moment, and he leans into her touch despite himself, drawing in slow breaths that smell like blood and jasmine. It's a heady combination, his nostrils flaring to drag in another drugging hit, and his muzzle dips slightly without his noticing until his nose brushes the curve of her shoulder. He remains there while Nylah works, warring between the part of him that's kept her at arms length for months and the part that wants to drag her into his chest and bury his snout into the soft fur at the base of her ear.

By the time Nylah pulls back to inspect her handiwork, Kieran is watching her again, his attention no less fixated than before. Against his better judgement—which is slipping further and further from his grasp with each passing moment—he leans in closer, a brow quirking with a wordless question. His haunches remain firmly planted to the earthen floor of their den, but Kieran's muzzle stretches out, his neck extending across the gap in a slow, deliberate attempt to tickle that plush fur beneath her ear, giving Nylah ample opportunity to duck away from him if she wants to. Fucking hell though, he hopes with a new and unexpected conviction that she doesn't want to.

i've seen the day's fading begin

code // art

you're in the dark
just you and anger

your oldest friend
your closest lover

Sharp eyes catch it all. The subtle ripple of skin beneath her touch, the way he leans into her touch, the slow breaths he takes. Then he's touching her. It wasn't as if they had never accidentally brushed a shoulder or hand here and there, but it was never anywhere else, never longer than necessary. Kieran's head dropped, until she could feel the cool press of his nose against her warm skin. It stirred a clashing of emotions. He hadn't ever given her a reason to shy away from him, he hadn't ever even hinted at striking back, no matter how sharp her tongue got. but distrust was a festering wound that hadn't ever healed all these years.

She attempts to focus on what she's doing.

Until she's done and theres nothing to keep her stare from his. A dark brow lifts at her, before he leans towards her, his movement deliberate. He gave her time to reject him, to pull away and put an end to whatever this was.

But Nylah didn't move.

He tickled that soft spot below her ear and goosebumps erupted across her skin. A shiver raced up her spine before she could stop it. Lips parked in a soft gasp. She found herself wanting to lean into him just a bit more, curious and starved for something positive. He was so close. Too close. The past was never so far gone that she could forget. Hooded eyes refocused. Dark lips wrinkled, but that was it, as if her body warred with itself as much as her mind. Ears turned back against her skull as she growled, the sound so low it was almost inaudible.

"speech"

code // art