31
wind
"Love will find its way through paths where wolves would fear to prey." Stavros read to me, his hand gently threads through my long ebony locks.
The wind greets concrete and skin just the same, yet I am blessed to feel it. Its giddy currents flow through woodland canopies, unaware of how its song soothes those who can hear. I have always thought of the wind as so free, chaotic even, yet it too has its path, even if there are infinite possible destinations. It is air with passion, a drive that powers onwards, every direction an option.
Here we are, once again, back in the same old treehouse. We've skipped another class, or well, I did. He, however, has not been back in his classroom since his lunch break started. I've often found myself escaping with him, more than ever. I thought I hated him. I hated his guts. I hated how he would just smirk and rhe girls flocked like little doves hopping to get a piece of bread thrown on the ground. Given, Stavros Koenig was everything but what I've expected. He's not so bad... he's completely rid me of my ill thoughts towards him. Our accidental kiss; almost kiss, I had shoved it far up in the back of my mind in hopes that I wouldn't find myself whirling around it.
I didn't think he would, either.
"I wonder why Lord Byron never saw it true to have one lover, didn't he impregnate Claire Clairmont, Mary Shelley's sister?" I ask as my hand hovered above my eyes, separating my index and middle finger to peak at the man above me.
His shirt disheveled and his tie loosely hung around his neck, his blazer long gone and his hair in a mess; the absolute result of a rainfall earlier. His cold eyes fall down to me before answering my question.
"He never saw it true because he never believed in loving only one person, along with Percy Shelley." he said in a monotonous voice.
I turned so my stomach faced the floor with my chin perched on the palm of my hand. "But Percy Shelley learned to love Mary Shelley, didn't he?"
"I suppose he did... but we'll never know. Some of the scriptures tell little of their lives."
I cocked my head to the side at his statement. Maybe, but who would truly know of the affairs in the past. Only they would. My mind clouded with thoughts of theories and pity for those who's truths have been refuted. The soft pitter patter of rain fills my ears, the scent of musk wafts up to my nose with glee. Rain falls in crazy chaotic drops, the gusting wind carrying them in wild vortices one moment and in diagonal sheets the next. It runs down my face as a thin layer, not as cold as it will be when November comes, but without the warmth of summer showers.
"Vernamina? Vernamina!" Cloira called out to me, an large black umbrella shielded her from the harsh droplets.
She hovered the umbrella above my head, resulting in her shoulder languidly soaking in rainwater. Wiping me down with one hand and ushered me back to the manor along her various castigations. Her words drowned out like water, it muffled in my ears. It's been a day or so since the incident. Stavros' most trusted men had been sniffing the streets for my father and the made men that betrayed the Philidelphian-Koenig line. Bandages still wrapped around my head as well as in some parts of my injured body. I ran outside for some fresh air. The smell of medicine and sight of helps running around in fright just to fetch me a glass of water when I asked.
I became sick of it. So, I snuck out. The helps could barely look me in the eye without fear for who knows what! It's not like me to be feared. I'd be loved than to be feared. Because I knew what it's like to fear something, or someone. I'd rather not a person feel the same for me.
"Elixir," Stavros' cold voice said. Shivers trickled down my spine as I'm met with his hard green eyes.
He trudges towards me, his tall frame demanding attention and dominance to everyone who was there. The helps cast their eyes down to the marbled floor, afraid to meet with his cold ones. His hand touched my elbow, the warmth seeped through my skin in a comforting manner as he drew circles with the pad of his thumb. A gauze pad tapped on his jaw, dry blood gashed his clear skin. His once menacing eyes softened at the sight of me.
"Baby, why'd you go out?" his large hand engulf the side of my face. My vision wanders to the frightened looking helps before travelling back to him.
I sigh, removing his hand from my face and turning away from him. "Please leave us," he ordered to the helps in the living room.
They scatter out like wildfire. A few of them gaze back at us with wide eyes and turn away quickly like they've seen the darkest of souls in his, or my, eyes. Calloused hands snaked their way around my waist from behind. A soft kiss plants down the side of my forehead. The smell of tabacco niffs up my nostrils, my nose bunches up at the foul scent. He must've smoked earlier while I was gone. My eyes caught the scintillating rings on his fingers, along with a few small tattoos that travel to his wrist before hiding underneath his black long sleeves. Though Stavros had many tattoos, they weren't overbearing nor messy. They were just the right amount and not like those other made men you read in books and see in those movies. They were much more cleaner in real life and sophisticated than you'd expect them to be for their environment.
"I'm scared, Stav." I admit with shaky breath. "Why did they go behind your back? Why was my father's men there, what do they wany from me."
He nuzzles his nose against my cheek, calming me in a way only he could do. "I don't know, yet. But I can assure you that I will get to the bottom of this—"
"But how would you when Damocles isn't even awake yet?!" my words came out of irrational thoughts.
My cousin's been bed ridden for days now. He took the fall more than we did. He's concussed. I shook my head as his lips trailed down my nape. I swat his wandering hands. He chuckles.
"Are you even listening to me?!" I huffed.
"I am. And, you should go back to bed. Rest up, your stitches bled out again."