Aria glances up, scooting back from the looming man, the murkiness paints him a black shade, no features distinctive and with her vision a little wobbly he morphs into a demon hungering for her soul.
"Why are you following me?"
Aria's voice is the kind of breathy shrill she cringes at. Unconsciously, she already has an arm raising up, as smoothly as she can, she twitches her fingers open from the tight fist, running them through the knotted hair tumbling free. Damn, did this girl have long hair. Arianna would have taken a knife to it Mulan style, if it were her body.
"This is a private preserve, only people with access are allowed."
He steps closer, shadows falling over his shoulders.
Aria's breath catches, for entirely bad reasons (she will admit as much). The man's raven black hair is sweat slick, the bangs swept to the side in a stylish wave she knows is natural, pale, smooth skin and rippling muscles. That's not what catches her attention. It's the eyes. The long, almond shaped eyes, blue and so intense it feels like she's drowning in them. They are like the sky in winter. He looks like a mural drawn into reality, a strange grim reaper here to collect her soul.
"With enough persistence even an idiot could get in," Aria bites out.
She coughs to clear her throat, the awkwardness seeping into her pores. Aria's eyes wander of their own accord down the line of his throat, over broad shoulders and biceps that have her eyes lingering just a tad too much for polite company. She stumbles across the deep v of the sleeveless top – his chest glistens with sweat – and Aria shamelessly ogles it. He shouldn't have worn that shirt. The stranger chuckles, the sound like the rumble of a panther, butter rich, a sinuous timbre that strikes her like thunder.
Aria swallows.
If he wants to kidnap her, she has no problem with it. He can just carry her off, drag her to his creepy lair and have his way with her. She's too old to mind.
"You shouldn't wander off the path," he adds. His tone is mild and gentle, yet so chiding it almost convinces Aria to shove her head down in shame. She bites her lip.
Aria is a grown woman; she won't bow her head to a man who is younger than her. In mind and soul. Their eyes meet, his are soft, open, but missing the naivety of youth. Aria feels decades younger then. Inadequate too.
"I'll keep that in mind the next time I'm being followed."
"I wasn't following you."
"And I'm blind."
"I'm not that type of man," he says, laughing brightly.
"That's exactly what a serial killer would say." Aria mutters.
"Darling, I like my women willing." He smirks, casually pushing back his hair in a way that makes heat rush to her face.
She slaps his hand away, scowling as deep chuckles reach her ears. She attempts to pull her body up, not entirely comfortable with the height advantage the man has, winces as her ankle burns with pain at the smallest pressure. She has twisted it. Made it worse by running through the forest blindly. Aria bites her tongue, pushes through the agony to crawl up, sweat drips down her forehead. Just as she manages an upright position, her legs give in.
The man lunges forward, catching her around the middle. Aria staggers, they stumble awkwardly, two penguins on deadly ice, his other hand grips a low hanging branch. He lifts her up in one smooth move and cradles her close to his chest once they regain their footing. Aria is still too dizzy to protest. She fumbles, unsure where to put her hands. Aria does not want to accept his help, but Aria has no choice. That's what her pathetic life has amounted to – never having any choice.
She's being melodramatic but still.
"You shouldn't force yourself when you're hurt," he says softly.
Aria tamps down the initial violent reaction that sits on the tip of her tongue, best not to antagonize the person carrying her…
"You shouldn't stick your nose where they it doesn't belong."
Voice weak, she rushes the words out, injecting them with unnecessary venom – she'd rather not be a damsel in distress.
"Indeed."
The older man lifts her higher, easily balancing her weight with one arm. He swipes a thick expanse of foliage to the side. The thicket brushes her neck and Aria tucks her face down.
"Your common sense is shit, one would expect better from an old man."
His chest muffles her words, but he still hears her. He laughs, full chested and deep, jiggling Aria in his arms. She glares at him, pointedly poking his chest. It makes him laugh harder and she worries he might jostle her ankle. She groans, dragging her hands through her hair. What kind of weirdo is she stuck with?
"I do apologize, no one has ever called me old."
He wipes at the corner of his eye.
Again, he does the annoying thing; keeps Aria afloat on one arm as if she were a fragile bird. Without breaking a god dammed sweat. Does he have to flex that much?
"You speak like one too."
She glares over his shoulder, a little fantasy running through her mind of setting the woods on fire and tying him to a tree. That should teach him.
"Entirely like a kitten, the kind that bites too," he mutters under his breath.
Momentarily, she gets the urge to say that she is not a kitten. Fuck you very much. Aria always has had the tendency to go sideways, so she does something else entirely.
"I can scratch too. Want to see?"
"I'd rather not, thank you."