Lazarus was feeling so content that he didn't want to go anywhere. If the feeling that he had a mate who he couldn't claim was keeping him at the edge every minute of the day, then the feeling of marking her and claiming her was extremely satisfying and relaxing. He was euphoric and he didn't know what had come over him.
Emma looked like she was flushed. Though he could see ecstasy in her eyes, she looked like she was not in… control. And why was it that even he was feeling out of control. The temperature of his body had risen to an abnormal level and he again wanted to have sex with her. She looked the same. She lifted her mouth and placed a kiss on his lips, making him go wild. He seized her lips in a frenzy and she squirmed beneath him.
His whole body heated up like flame, and he wanted to claim her again and again. Nothing made sense. He was getting blinded by his emotions. Before he knew what he was doing, he had entered her again. She moaned and groaned beneath him. He pounded her hard and shot his release soon. He was sweaty, his muscles bulged but he didn't want to get out of her. At the back of his mind, he knew that she might get sore, yet why was it that he didn't want to stop?
He slumped on her, panting heavily, unable to understand anything or thinking coherently. With a lot of willpower, he controlled himself and pulled out of her. She cried a protest, but she closed her eyes, tired as hell. Her body temperature too was higher. Lazarus noticed that her body was turning red and she was sweating a lot. She murmured his name again and again and she looked… delirious.
Something was definitely wrong. His mind reeled heavily.
He got up from the bed rather shakily. He picked her up in his arms, walked to the bathtub and sat down in the cold water with Emma in his arms. She squealed a little but the cold water against their body soothed them both.
His mind was increasingly losing sanity. All he knew was that he had to keep her safe. He clutched her head in his strong arms against his chest to keep her above water and rested his head at the edge of the tub. Soon, he drifted off to deep slumber. Nightmares followed.
"Mother!" Young Lazarus shouted. "Where are you?"
The eight-year-old was running around in the blood forest. The crimson leaves of the trees susurrated as a cold wind blew. Bright rays of sun reflected their red against the stark white background.
"Mother!" he ran frantically. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he saw a pool of blood at the base of a tree in a cluster. The young boy shudders. With his limbs trembling, slowly he closed the gap. When he reached the small puddle of blood, he sank to his knees and stared at it. His breath is clouded in front of him as his chest heaves with short breath. "Mother…" He bent down and was about to touch the blood when something dripped over his head. Lazarus looked up only to find that blood was dripping from a few leaves.
"Lazarus!" A faint voice reached him. He looked at the blood again, a streak of blood forming on his face. Was his mother alive beneath the tree? Was this her grave? Was she calling him?
ƥαṇdαηθνε| The voice didn't come back again and he heard… water splashing? Emma!
Lazarus peeled open his eyes with a jerk and saw that Emma wasn't in his arms. She had slipped down and was submerged in water. "Emmmaaa!" With a bellow he pulled her out, but she was unconscious. "Emma! Emma!" He shook her shoulders. His mind went numb with acute tension. Some water spilled from her mouth but she didn't open her eyes. "Emma!" he rasped. When she didn't open her eyes, with a brutal roar, he traced her away.
"Shiraaaa!" Lazarus roared to the oracle as he traced Emma beneath the apple tree in Zeph.
Gusts of wind eddied - swirled and ambient. Dense clouds, loaded with moisture covered the sky. The delicate branches of the apple tree waved raucously as the grass around it flattened in waves as if terrorized by what was about to come. All around him logs began to lay one over the other and soon a small cottage stood.
"Place her over there!" Shira growled, pointing towards a flat pallet as she wiped her hands with her apron that were stained green and red.
"She is unconscious! She can't even speak!"
"I warned you, Lazarus!" she lashed at him. "People are not going to spare her. They would make sure that you mark her! And now look at her. She is on the verge of breaking!"
He traced her Shira and in a lethal voice growled, "Then get her back!"
"She's a human. How do you think I can work on a human? She is too delicate!"
"I don't give a fuck. Just get her back!"
Shira let out a desperate cry and with clenched teeth, walked to Emma. She touched her forehead. "She is having a fever!" "How the hell did this happen?" Rolling her eyes, she snapped her fingers and Lazarus was clothed now in black tunic and trousers.
"I have no idea. She and I had this uncontrollable fever. Took her with me to the cold bath tub water." He began pacing as she assessed her. "Fix her witch! Fast!"
Shira's eyes went to the angry red mark on her pulse point. "And you have marked her?" She said with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, she is mine!" he growled menacingly, possessively. "She. Is. Mine!"
"I know, but why are you so bothered whether she is awake or unconscious? You only want her body and Maeve would control her mind. Why are you so worried?"
"Quiet!" He snarled, peeling his lips to bare his fangs. "If you can't do it, I will take her someplace else!"
Shira rolled her eyes as she took a deep breath in. He grew restless.
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