Page 8 of To Free a Soul (Duskwalker Beginnings #2)

A time unknown, but one of memories

Weldir made sure his chuckle wouldn’t be heard this time. I’m sure she would be angry if she knew what I’ve been doing.

It didn’t stop him, though; it never did.

He inspected the way her eyes narrowed into suspicious slits in his viewing disc, which was completely different from the lazy-lidded version of her before him in stone.

I really did like her on her knees for me, he thought, as he cupped her stone jaw like he did when they were last intimate.

Although her mouth should be open, he actually kept it closed since it wasn’t surrounding his girth. Had he wanted to, he could have used his own body to play out that scene once more, but he refrained from doing so... again.

He tucked the one curl behind her ear that always strayed next to her temple, as if that was the way it naturally fell. Her stone eyes looked up at him with heat, with desire, and he’d long been fond of that expression cast towards him.

The real Lindiwe stepped away from his mist, intending to venture into the forest – or perhaps she was heading to find humans to momentarily insert herself amongst for easy food. Since she no longer intended to continue their conversation, he let the silence that often hung between them return.

He turned his attention to the second sculpture he’d already made, as well as the third.

I couldn’t pick my favourite moment.

He liked her on her knees, but he’d also become deeply enamoured by the way she held his horn and hair and ground on his face.

The moment his female was intimate, she grew bold, daring, and rather greedy when it came to her lust. He was smitten by it, and she could be as rough with him as she liked, so long as he was gifted with the song of her climax.

The last sculpture was difficult to understand what was happening unless he inserted himself into its scene.

Holding her from behind as he played with her clit and breasts seemed to make her more ravenous than usual, and he made a mental note to touch those places more intensely when he fucked her in the future.

She craved all kinds of touch, and he was eager to supply it.

But what had made him chuckle was that she’d tucked her hair behind her ear while wearing a rather cute and shy expression, when the many faces before him were sultry and heated. Wanton. Some of them depicted her biting her lip, and on others, her mouth was parted midway through a moan.

Weldir’s precious cave of memories... and the centre of it was full of debauchery. All her many poses during their rare moments of intimacy, each one sculpted down to the minutest detail.

Her body hides nothing.

Every twitch, every vein that popped and throbbed, every tiny hair that lifted as goosebumps rained down her skin. How the muscles of her thighs shook, her feet arched, and her toes curled.

It was those unhidden moments he enjoyed the most.

The female who, most of the time, was reserved, formal, and restrained with him, showed a different, softer facet. Like a cut and polished stone, each face was beautiful, each one perfect, even if the surfaces were differently shaped.

Now that he was done carving, which he’d been doing since she left his realm, Weldir looked up.

He’d created a new alcove a little while ago, and he often liked to visit it. Since he didn’t need to worry about gravity, or which way was up or down within his own realm, he floated into the opening above.

Setting his feet down on the surface of a new nook, he took in much more sentimental memories of her.

There was one where she slept under a cover of leaves from the rain, with one of their offspring curled up in her arms. Another of her smiling up at the sunshine with her fanning eyelids closed.

But there was a new one here; one she’d accidentally shared with him.

He’d decided to place it in the middle, as it was rather special.

Lindiwe was lying on her side with her knees up, her hands cupped together under her left cheek and chin as she curled into herself.

The stone was naked, like she’d been, and its eyes were closed in sleep.

Her curls floated around her head, loose, glossy, and slightly tangled from where Weldir had gripped them to keep her head on his cock.

It was the second time she’d fallen asleep in his realm, but this one had not been from the exhaustion of tears from losing Nathair. No, it was peaceful, and he’d found watching her lulling and tranquil.

He’d always wanted her to find comfort in his darkness, but she’d never give either of them that.

It was nice being close to her.

To hear her heartbeat and breaths. It’d been intimate in a wholesome, tender way to witness the gentle rise and fall of her busty chest. To see her lips relaxed, parted, and supple while her eyelids flickered from whatever peaceful dreams she’d been having.

It was like his non-existent heart had yearned to cherish this memory more than the much raunchier ones.

It left him with the same feelings as before: hope and fondness.

Their relationship was still shaky, and there were delicate, gap-filled bridges he didn’t yet know how to cross safely, but he hoped this was a start. That all they were doing now was the beginning of something more, although he couldn’t quite comprehend what.

They were mated, their fate threads entangled.

Really, there was no need for them to solidify their bond when nothing they did would make a difference. She was his. Lindiwe was his mate, the mother of his offspring, and a servant.

They made a deal, a bargain, and that was being honoured.

Yet he wanted to deepen this bond as much as possible to see how far it went and what kind of end was achievable.

His tenderness came from logic, and not from a true heart.

He didn’t know if his lack of physical form would mean that he would forever be lacking in other ways.

A deeper emotional connection, or the ability to make their intimacy more meaningful, might just be entirely out of his grasp.

A major obstacle was his inability to see her side, to feel for her, or to appreciate her beyond what he thought was logical.

She was remarkably pretty; he didn’t need a heart to see this. But their relationship was superficial at best, and non-existent at worst.

Eyeing her sleeping stone form, he sighed.

It matters little.

He dematerialised so he could enter another alcove, then brought up viewing discs of all his offspring, making sure to update their sculptures. Some remained the same, while others changed vastly.

He started with the youngest in Kanata and moved backwards from there. Each alcove belonged to a different continent they’d placed their offspring on thus far, and he made sure each one was correct up to the most minute detail.

Each alcove caused his mist to tighten against him as a sense of... longing sifted through him. He’d never greeted his living offspring as adults, and that often weighed on Weldir. That was until he arrived at the alcove closest to the exit of the cave system he’d created.

Nathair could quickly eat away at the thrum of loneliness.

I’m not truly alone. He did have one of his offspring, even if his intelligence was rather subpar compared to humans. He’s not a great conversationalist, but he is rather amusing.

His eldest offspring was quite cheeky, even though he’d kept his promise about not eating any more of Weldir’s precious souls.

Nathair was slow to learn, and the task was time consuming and gruelling.

He forgot much, although simple reminders aided him.

He always lied about forgetting, either stating he did know or that Weldir had never informed him – which was never true.

He liked to be chased, and the only way to play hide-and-seek with him was to disconnect Nathair from the rest of Tenebris momentarily so he didn’t accidentally harm a deceased human.

Nathair’s inability to smell Weldir meant the game was unfair, so he whistled to give the Mavka a direction to follow. Weldir never cheated in their game by utilising their fate strings, as that would ruin the experience.

It was much more fun to stumble across the serpent hiding his torso in a bush, while he lacked the understanding to hide the rest of his lengthy tail. Then he’d flee with a playful yelp, and Weldir let him believe that he was actually fast enough to escape.

If Nathair turned on him to incite a battle, Weldir turned invisible until he calmed. That, or he herded him back to his lake, so he’d rest.

Even though he isn’t very bright, I spend much of my time speaking with him, he thought fondly.

They spent many days watching viewing discs together, and he’d explained everything that Nathair pointed a claw at.

However... he could not bring up the disc of the one who killed him, as it often upset him. Somewhere within the bout of new humanity, he’d come to resent his brother for stealing away his life.

Nathair felt stagnant and removed from life, which often disturbed Weldir’s mist with a forlorn emotion. He was partly to blame, as Nathair’s life in the afterworld was entirely Weldir’s fault. He hadn’t been whisked away to a new life, but a dead one, where he lived in a sense of limbo.

Never progressing. Never truly experiencing anything.

His life was meaningless, and that bothered them both.

Nathair could often become inconsolable when he was reminded of this.

Weldir hadn’t known his offspring could cry until Nathair shed ethereal tears that floated from his sorrowful blue orbs.

He’d whimper as he cuddled himself in the huddle of his own tail and ask Weldir why he was here, in this realm.

Why it was he who had to be subjected to this boring and mundane life of stillness.

He also questioned why his own sibling had killed him, constantly forgetting that it had been an accident, and not something done maliciously.