[Alucard forces himself to sit up. His head weighs so much, his chest feels like a stone, but he has to. He has to because if he doesn't, then this gives the fae too much satisfaction. Son of Dracula, on the floor, nearly defeated at the first challenge. Alucard still understands optics, even if he is no longer regent.
But he is so tired. There's no time to do anything else but drag Sypha into his arms once she's close enough to do so, ignoring the fine details of the place that they've found themselves in. Who cares about the roaring fire or the impossibly high ceiling that shows the whole fae court participating in one of their great wild hunts? Who is to notice a pile of sleeping dogs when there is one half of his heart brought so, so low, doubtlessly tormented by the worst memories she carries with her.
He breathes out, arms wrapped tight around her. There's no possessiveness, just fear and relief mixed into one.]
no subject
But he is so tired. There's no time to do anything else but drag Sypha into his arms once she's close enough to do so, ignoring the fine details of the place that they've found themselves in. Who cares about the roaring fire or the impossibly high ceiling that shows the whole fae court participating in one of their great wild hunts? Who is to notice a pile of sleeping dogs when there is one half of his heart brought so, so low, doubtlessly tormented by the worst memories she carries with her.
He breathes out, arms wrapped tight around her. There's no possessiveness, just fear and relief mixed into one.]
You are. You are.