Since leaving Willow Ridge to stretch his legs and scale the heights of Serpent's Pass, Skoll Archer had lost track of the days. Such a feat had been easy when one's head was churning with the lustful thoughts from the sinful night from a few sunsets before. Catori Lyall... There was a chance he would forget such a name, especially since the surname itself had been falsely given by him to begin with. Along the way, he had attempted to rub her enticing scent off of him, pressing up against assorted tree and submerging himself three times in the small creek. He would have to be more than lucky if his mistress back at home dismissed the gray-striped woman's perfume as a mere get-together.
In attempt to try and make his way home (he was already a day and several hours late), he had skipped sleeping altogether the other day. It took what was left of his concentration and strength to keep himself from stumbling down the rest of the way on the right side of the mountain. He had just managed to stumble back onto the forest floor when he heard it. His name.
It was her...
"Ah, fuck me," he cursed, getting to his feet and looking out to where the Rise loomed just ahead of him. He frowned, not even flinching as Hecate hollered for him now at what seemed like the top of her lungs. "So. Fuckin'. Needy..." His hackles bristled as he adopted an easy gait, the adrenaline rushing through his veins just like it had a few nights ago. Though, this time around, it was not lust that enthralled him... rather, it was pure, unsullied anger. The kind that had once been only reserved for Asriel and Angier.
The devilish heir's skyward ears crested the rise first before his narrowed silver eyes did the same, his gaze immediately spotting the off-white figure of his lover not so far off. He flashed his teeth at her as he prowled just close enough as to not outright yowl at her. At a few wolf-lengths away, he barked, "WHAT?!"
"Don't yer what me," she countered. Skoll gave an exasperated shrug, his age-old sentiment of I DO WHAT I WANT echoing through his head. Oh, right, he had forgotten already that this one was not like the women he had had or met before. She strode up to meet him, almost hasty it seemed to 'mark him' with her scent or whatever she enjoyed doing these days. When he had last left her, he really did like the muzzle grabs and the playful jaw-sparring; but, now...
He stared down at her as her facial expression morphed from suspicion to disbelief to dread. A dark brow quirked and his head tilted as if the wordlessly answer her. At his back, his midnight black tail lazily swayed. "What?" he asked again, his tone softer than it was just a moment ago. Weeks, even months ago, he had plenty of patience; presently, it would seem that his store of it had run dry.
"Hecate," he enunciated her name with a low growl. "What?" His voice had turned sharp again. "What do you want, huh?" His hackles seemed to lower, but he only did so as to roll his shoulders and adjust his stance. "You're so needy, you know that? Sheesh."
Her retort was quick, but the tone of it was not as he had expected: drawn out and sluggish. "Yer killinggg me.." The prince's skull straightened and he blinked. Strange. She continued, "Y'couldn't just stay with one woman? Was I not enough fer you or something?" He supposed this was meant to wound him, but he found that he was rather unfazed by it all - her tone, her words, her actions... It was as if he had ascended - or descended - and he was no longer on her level. He didn't feel anything, but he could have sworn he could feel everything all at once.
On one thought, he had opted to lash out at her, to put her in her place (beneath him) and forcefully use his weight and learned maneuvers to haver her on the ground trapped by all four of his limbs. On another, he dismissed her statements altogether and did nothing to acknowledge what she had said. He had also entertained the idea of taking up the guise of Samuel Lyall once more, to shut her up with sweet nothings - a long time ago, it had rendered Piety speechless. Additionally, he had wondered if he might give in and coddle her, smother her so that she could no longer emit even a breath of doubt. In the end, he chose something of a middle ground between his warring states of mind. He was going to lie to himself that it did not hurt when she said that she had considered loving him.
"You couldn't love me," he rumbled, his gray eyes emotionless and glossed over. "No matter how hard you tried, you wouldn't be able to. I would kill you before you did." This wasn't a threat; there was not enough bite in his tone. Rather, it was more like a realized truth, and this was the first time he had ever voiced it with his tongue. "And I will not stand for you to become another Piety to me."
"You were but a conquest, my kestrel," had he been human, he might have touched the pad of his thumb to her chin. "And for that, I gave you what you wanted in return. Isn't that what you wanted to begin with?"
YOU SHOULD BEWARE BEWARE BEWARE OF A WOMAN WITH A BROKEN HEART
He was on a streak of truth, despite what she had thought she wanted, a daughter as an heir was the main goal. If she could not love a man, then she had to love her child. "If yer feelings are true, you will keep us protected and I'll never stray far from yer side." It was a hefty compromise, but she was aiming to stay in the Ridge.
Pins and needles, arrows, nails and bullets into his heart. Every word she seemed to speak now made his chest constrict in pain, as if she were driving actual thorns into him. Perhaps, this was why he lied and lied and lied. The truth did nothing but hurt in the end. She tried now with her words to pull him back in, to entice her Skoll to return to her. After Samuel Lyall had had his run, Skoll wasn't quite sure he was the same man he had been before he ascended the mountain.
"You're asking me to do something I cannot," he scowled now, frustration and anger being the first emotions to make their reappearance. "You ask me to chose between you and my family-" There was a certain way he mentioned those last two words to her, a sort of lilting that seemed to signify not Hecate and his litter she carried in her womb but the ones he descended from and shared blood relations with. He scoffed in her face, almost looking down at her now in disdain just for asking him such a thing, "You should know by now that I would always choose them."
He took a step back and away from her and he flashed his teeth, merely annoyed with her. He had finally had it. When the rage had finally given way, a grimace took its place. He sniffed in attempt to recover himself. "I couldn't protect you if I tried. The only women I really love and are loyal to are my mother and my sisters. Like I said: You were just a conquest. Nothing more."
It was apparent by the look on his face and the tone of his voice that she had wounded him, but he was not going to let up. He had known their affair had been risky to begin with but now that they had come this far, there was only one thing he could do, "Leave." His heart felt as if it were skipping beats and he was starting to hold his breath, afraid that he would crumble even further before her. Even as his lip quivered and his ear tips visibly shook, he barked at her, "Just leave me alone. Don't ever come back. There is nothing left for you here!" You took me for all I am, all I was and all I would ever be... take what's left and go...
She just wasn't having it. For every statement he uttered, there were words to counter him. "Liar," she had called him. "Don't yer whisper these toxic lies to me, yer loved me and YER STILL DO." Skoll Archer was cornered; that was his last trick, telling her to go, and she was able to one-up him even after all her grievances. She started to pace; it took all of him, mentally and physically, to remain in his place. Then, the bomb dropped:
"I am carrying yer child- AN ARCHER BY BLOOD."
It wasn't as though he had forgotten about the change in her distinctive scent, he had simply chosen to try and deny himself the attachment of it all - anything to save himself from another incident like he had with Piety. The punishment, the demotion in rank, the public humiliation before the whole of Willow Ridge, the anxiety over what might have happened if Morganna managed to get a hold of her (this was made even worse with the idea of both of them being pregnant). He folded; sitting down and lowering his head he closed his eyes and sighed.
"What would you like me to say?" he asked, the tone in his voice apparently telling of his defeat. His breaths were ragged and uneven, a result of him trying to fill and empty his lungs to keep himself together. Apologizing was for the weak; and, besides, he had never ever had to say 'sorry' in his life. This would not be the first time he would utter the word and really mean it. "I trust you," he breathed, hoping that she would hear him. "Now more than ever. I was just so... so... lost."