FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 317: Chapter 317: Stories Behind Kira’s Scars

Next Day.

Morning arrived quietly, borne on the soft chorus of birdsong and the cool breath of air drifting through the open balcony. The veil of night parted slowly, easing him into the calm embrace of morning.

Sol slowly opened his eyes. The heavy, oppressive darkness of the night had finally surrendered to the pale, slate-gray light of the Orrath morning, filtering through the cracks in the heavy wooden shutters. The fire pit in the center of the spacious room had completely died out, leaving only the faint, lingering scent of woodsmoke mixed heavily with the undeniable, musky tang of their unchained indulgence.

And the first thing he noticed was the missing warmth on his side, the plush, downy feathers beside him shifted.

Sol rolled his head to the side. And indeed, the spot next to him was empty, the white pelts still holding the indentation of Kira’s body. He pushed himself up on one elbow and scanned the room in morning confusion.

Kira was standing near the carved wooden washbasin in the corner of the room. She had already wiped away the sweat and the messy, chaotic evidence of their night. She had pulled on the loose, soft gray trousers, undoubtedly prepared by her beforehand, but her upper body was still entirely bare as she wrung out a damp cloth.

Sol blinked, his mind sluggishly pulling up the fragmented, intense memories of the hours they had spent in the dark. The sheer, relentless lack of restraint. They had torn down every emotional and physical wall between them, letting the raw, primal energy of the world fuel a union that had felt closer to a battle than making love.

In the stark light of the morning, the physical toll of that battle was vividly painted across her skin.

Kira was covered in a mosaic of rough, purplish-red bruises. The distinct shapes of his heavy fingerprints were branded into the soft flesh of her hips and waist. Red, swollen bite marks and harsh abrasions mottled her neck, the slope of her collarbone, and the swell of her breasts… a stark, visceral testament to his possessive, ravenous hunger.

Sol sat up fully, swinging his legs over the edge of the massive bed. He didn’t make a sound. With the Dreadwing’s passive agility humming in his nervous system, his bare feet crossed the polished timber floorboards like a ghost.

He stepped up right behind her, reaching out and wrapping his massive, heavy arms around her waist, pulling her bare back flush against his broad chest.

Kira gasped, her shoulders jumping as she dropped the damp cloth into the basin with a splash.

“Sol,” she murmured, leaning her head back against his shoulder. Her voice was husky with sleep and overuse, carrying a tone that was both incredibly cute and playfully blaming.

Sol didn’t let go. He hugged her tighter, burying his face in the damp, chestnut waterfall of her hair. He pressed a long, soft kiss to the side of her head, then trailed his lips down to kiss her cheek.

“Are you okay?” Sol asked, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that lacked all of his usual cynical arrogance. It was entirely soft, carrying a genuine, underlying note of concern.

Kira closed her eyes, letting out a long, contented sigh as she simply melted into his embrace. For a few seconds, she just enjoyed the absolute, grounding warmth of his heavy body wrapped around hers, soaking in the rare, domestic peace.

Then, she gently placed her hands over his forearms and pulled out of the embrace. She turned around to face him, stepping in close and resting her hands lightly on his broad shoulders. She looked dead into his silver-crimson eyes, her expression entirely serious, stripped of any usual warior stoicism.

“I couldn’t be better,” Kira said, her voice steady and profoundly honest. She paused, a small, fragile smile touching her lips. “Thank you. So much… for going along with my whims last night.”

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the center of his chest, listening to the steady, calm rhythm of his heart.

Sol raised his hand, his calloused thumb gently tracing the edge of a particularly dark, blooming bruise just above her hipbone.

“But these…” Sol muttered, a flicker of genuine guilt crossing his mind as he motioned to her battered, marked-up body. He had completely lost himself in the instinctual drive to claim her, fully forgetting the disparity between his newly evolved, monstrous physical density and her body.

Kira looked down at her own torso, then threw her head back and let out a bright, genuine laugh. The sound was incredibly out of place in a world waiting for an apocalypse, but it was a beautiful, ringing melody in the quiet room.

“This much is nothing, Sol,” Kira said, stepping back slightly, completely unashamed of her nakedness. “A few bruises from a heavy-handed lover? I have been through much, much worse in my childhood than this.”

She turned slightly, presenting her back to him. She reached over her shoulder, pointing her finger at a thick, jagged ridge of raised, pale tissue that cut a vicious diagonal line across her left shoulder blade.

“See this scar?” Kira asked, her voice taking on a nostalgic tone. “I got this when I was just a stupid kid. I wanted to prove to the Warchief that I was brave enough to hunt, so I sneaked out into the lower jungle with a stolen bone dagger. Instead of a glory kill, I was ambushed by an unranked razor-beast. I didn’t even fight it. I got this massive gash while running away in absolute terror, crying for my mother.”

She traced the uneven line of the old wound. “Thankfully, a squad of hunters was patrolling nearby and heard me scream. They saved me, but I was bleeding out fast. If it wasn’t for High Shaman Zephyra immediately healing me, I would have died in the mud before my tenth cycle.”

Kira turned back around, her finger moving down to point at a pale, starburst-shaped cluster of scar tissue resting just above her ribs on her left side.