The Singer of the Moon keeps eating his toast with a light spread of jam over the top.

A crunch down, some crumbs drop by his plate.

The crow lover folders her hands on the table.

Both sets of eyes watch without interrupting my vision of what I want on my body.

"I want the head right here." Grabbing a chunk of my inner thigh over the material of Silk.

Thight, thin lips press against the other.

He swallows his toast down. Morvared smiles to herself.

"What does our Alpha say about this?" He's sweeping up the crumbs that have fallen around his plate.

"It's my right. My kill...it's my right." Looking at both of them, challenging them to say something, anything.

"It is your right to do this, but is it right?" The Singer of the Moon tilts his head, waiting for my reply.

"To me it's right." The words fall when they come out of my mouth.

"If it's so right, then why does it look like you might cry?" The Singer of the Moon stands with his plate, clearing Morvared's as well. She finishes her cup of tea, handing it to him.

"It's my right. I made the kill; I want my trophy." Words bite out into the small space he calls home.

Mortar with pestle stains of different colors litter the rest of the table they are sitting at.

"This doesn't wash off when you want it to go away. You will hold that trophy forever on your skin." His reply back has my spine stiffen.

"I never want it to go away." Clasping my hands together.

"I've seen a lot of things, Luna Bessa. You will regret this one day. Right now it's all you see. All you can think that will make you feel better but in the end, it will only make you feel sadder. You're going to have to look at that head every day. Do you want to look at her every day?"

The ribs of my chest pull in, protecting my heart.

"Yes. I want to see her. I want to see what I destroyed." Vengeance leaks from a tight voice.

"In the end, the only thing you'll see is what's destroying you. Not what you destroyed." The Healer nods her head in agreement with him.

"Get out," words to the Healer. Blue eyes pierce into mine before she looks away.

A crow caws behind the glass of the window. The Healer's hair is the same color as the bird that follows her.

"Why haven't you killed this Healer yet. Burn her for her sacrilege to our Moon?" Accusing eyes looking towards the Singer of the Moon.

He smiles.

"Morvared is misguided. It's dangerous to kill them; they would become Marytrs to their beliefs." Morvared stands up. A sharp smile spreads wide on her face.

"My friend, it's you who is misguided." The Healer's tone threatens violence in the calmest of ways.

"Morvared. The Moon can't be destroyed. She is our Moon. Nothing can threaten her place."

"The Moon was never created to lead forever. She's become greedy on her power. She's become corrupt to maintain her power. She's become evil." Morvared takes a wide leg stance in front of us.

"Her teachings are made up lies she wants us to believe, so she always maintains her birthright." There is a swaying passion with the way Morvared speaks.

Stepping back.

Afraid that the Moon can hear in the light of day.

"If we burn her, the Moon would favor us." Simple words for a simple act.

"Better to know what's in our Pack then have them hiding within it. Out in the open is better than being tucked away in the shadows. We know what we are dealing with." His eyes shift with the Nature of his Wild.

When her eyes shift its something darker that rises within her, not Natural. Not Wild.

"Morvared, enough." The Singer doesn't look at her anymore; he's busy gathering up colors. The pestles hold stains of crimson, lush greens, black, and a faint blue.

The Healer looks towards the Singer. Cunning in a tight eyed look.

"When you go to the Moon, you will understand what I say is the truth, my friend." The Healer opens the door, laughing to herself as she leaves his home.

"Are you friends with her?" Asking in disbelief.

"She's one of my best friends. We have great discussions on what we believe in." He puts away the jar of jam and cleans up the surface of the table.

"Lay down on the table. Lift up your skirt." I do what he says, my head resting on the hard surface.

It's not comfortable.

The Singer mixes his colors and adds silver dust.

"Do you have a real name?" Asking through clenched teeth as the first spike of the needle tears through the delicate flesh.

"I do," His head is bent down, concentration is etched in the furrowed brow of his face.

Waiting...

He doesn't say it.

The tapping over and over again has become a horror to my ears.

Tight, thin lips press together in pain.

A grunt now starts to come out, and a break is needed as soon as he started.

It's too much pain.

"I need to stop." His hands don't stop the work, he continues.

The puncture of flesh is real. It hurts more than what I thought it would. Each time the needle is tapped into me the more it bites. The more it terrorizes the space of my inner thighs.

Mixing more paint, I can't seem to catch my breath.

Gripping the table now, nails gouge into the underside of the wood. Fingertips feel different groves made by claws. How many wolves have grasped themselves to this table suffering underneath the Singer's hands?

The first cry sounds out, followed by another as he etches the outline of a skull.

This feels beyond what I can endure.

Silver is mixing in with drops of blood that are rising to the surface to be wiped away with a white cloth.

Another cry out.

"How much more?" Lifting the back of my head up, trying to catch his eyes.

"A lot more." My body presses back into the wood of the table. It holds my weight easily.

My mind is screaming as the lines are drawn.

Eyes squeezed shut.

The door opens, quietly.

A chair scrapes against the floor.

Turning my head, opening my eyes.

Warm breath hits my face to settle itself on the mark of my neck.

The Savage's hand loosens my grip from the wood.

My right hand is now in both of his.

The Singer continues his violence written in silver against the flesh of my body.

Grunting. Both our eyes shine.

The Savage holds my hand as the silver burrows itself into the skin.

He shakes when I shake. His eyes glaze over when my tears come.

There are no words because I can't form them.

Nausea rising.

"No more." Trying to free my leg from the Singer's grip.

"It's almost finished. If you leave now, you won't come back." The Singer continues his tapping on the head of metal, stabbing the tip of silver into me, over and over again thousands of times to create a picture I wanted.

The Savage doesn't let go of my right hand. Even when I start to swear at him, telling him this is all his fault, not mine but his.

"Look what you are doing to me!" The Singer doesn't look up when I say this to the Savage.

Tears come, full on. Dripping down my cheek onto the table.

A sea of salt gathering in a puddle.

Howling pain consumes my entire body.

The Savage's jaw tenses, his face straight-lined. He takes what I am verbally throwing at him. He takes it all and continues to hold my right hand until it's done.

He helps me sit up.

A wave of dizziness passes as the blood comes back to my brain.

"Do you like it, my Right?" Clenched words out as the Singer of the Moon moves away from us.

"No," He lets my right hand go.

Walking back to the house.

The chimes of the bells follow our footsteps forward.

Side by side.

Silence wedges itself between us.

The silver of the chain is pulled taut. No, give in the links.

"I'm going to get her all over my body, so you won't ever be without her." Hissing the venom of my words towards him.

"Every time you touch me, you'll touch some part of her."

Silence.

He won't reply to me.

"You've always wanted to touch her; I'm making your dreams come true." His hands are on the silver chain, pulling me towards him.

"It's not her that I am touching. It's not her I see when I'm looking at your flesh. Put all the marks on your body you want. Cover your skin in her. But it's not what I'll see when I look at you." His lips brush against the mark on my neck. His hand grips into my waist.

"Don't do this to yourself, Bessa. She's not worth your misery." Slow, long words cling to the air as he breathes them out.

"Not worth my misery? She's not worth my misery now?" Throwing hands in the air. The clinking of silver balls hitting metal casings sing their song as my fist shakes in front of his face.

Threatening him with violence.

His height pulls up, a flash of teeth settles my fist down to my side, still clenched tight.

It's quick how he takes my closed fist in his hand. Holding it in both of his hands.

"All I ever see is you, Bessa." Pulling my open hand out of his grip.

Again the silence picks itself between us.

Supper is without words; breakfast holds no sound except chewing.

Lunch has me asking if he made any more food.

I'm starving.

I can't get full enough.

The third day comes, and a feast is prepared.

One of my best Silks come out.

Khol eyes are no competition for the way my lips are thickening, plumping up with a deepening red.

No need for the stain of lipstick.

My heat has arrived in the bloom of ripening colors and smells.

Author's Note.

A snippet from the upcoming book Elska. 

"You're very beautiful," the voice of the male is to my left. 

"Thank you," giggling the words out. I can feel the heat flush my face. 

"I lost my mate a few years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

A hard rain is heard in the distance. It will be here soon.

"I never thought that I would ever look at another female again until I've seen you." He's got the Silk of my Lineage in his hand. I can feel the ruffle of the material. Hands going to my face, making sure only my eyes are showing. 

"But you can't see my face."

"It doesn't matter, you're Moon touched. I know you will be beautiful underneath the Silk you wear."