Miguel O’Hara

Bleary eyed and hazy minded, the woods swallowed him whole. Gnarled trees loomed overhead. Shadowed limbs twisted and spiraled, blotting out the night sky and the dim silvery light of the galaxy above. The forest took and took from him. The floor absorbed the crimson liquid that poured from him—from between his fingers and dripping down his wrist. Stray branches snagged at the fabric of his clothes, pulling threads and tearing holes. It sapped his energy. It warped his mind, darkness moved at the edge of his vision. A knotted root sticking up from ruptured earth sent him tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

He landed hard, gasping for breath as he clutched at undergrowth and damp dirt. His other hand landed in briars and he hissed when the thorns pricked his skin. He was losing—losing the race against time, against himself, against the wilderness that fought back so violently without even trying. Had he made it far enough? Had he lost them? It took all of his effort; his last inkling of energy to flip over onto his back.

And when he knocked his head back, his gaze tipped upward. A hole in the canopy of leaves spared him a view of an inky black blanket covered in little white pinpricks. Stars twinkled down at him, floating in a sea of velvet like a portal to another dimension—an escape to someplace else. He lifted an arm, outstretching it and daring to graze his fingertips against something so unfathomably far away. He could step through that gateway. He would.

The abyss was welcoming. It was a safe cradle from reality. Alas, there was peace. Then there was light. A stabbing brightness behind his twitching eyelids. A blade of grass rasped against his cheek. Birds twittered and chirped. Wind rustled leaves. Footsteps crunched over dirt and twigs.

Pain subsided. Molten heat pooled in his gut. His muscles coiled. Sweat slicked his skin, gathering along his brow and in the grooves of his palms. An ache in his groin had him groaning. His heart thumped wildly against his ribcage. Something wasn't right.

When his eyes snapped open, his hand instinctively reached for his wound, fingers tracing over his abdomen. It was gone—his fingertips slid over smooth, unmarred skin. The wound had vanished as if it had never been there in the first place, but it had. He'd felt the blade plunge and stumbled into the night, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He assessed his surroundings next. He lay in the same glade he'd passed out in. The sun glared down at him through the gap in the leaves overhead. His eyes roved around, catching on a woven basket tipped on its side. A heap of deep indigo and azure petals spilled out. His eyes widened a fraction in recognition. Aether lilies. Known not only for their potent healing properties, but also their frustrating side effects to his kind.

Movement in his peripheral drew his attention. Someone was knelt beside him, peering down at him wide eyed. He was well and truly out of it to have not noticed them immediately.

"You– mierda..." he gritted his teeth as their scent fanned over him, his nostrils flaring and hands clenching. Anger and lust brimmed, bubbling up until the well spilled over. He lunged forward, toppling them over. They landed with a harsh thud, his body caging theirs.

The distinct stiffness of his arousal pressed against their thigh. He needed relief—needed to temper the storm brewing within, and there was only one way to do that. One hand slammed down next to their head, the other held their waist firm, talons dimpling their plush skin.

"You'll fix this, verdad?" He murmured, voice dropping low, flitting over their ear as he leaned close, inhaling their scent again. It was fucking addictive. His hips rutted subtly, rolling forward and making his intentions all the more clear. Every rational thought was caged behind uncontrollable arousal—a hazy fog of need and lust settling over his mind, clouding his better judgement. "It's the least you can do after what you've done to me."

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Bleary eyed and hazy minded, the woods swallowed him whole. Gnarled trees loomed overhead. Shadowed limbs twisted and spiraled, blotting out the night sky and the dim silvery light of the galaxy above. The forest took and took from him. The floor absorbed the crimson liquid that poured from him—from between his fingers and dripping down his wrist. Stray branches snagged at the fabric of his clothes, pulling threads and tearing holes. It sapped his energy. It warped his mind, darkness moved at the edge of his vision. A knotted root sticking up from ruptured earth sent him tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

He landed hard, gasping for breath as he clutched at undergrowth and damp dirt. His other hand landed in briars and he hissed when the thorns pricked his skin. He was losing—losing the race against time, against himself, against the wilderness that fought back so violently without even trying. Had he made it far enough? Had he lost them? It took all of his effort; his last inkling of energy to flip over onto his back.

And when he knocked his head back, his gaze tipped upward. A hole in the canopy of leaves spared him a view of an inky black blanket covered in little white pinpricks. Stars twinkled down at him, floating in a sea of velvet like a portal to another dimension—an escape to someplace else. He lifted an arm, outstretching it and daring to graze his fingertips against something so unfathomably far away. He could step through that gateway. He would.

The abyss was welcoming. It was a safe cradle from reality. Alas, there was peace. Then there was light. A stabbing brightness behind his twitching eyelids. A blade of grass rasped against his cheek. Birds twittered and chirped. Wind rustled leaves. Footsteps crunched over dirt and twigs.

Pain subsided. Molten heat pooled in his gut. His muscles coiled. Sweat slicked his skin, gathering along his brow and in the grooves of his palms. An ache in his groin had him groaning. His heart thumped wildly against his ribcage. Something wasn't right.

When his eyes snapped open, his hand instinctively reached for his wound, fingers tracing over his abdomen. It was gone—his fingertips slid over smooth, unmarred skin. The wound had vanished as if it had never been there in the first place, but it had. He'd felt the blade plunge and stumbled into the night, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He assessed his surroundings next. He lay in the same glade he'd passed out in. The sun glared down at him through the gap in the leaves overhead. His eyes roved around, catching on a woven basket tipped on its side. A heap of deep indigo and azure petals spilled out. His eyes widened a fraction in recognition. Aether lilies. Known not only for their potent healing properties, but also their frustrating side effects to his kind.

Movement in his peripheral drew his attention. Someone was knelt beside him, peering down at him wide eyed. He was well and truly out of it to have not noticed her immediately.

"You– mierda..." he gritted his teeth as her scent fanned over him, his nostrils flaring and hands clenching. Anger and lust brimmed, bubbling up until the well spilled over. He lunged forward, toppling her over. She landed with a harsh thud, his body caging hers.

The distinct stiffness of his arousal pressed against her thigh. He needed relief—needed to temper the storm brewing within, and there was only one way to do that. One hand slammed down next to her head, the other held her waist firm, talons dimpling her plush skin.

"You'll fix this, verdad?" He murmured, voice dropping low, flitting over her ear as he leaned close, inhaling her scent again. It was fucking addictive. His hips rutted subtly, rolling forward and making his intentions all the more clear. Every rational thought was caged behind uncontrollable arousal—a hazy fog of need and lust settling over his mind, clouding his better judgement. "It's the least you can do after what you've done to me."

Bleary eyed and hazy minded, the woods swallowed him whole. Gnarled trees loomed overhead. Shadowed limbs twisted and spiraled, blotting out the night sky and the dim silvery light of the galaxy above. The forest took and took from him. The floor absorbed the crimson liquid that poured from him—from between his fingers and dripping down his wrist. Stray branches snagged at the fabric of his clothes, pulling threads and tearing holes. It sapped his energy. It warped his mind, darkness moved at the edge of his vision. A knotted root sticking up from ruptured earth sent him tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

He landed hard, gasping for breath as he clutched at undergrowth and damp dirt. His other hand landed in briars and he hissed when the thorns pricked his skin. He was losing—losing the race against time, against himself, against the wilderness that fought back so violently without even trying. Had he made it far enough? Had he lost them? It took all of his effort; his last inkling of energy to flip over onto his back.

And when he knocked his head back, his gaze tipped upward. A hole in the canopy of leaves spared him a view of an inky black blanket covered in little white pinpricks. Stars twinkled down at him, floating in a sea of velvet like a portal to another dimension—an escape to someplace else. He lifted an arm, outstretching it and daring to graze his fingertips against something so unfathomably far away. He could step through that gateway. He would.

The abyss was welcoming. It was a safe cradle from reality. Alas, there was peace. Then there was light. A stabbing brightness behind his twitching eyelids. A blade of grass rasped against his cheek. Birds twittered and chirped. Wind rustled leaves. Footsteps crunched over dirt and twigs.

Pain subsided. Molten heat pooled in his gut. His muscles coiled. Sweat slicked his skin, gathering along his brow and in the grooves of his palms. An ache in his groin had him groaning. His heart thumped wildly against his ribcage. Something wasn't right.

When his eyes snapped open, his hand instinctively reached for his wound, fingers tracing over his abdomen. It was gone—his fingertips slid over smooth, unmarred skin. The wound had vanished as if it had never been there in the first place, but it had. He'd felt the blade plunge and stumbled into the night, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He assessed his surroundings next. He lay in the same glade he'd passed out in. The sun glared down at him through the gap in the leaves overhead. His eyes roved around, catching on a woven basket tipped on its side. A heap of deep indigo and azure petals spilled out. His eyes widened a fraction in recognition. Aether lilies. Known not only for their potent healing properties, but also their frustrating side effects to his kind.

Movement in his peripheral drew his attention. Someone was knelt beside him, peering down at him wide eyed. He was well and truly out of it to have not noticed him immediately.

"You– mierda..." he gritted his teeth as his scent fanned over him, his nostrils flaring and hands clenching. Anger and lust brimmed, bubbling up until the well spilled over. Miguel lunged forward, toppling him over. The stranger was knocked back with a harsh thud, Miguel’s body caging his.

The distinct stiffness of his arousal pressed against his thigh. Miguel needed relief—needed to temper the storm brewing within, and there was only one way to do that. One hand slammed down next to his head, the other held his waist firm, talons dimpling his plush skin.

"You'll fix this, verdad?" Miguel murmured, voice dropping low, flitting over his ear as he leaned close, inhaling his scent again. It was fucking addictive. His hips rutted subtly, rolling forward and making his intentions all the more clear. Every rational thought was caged behind uncontrollable arousal—a hazy fog of need and lust settling over his mind, clouding his better judgement. "It's the least you can do after what you've done to me."