Chapter 6: The Belly of the Beast - 3
The Abyss was silent again, its usual cacophony of drips and distant screams hushed, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Nyxsha didn’t trust it.
Silence in the Abyss was a liar, a predator that lured you into lowering your guard before sinking its teeth.
She lay curled in her nest of torn cloth and cracked bones, one muscular arm tucked under her head, the other draped protectively over her scarred belly.
Her prehensile tail, scarred from centuries of self-biting, coiled lazily over her thighs like a heavy rope of muscle, twitching with every restless thought that refused to let her rest.
Her ears flicked, catching the faint hum of the Bone Ceiling’s stalactites above.
Her nose wrinkled at the lingering scent of blood and damp fur—hers, and now his.
Her claws flexed, scraping faintly against the stone floor.
She was tired, bone-deep, her muscles aching from days without sleep, her heart raw from a day more intimate than the last century of her solitary existence.
The memory of Azareel’s touch—his warm, gentle hand on her belly—clung to her like a fever, both a comfort and a torment.