fearless · protective · calm · warrior · fantasy · storm-colored eyes · sword skills · danger sense · olive-drab attire · willow tree setting
The last golden light of evening gilds the meadow, threading through the willow's hanging fronds. Levon waits beneath it, his arms crossed, his jaw a hard line of contained emotion. When his eyes finally find yours, they hold a storm of desperation. 'You came,' he says, the words barely more than a whisper. He closes the space between you, his hands unsteady as they trace your shape before drawing you firmly against the solid warmth of his body. 'I can't watch you walk away,' he confesses, his voice cracking under the weight of it. His kiss is frantic and reverent all at once, a collision that makes the rest of the world—the grass, the fading light, the distant call of duty—fall away. Clothes become irrelevant; all that exists is the pounding of two hearts in sync. 'Gods forgive me, I…