Lycan's Affection
What Dreams Are Made Of

Eleanor slowly turned back to Conaan, whose expression was largely unreadable, his chest slightly heaving.

"Is it true?"

He let out a small, shaky breath. "My father was always of ill health."

"But is it true that he didn't recover because of me?" A tear escaped her eyes, and he clasped his hand behind him so he wouldn't run to wipe those tears away.

"It is not true. He died of natural causes. You had nothing to do with it."

She stepped forward to him, her lips slowly parting. His eyes followed her movements, then held her gaze in place.

"How can you even take me back? How can you not hate me more than you do right now?"

Conaan released his hands from behind him, then passed one through his hair. His head felt a little light, and he felt a little weak. But most of all, he felt a bit of resentment. Directed more at himself. He resented himself for the slow fingers of pity that crawled into his heart when he looked at her.

"I probably do, but you are not to blame for my father. Esmeralda occasionally runs her mouth. You are her cousin, so you should know."

Eleanor said nothing for a while, her heart beating slowly. She reached for Conaan's hand, then brought it to hers, sandwiching it between two of hers.

Conaan's eyes drifted upwards to her a bit questioningly.

"I should have never let go of your hand. I caused more problems than..."

Conaan's finger came up her lips, stopping her words. She looked up to him, and he let his fingers drift upwards to her face, wiping off the tears carefully.

"You may not be my favorite person presently, Eleanor...but do not upset me with your tears. You have shed enough."

Her lips quivered as his hand dropped away from her, and he slowly turned away, his hands going back to clasp behind him.

"I will do anything, Conaan. To win you back. Whatever it takes."

It felt good, the butterflies. The slight thump of his heart. It felt good. The jitters, the flickering hope.

Slowly, he met her eyes again, his eyes searching for everything he saw in his when he looked in the mirror towards her.

"And how long are you willing to wait? How long till you are exhausted?"

She shook her head. "You waited..."

"I waited. Yes. But how much longer did you think I was going to wait, Eleanor? A month, a year? No. I would have stayed wanting you forever."

Eleanor's breath hitched in her throat, as she sucked in her lips. It was probably the tine to hold him close, wrap him up in her warmth, tell him things she should have said long ago, but she couldn't.

She just stood there, a tear running down her cheek, her hands clenched into fists.

Conaan's lips parted as he gave a small sigh, and as if having a mind of their own, his legs started to walk back to her.

He didn't know what he felt, didn't care either. But the fragments of time had all stitched up to create this moment, and he believed however it had happened, whatever path they could have treaded would have brought them right back to this.

He stopped right in front of her, a bit of uncertainty stopping him in his tracks.

"Eleanor..." his voice was soft, and she lifted her head, her brows slightly furrowed.

Gently, he leaned closer, snatching the breaths from both of them as he did. His arms wrapped around her like they were always meant to, bringing her into the silky folds of his robe, and the misty warmth of his skin.

She gave a small gasp as his face buried in the crook of her neck, his breath caressing her skin, his fingers gently drawing on the nape.

She swallowed, bringing her hands around him too.

Conaan's eyes closed, the mixture of warmth, scent and her rapid heartbeat creating a compulsively addictive rhythm. He held her even closer, his body replaceing comfort in hers, her frame seemingly completing his.

"Conaan..." she gasped, turning her eyes to look at him.

He gave a slow, shaky breath. "I haven't forgiven you just yet. But I have decided to forgive myself. And...if that includes letting myself indulge in this scent, in this moment...then so be it."

He turned further into her, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck, his hair falling away onto the other side.

Not a lot mattered more than this one moment, and not much felt better, or healed him faster.

Conaan's eyes opened slowly to the bright sun rays filtering in through the large windows. He could vaguely remember coming back to his bed, and he gave a small sigh, trying to close his eyes against the light.

Slowly, a shade came over him, blocking the sunlight and offering a respite for his eyes.

"Is it too bright?" Eleanor said as she hovered above him, a small smile on her lips. Her hands were on either side of him, supporting her, her hair falling on one shoulder.

Conaan swallowed, his eyes drifting across the length of her face. "You are...here?"

She smiled. "I helped you come back last night. You were so weak. Do you feel better now?" She moved most of her weight to one hand, then brought the other to slightly caress the side of his face.

His eyes moved to her hands, then to her face again, his heart skipping two beats through each one.

He felt his resolve weaken even more, and he willed himself to turn away, or for her to dissolve, like she always did in his fantasies.

But she stayed there, her smile bright, the shadow she cast on him warm.

And by the time she somehow lured him back to sleep, he was convinced Eleanor was the thing beautiful dreams were made of.