That voice speaks louder when he is near HER. The hissed out whispers gaining strength, telling him things. Trying to compel him to give in to a Drule male’s need to master and dominate. The urges his mate inspires inside, it tells Sabbath to take hold of her. To kiss and lick, bite and bleed. To taste her.
Resisting, Sabbath tastes her in other ways. Marks her in ways that won’t put pain and fear in Romelle’s eyes. He’s always been gentle with her, not only respectful but downright worshipful of his mate. He adores Romelle, loves her with every fiber of his being. But always the voice whispers, trying to get him to betray his vows. The vows he made to his all too human mother, Sabbath learning to respect and care for the treasure that is a woman at her hands.
He especially treasures the woman that is HIS, Romelle his precious other half. His beautiful wife, her small, delicate form holding a vibrant, fiery spirit. Like a moth to a flame, he is drawn to that spirit, all the while knowing any other Drule would crush it in an attempt to master Romelle. Not Sabbath! He cherishes Romelle and her fire too much, and though the Drule in him screams to possess her fully, Sabbath holds back.
The Drule in him is not always so easy to contain. Romelle can easily arouse it and Sabbath with just a look. Those times when Romelle’s eyes go dark blue with an inviting warmth, it’s all Sabbath can do to keep in control. To keep from ripping off every shred of clothing she wears, and pinning Romelle underneath him. Restraint colors even the way he holds her, Sabbath careful not to leave the bruising imprints of where he gripped her. And when he sinks inside her, Sabbath can never fully let go, fearing the Drule, fearing the damage he would do if caught in the grips of a Drule’s mating frenzy.
Romelle doesn’t understand the struggle within him. She can’t! Not with the way she tests him. It’s not just the desire she arouses inside him, there are other things. Moments when he catches her being a little to attentive to other men. The Drule and the human both HATE that, a rage filling him that could be best described as murderous. But not towards her, but the men she dares talk to. The men who Romelle might linger her fingers on their arms, press in a little too close, or even smile at. That is when the voice becomes the loudest, making Sabbath aware of the savage nature of the Drules. Reminding him that he is a barbarian at heart, and no amount of childhood promises can keep the Drule away forever.
It is those times he fears for Romelle. Fears for himself too. Fears the irreparable damage he will do. Romelle refuses to acknowledge the danger, to recognize that her gentle lover is still a Drule. She insists he’s different, that he’s nothing like Lotor, or Ryder, or even Cossack. Romelle has experienced the behavior of a true Drule, seen the way the others acts with women and men both. She believes Sabbath an exception to the rule, and perhaps that is why she continues to push her luck.
Sabbath worries for the day Romelle will go too far. The day she will unleash the Drule inside him. He knows it’s coming, can’t stop it anymore than he can get Romelle to correct her behavior. He’s all but assured his beautiful girl will leave him once it happens. And then? Then Sabbath will die, by his own hands if his broken heart doesn’t kill him first.