Chapter 6 - The Letter And The Truth

Not angrily but with alert.

“Describe him.” Aramisius said.

She shook her head, tears gathering again. “Don’t tell me you didn't see him."

"Well...."

"You caused this!"

Silence followed.

Finally, Aramisius spoke, voice lower now.

“If you see him again....” He said. “....you come to me. Immediately.”

"I DON'T WANT TO SEE HIM AGAIN!" Aeryl screamed sitting up, her tears falling. "You dizzied me in the bushes. Here, too! You killed my dog. Killed my donkey and now you're tormenting me. What do you want?!"

Aramisius studied her for a long moment.

“Your donkey.... was left behind. Your dog was already dead. Something had taken him.”

“You crushed him!”

“I ended his suffering.” He corrected. "You deserve to know what hunts you. More dogs.... will die soon with same aflictions as he had surpassed. I guess I'll make you watch them all. You deserve evidence."

"I hate you so much." Aeryl whispered, shakily. 

"Half the world does."

He paused. 

"You’re not returning to your room like this.” He said at last.

Aeryl stiffened. “Like what?”

“Dishevelled.” His gaze flicked briefly to the roses, then back to her. “Your scent is poisoned. Fear. Anger. Residue. Something else is clinging to you. I do not accept that.”

Her stomach turned. “So what.... what does that mean?”

“It means....” He said calmly. “....you’ll be bathed here. A process in preparation for our future mating when nature is ready.”

Her breath caught. She whimpered. 

"I would never!"

“My chambers are sealed.” He replied. “No interference. No watching eyes. You’ll return to your room afterwards. Marked as Luna under my protection.”

The words settled heavily between them.

"Never...." Aeryl cried and began to get off the bed but something magical pinned her down.

Her own head began screaming warnings to her. 

"Stay!" 

"Remain! Luna, Oohh, Lunaaa. Mate." 

"We have found Alpha-Protector. Alpha-Protector found us!"

Heat fired beneath her skin, spreading through her chest, down her spine, coiling low in her belly. Her pulse slowed, steadied and fell into a rhythm that was peaceful.

Her hands trembled.

Aramisius’s eyes sharpened.

“You feel it.” He said quietly. “Your instincts recognize safety before reasoning does. Cursed be the wereworld's nature, don't you think?”

Silence. 

"Make it stop. I don't want you. Or your safety." She whispered through the haze.

"I am no magician. That is fated matehood holding you down. Fear not, there's more to learn."

Silence. 

He went for the door and Aeryl found herself wanting to call for him to stay that her fists clenched till they shook.

“If you see him again.” Aramisius said again, voice dropping to iron. “You'll come to me immediately.”

And he walked out. Aeryl lay frozen in silk, heart pounding with the terrible realization that something inside her had chosen him back.

****

****

In Draemore, the air was blue with incense smoke and the sweet burn of herbs.

The witch queen sat before her silver mirror, its surface rippling like water, her reflection twisting magically. 

Her eyes were sharp, wicked, lit with witchfire and slitted. Then her lips curved.

She laughed. Cruel, sharp, echoing until even the torches sputtered in fear.

The cloaked men and veiled women in the council shifted uneasily but none spoke.

At last, she took a deep inhale, a slow exhale. Her chest rose as though she commanded the air itself.

"The hybrid blood has been taken." She whispered to the mirror. "And the lycan prince thinks it his alone."

Her grin widened. "Fool."

Heads bowed lower. Her gaze slid to the golden eagle beside her. Its wings twitched, claws scraping wood.

"Go." She whispered, voice laced with sorcery. "Fly to Theartera. Watch the chambers. Tell me if he has bought the girl - the hybrid of twenty years."

The eagle's cry rattled the rafters. Courtiers flinched. The queen lifted her hand in dismissal.

Like lightening, the large bird flew out through the high window. The queen's reflection continued to dance.

"If the blood is ripe...." She murmured. "....soon it shall be mine."

She rose, her gown trailing smoke across marble.

"Lord Seth Frankfurt...." She said, savoring the name. "....a petty fool. He ignored my bid and sold his daughter to Aramisius."

The courtiers murmured shortly. 

"Shut up!" She screeched and they instantly obeyed. 

There was silence.

"The lycan prince's shadow feels safer than my powerful hands?" She laughed, softly. "Let him think so. The hybrid is mine by right. If Aramisius believes he can keep her, he will learn otherwise that he is just a mere, cursed lycan of hundred years."

Her gaze swept the chamber. "Prepare. When the eagle returns, I want every whisper. The girl's blood will not stay in Theartera for long."

****

****

The eagle flew above a broken village, its shadow sliding over chains and crumbling roofs.

Slaves groaned under whips, but the bird circled the area, eyes glowing with fire.

Among them, a young slave lifted his head, sweat streaking his face. His jaw tightened as he looked up and tracked the bird.

He ensured there was no overseer in sight. He picked a jagged stone and hesitated. Then, he flung it upwards.

The stone struck true that the eagle shrieked with a sound too human, echoing like a soul torn apart.

Slaves dropped to their knees in terror.

The young man froze.

The eagle lost control, then steadied. Its glowing eyes fixed on him.

He stumbled back, heart hammering, but he didn't bow.

From its beak came words, carried on the wind:

"You dare! You have been marked."

****

****

Aramisius got to his study room. The door shut behind him with a click. And that was when his hands began to shake.

He ran his hands through his long hair. Across his face. As if he was trying to rub off the nausea that took him.

When he staggered to his seat with difficulty, only then did he brace a hand against the desk. The shaking worsened without warning.

His jaw clenched hard as a sharp, aching pressure spread through his skull. Down his spine. Into his gums.

His fangs throbbed.

Not with hunger but with stinging pain.

Aramisius sucked in a slow breath through his nose. It did nothing. The ache sharpened, pulsing in time with his heartbeat, until his vision dimmed at the edges.

“No.” He growled under his breath.

This had not happened in the two centuries that he had lived.

He staggered toward the washstand, gripping the stone basin just as his stomach twisted violently. His shoulders heaved.

He vomited.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

And again. 

Nothing but bitter liquid and heat, his body rejecting something it did not understand. His breath came rough, uneven, hands trembling as he stayed bent over the basin.

The ache in his fangs worsened. A deep, grinding pressure, like something, was trying to force its way out of him.

Then, his eyes reflected fire.