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53
Hadrius lingers by the hallway, his form hidden in the dark shadows that lick across his skin, pressing him further in.
The kitchen is not far ahead, glowing light spilling from the burning fireplace and casting the two shifting shadows within. His footsteps are noiseless as the distance between closes and their voices take on a prominent form.
“...Where is your family?” Cain’s voice is husky and distinct, and holds a curious yet familiar playful edge to it. Hadrius halts by the entrance, still masked by the murmuring shadows that joined him in his eavesdropping.
His human does not reply immediately, the recognisable sound of a knife cutting on a chopping board echoing throughout.
The cutting falters but only slightly. “I have no family.”
The warlord can almost envision his brother’s eyebrow rising to the ceiling. “An orphan?”
The indignant twitching of his mate’s jaw flickers in his mind
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The Beast's Slave 54
Fear.Hadrius knew that word well for it had always been something that creatures would live, swallow, breathe from one of his glances alone.Fear.He had cast it in people’s hearts, as a hot iron blade branded skin, so the warlord marked his presence with it. Scarcely had he ever felt such an emotion, and the mere thought of it felt foreign, distant- almost nonexistent.He thought he would never have to feel such a way again.But here. Now. Staring at his human, poised at the table with her fingertip sliced clean- the warlord finally feels the unfamiliar emotion surge through his veins like ice cold fire.“Human-” Hadrius’ voice cracks like chords tearing. His throat constricts with sound. There is blood. Bright blood spilling like a secret on the table, trickling down the cupboard, dripping onto the floor in puddles of poppy petals.Yet she does not notice the inflicted wound, her own incredulous eye
The Beast's Slave 55
River sits on the toilet seat, silently cradling her throbbing hand.It burns with a blinding intensity that momentarily robs her of coherence until all she can do is whimper and rock back and forth. The stabbing heat, however, is no match for Hadrius’ words and despite her maimed state, she manages a faint scowl.The shifting in her peripheral view reminds her that she is not alone.“How’s the hand, girl?”Cain still leans against the doorframe, a rugged hellhound peering from between his legs. She casts a weary, sidelong glance to the man, then the hellhound whose lips part only further as their gazes lock. Its serpent-like tongue lolls out, slobbers of drool like ropes puddling on the floor.River averts her attention back to her injured hand. It still bleeds and her shirt grows sticky. “It hurts,” she admits with an obvious, harsh edge to her tone.Cain pushes off the wall and approaches her. Wordlessl
The Beast's Slave 56
The warlord feels his body ache defiantly from the insistent and abrupt shifting. His bones feel like lead, muscles pulled taut like strings on a bow. Yet he cannot bring himself to relax, the rising anger in him only spewing magma through his veins and down his spine, out into the universe.He turns to the new mortal now hunched over in the corner, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Her nut-brown skin glows with beaded perspiration, smudges of bright blood from a group of people he did not remember slaughtering to find her, now blemishing her ruddy cheeks. Her wide, frightened eyes grow fixated on the warlord, then Cain, and finally River.Conflicting emotions braid her dark green eyes, perhaps calculating the distance of escape- or wondering if River is friend or foe.Hadrius grits his jaw harshly and crouches low to grab the discarded knapsack. He rips the flimsy material open and its contents fall and scatter onto the floor. “This is everything you nee
The Beast's Slave 57
The warlord studies his mate for a brief moment: the hardened set of her shoulders; chin tilted up just enough to exude confidence or a lack thereof. Pitted dark circles of exhaustion line the underneath of those dull brown eyes that watch him.He sinks back into the pillow. “We will speak of it tomorrow.”She sucks in a sharp whistling breath as though he had slapped her. “Hadrius-”“Tomorrow.”The dangerous tilt to his tone is as brittle as glass, pricking at the centre of her chest. Rolling onto his side in finality, the warlord shuts his eyes and steadies his breathing, indifferent to the cold finger of dread that touches his heart.She remains silent and shuffles.Even with his eyes closed, Hadrius can almost envision the slight rush of red to her paling cheeks, the weak slumping of her mouth as she tries to scowl but is too tired to do so, along with the balling of her fists.River draw
The Beast's Slave 58
Hadrius was annoyed.Or hurt.River could not tell the difference as the warlord had spent the remainder of their final day together away from her. He could have been avoiding her and the mere thought of it sparks anger, if only dull, within. It does not linger for long, however, for she knows Hadrius has every right to react negatively.He had been expecting a different answer from her and the moment she denied him of it, his whole demeanour seemed to click airtight, shutting her out. He left with Cain to prepare the hellhounds and draw up the final plans as well as ensure the house was secure enough from the outside.River had wanted to leave as well, if not to wander, at least to help, but Hadrius had shot her one final pinning glance that ultimately had her slinking back to the kitchen with a scowl, lips puckering as though she had just sucked a sour berry.“How is your finger?” River glances up at the foreign sound - a raw, husky w
The Beast's Slave 59
The warlord does not sleep throughout the night. Lying on his back, he stares at the darkened ceiling lit by slants of cold moonlight peering from the window. Beyond the wooden walls, a long mournful wind billows like a foghorn, drawing clouds of darkness and snow.A blizzard would ensue sometime during the day. The snow would disrupt their war on both sides.His chest rises and falls solemnly, his mind drifting by emptily, ears only conscious of the stilted breaths of his mate.She too is awake. Sometime in the hour he had untied her and she lay unmoving by his side. At some point she stirred and her thigh brushed his own, a subtle reminder of her presence, before growing still once more.Her shallow breaths tell him that sleep deserted her as well, and he hears her teeth working back and forth— lips parting to speak only to press shut in hesitance.For a dull, desperate moment, Hadrius wishes she would talk. The curious part of him tilting
The Beast's Slave 60
“Can you fight?”River glances up at the familiar voice, hoarse from endless weeping. Sumaya stands by the living room’s doorway, her hands wrenching tight by the front of her stained dress, face downcast, two paths of dried salt on either cheek. She peers at River apprehensively from beneath long dark lashes.River’s attention returns to the sword in her hand. To take her mind off things, she had placed a sharpening stone in the living room and began to sharpen her blade’s edges- back and forth, up and forth- the scraping sounds filling an unnerving silence in her mind and hollow chest.She smiles warily, “I don’t know,” Hadrius had trained her but not as much. Within ten or so sessions she could wield a sword yet she had neither killed nor battled with anyone beside the warlord.In comparison to her past, there is a sliver of confidence in her capabilities, however, as of now she would never truly know the
The Beast's Slave 61
Hadrius stares at the grey land before him. Ashes drifting in the still air, suspending only for a moment as the grey clouds sink even lower, pressing on the warlord’s shoulders.A wintry subtle breeze slips past his face, tunnelling mournfully in his ears with the sound of war breaking out beneath him.His gaze lowers to the field of blood; the clash of dark hellhounds and wolves, vicious bloodied teeth bared as they sink into gaping necks, stretched claws curlings upwards splitting bellies open, guts and shit filled intestines roping the earth and blood… so much blood. The snow, once white, is drenched now with red and red. Flecks of spots splatter on bare tree barks, streaks of darkness drips from the branches, decapitated heads loll like balls of dust.The air is close with the iron scent, so thick he tastes it on his tongue.A wolf is slain in the crowd, it’s belly slit down the center and its heart just barely peeking from the bro
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