Obsession is the height of passion, but what does one do when they find themselves enthralled with their enemy. Talamayas Sol loses his mother when he stumbles upon a mage in the deserts of his territory, and he is plunged into a despair he's never...
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Wren had never been embarrassed to a point where he wanted to hide before, but as each day rolled by, the dungeons became more and more appealing. The pain from the seals flared up for near three days, and each one, several Sols approached and showed him fealty. There was apparently a bold line of difference between Talamayas being obsessed with a prisoner and naming Wren his soul bound. As Talamayas' mate, Wren shared equally in his power, and the Sols were more than happy to have another leader.
Too happy when Wren was the one who'd taken their mother.
It was as if no one remembered her anymore, like they didn't dream of murdering her each night no matter how comfortable it was to be by Tala's side. It had been okay just living here, but having them introduce themselves one by one and drop to a knee was too much for Wren by the end of the third night. With no other way to avoid them, he stowed away on the most distant side of the castle he could find. Storerooms seemed to be Wren's go to spot, considering he slept in one, and he found an old cushioned bench bigger than a therapist's couch to just wither on.
Every time he made any large movement, like sitting, going up a step, turning sharply, etcetera, the pain flared up for just that moment. So with his descent onto the couch, the small spots on his wrists flared up and accented the darkness with agony. It was cold this low in the castle and out of reach from the sun, and as Wren shivered, it sent another wave of pain through him. Before he could even cringe from it, a shadow dropped on him in the form of a blanket. With a sigh, Wren placed his face on the inside of the cushioned bench.
He was also never alone.
"Is the pain any better?" Talamayas asked, standing over him in the dark.
"Yes. It just protests when I move too much," Wren whispered into the blanket that he'd bunched under his head near his face. It wasn't very fun to inhale the dust of the old bench, so he used it as a shield to breathe.
"Can I join you?" Talamayas asked, actually asked. Since forcing him into being his soul bound, Talamayas had been walking on nervous eggshells that were nearly just as agonizing as his people's fealty.
"You would join me if I were sleeping on a bed of nails, Talamayas," Wren replied, letting out a hiss of breath as Tala lay behind and smothered him in his dark magic. It was such a pleasant release of pain to have Tala's essence conquer Nicholas' lingering magic completely.
The bench was wide enough for both of them, but only if Talamayas pressed Wren into his chest and pinned him to the back of it–something the man had no reservation about doing. Heat washed away the chill of the old room in an instant, and it wasn't at all from his own body temperature. It was nice on occasion that when Talamayas was emotional, the air around him heated.
"Wren," Talamayas said his name into his ear, with nowhere else for his face to go with them glued at the hips and chest. It blew a hint of charred air into Wren's face, and the scent meant Tala was thinking too hard again.
