f o u r t e e n

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f o u r t e e n

In the thick musk of the dark, teal hues shoot open harshly, infiltrating the canvas of utterly nothing.

The male breathes hard, chest rising in and out at a fast pace, trying to accumulate his lungs with as much oxygen as possible. It's a vain attempt to calm his racing heart, to sooth his raging mind.

His thoughts are clouded, dwindling to nothing that makes sense, only leave a quake of terror in his wake. His skin burns, and is hot, regardless of the fact that winter still lurked. His black tee is peeled off, patches of sweat darkening some of the fabric. The duvet is pushed off next, skin feeling relief as the cold air tickles his skin. His breathing hasn't calmed down, still swallowing huge handfuls of air. His skin trembles, and limbs feel tired and weak as he sets his back down on the bed, trying to ease himself. No success arises.

Mekhi is motionless for several minutes, letting his system calm down and lull his heart back to a steady rhythm. His stomach is still filled with ugly dread, a dread that would linger for the rest of the day, a dread that he would carry with him until the next night came over, and he'd have to experience it all over again.

It had been a week since he had marked Ember, and each night that follow, he'd been hounded with the dreams that she dreamed. Though, dream isn't the right word. They weren't anything to hope for.

The bond had set between them, bringing them closer by the minute. It didn't settle as quick as lycan bonds did – he still couldn't mind link Ember, but the healer had hypothesised that it would come surely with time. He never fully got a grasp of what Ember was feeling throughout the day, the female hid much from herself, let alone him. But the night was the point where her guard was down, and when the Moon liked to meddle.

He didn't go to her, whenever she had such dreams. He had the first night, the nightmare having freaked him entirely, so that he instinctively went to her.

Ember had ushered him away. It was different being cradled when the male didn't know what was in her head, but now that he did, it only made her feel shame. And she made him promise to not ask her questions, and he respected that.

Or he tried to most of the time. He ended up falling asleep outside of her door in the last two nights.

"Fuck," it's the only thing that can fall from his lips, fingers threading through thick and damp locks, form still quivering.

Ember's nightmares didn't show him anything. Everything was fuzzy, blurred and completely eradicated from his head as soon as his senses became aligned with reality. That wasn't an issue. It was the feeling they left, the dread and terror that would linger and poison his mind. It was the fact that he knew he would have to face it again the next night, and that would trouble his mind every free second he had.

He stumbles out of the bed, shakily heading towards the bathroom door and splashing cold water all over his face, droplets down the nape of his neck and trickling all the way down his torso, pooling at the v-line of his boxers.

Arms lean against the edge of the cold basin, relishing in for a moment. His head is dipped, eyes shut firmly.

In a few hours – when morning would break- Ember's trial was to occur. As the event had neared, her nightmares had only become more amplified, more cruel and breaking.

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