Escape is Only Temporary [boyxboy]

Chapter IX

 ~Saturday 28th May 2016~

It wasn't a dream. No matter how much Shepherd had hoped, he knew that it wasn't. It wasn't his mind playing tricks on him, tormenting him, torturing him. No. It was reality. He didn't wake with Porter next to him in bed, nor hearing the man's subtle little snores drift through the cold air in the room around them. It was quiet. Almost silent. And, despite the warmth in the room, Shepherd felt ice in his core. Porter was gone. He had been murdered, right there in front of Shepherd. And it was all his fault.

If he hadn't texted Porter whilst he had been getting what he needed to patch up Reece and Kai, the man would still be alive. His fiance. His love. He was gone. Never again would Shepherd hear the melodic tunes of his laughter rolling through their house, or see the beauty of his beaming smile, or feel the tender caress of his most intimate touches. That was gone. Rotted away to nothing. Shepherd had nothing. And the last moments he had with Porter, they weren't a goodbye. They were spiteful and cruel.

Sitting up, Shepherd rubbed his aching eyes, not caring for the dull throb that pulsed within his skull from the movement. He wasn't at home. From what he could tell, he was in the penthouse suite of the Warrickton, in the master bedroom. Despite the thick, heavy feeling clouding his mind, Shepherd could still sense Reece's presence around him. It lingered, the scent of lavender mingled in with an early morning woodland. Fresh and welcoming no matter the mood that Shepherd was in. Comforting.

Peering under the covers, Shepherd found his clothing had been changed. Someone had bathed him, removing the blood from his flesh and putting him in a loose-fitting pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. Lifting the collar of the t-shirt to his nose, Shepherd inhaled deeply, allowing his eyes to droop closed. Lavender. It was Reece's t-shirt. The scent was thick, clinging to the bed sheets too, stroking over Shepherd's form in an attempt to wash away the pain. Maybe it worked, maybe that was why Shepherd wasn't crying anymore. He couldn't quite be sure.

Reece was nearby, as were the other wolves, elsewhere in the suite. Shepherd could hear muffled voices here and there, although nothing sounded particularly happy. There was no laughter, no joking. It was just voices, low and solemn. Shepherd thought about joining them, maybe in a few moments. He just needed some time to himself first. He had to grieve, and he didn't want his sons seeing that. They had seen enough. It had to have been traumatic for them, to see their mother like that, when he had spent so many years hiding his darker emotions from them. Shepherd hoped they forgave him for losing control.

Shepherd didn't have much to work with in the bedroom, however, he did have his satchel. He found it resting on top of the dresser in the far corner of the room, knowing that Reece must have brought it because of its importance to Shepherd. Within, he removed three candles and some blue chalk. It might cause a mess, but he had to do this. He had to know that Porter's soul was at peace, and he had to say goodbye. That was all he needed, then he could begin anew and try to rebuild what had just been torn from his fingertips.

Normally, Shepherd would hum to himself whilst he drew out symbols for his rituals. That morning, he couldn't find his song. Instead, he was silent. He carved the symbols out carefully on the cream carpet, knowing that it was likely to be difficult to remove the blue chalk, yet concluding that he would simply pay Reece back for whatever he was charged by the hotel. This was for him. This was a selfish act, something that he didn't often perform. He hoped Reece would understand.

Shepherd placed the three black candles over specific points of the symbol, equidistant from one another, before lighting them with the matches from his satchel. For a moment, he just sat there. He watched the flames flicker, curling blue as they burnt, sending gradual drops of black wax running down onto the carpet. It wasn't until the wick had run down an inch or so that Shepherd moved. Through the black spots in his vision, he lifted one of the candles, first dripping wax onto one of the markings on his right wrist. The pain didn't even register, though the marking sparked blue, glowing silver as the energies grew around the warlock.