Untamed {Mature Reading}

Chapter XLV

(TW: blood, violence, death)

In the moments that followed, Bianca would agonise over every detail, every movement that led up to Callum on his knees before Grey. She had watched in horror, unable to look away, as the men fought, the bite of blades slicing through the air, the clang of their swords meeting in a deadly dance. 

For a brief moment, it took Bianca back - back to her own lands where fire and charred flesh scorched the air. The horrors of the invasion, of a losing battle, had assaulted her senses until all she could hear were screams of the dying, the coppery taste of their blood so thick in the air it coated her tongue seeping down her throat until she thought she would choke on it. 

How long had she tried to oppress such memories? How many times had she told herself not to tread to that dark corner of her mind where she had locked those thoughts away? 

And now there were rising to the surface, an unstoppable force made possible by the sight of the two men before her, by the promise of Morrigan and her dark twin Donn looming on the fringes of the fight. The goddess watched eagerly as the men fought, her place face a-glow, as she drank in the battle cries, her teeth bared into a fierce snarl as she watched on. But it was the quiet, sad expectancy surrounding Donn that chilled Bianca to her core. 

As Bianca stared in horror as the fight unfolded before her eyes, she was becoming more and more aware that the person who would travel to an eternal home looked like Callum. 

Movement caught her eye as she saw Grey's men slink amongst the sidelines, their stride silent and purposeful. It took Bianca a moment too late to realise their intent. Her lips parted, her bound hands raised as if she could grab the attention of Alec or Angus but it was Grey's cold and unforgiving voice that made Bianca's head snap.

"Kneel."

There stood Callum, bleeding and defiant as Grey held a sword to his throat. His arm was a rivet of blood soaking into the earth beneath, his sword cast away. The wound looked deep and already Callum's face had turned ashen, gleaming with a faint coating of sweat. 

Blood thundered in her ears until it was all she could hear. Bianca could see how this would all play out - Callum's men surrounded and even if they fought to get to their Laird, Grey would plunge his blade, slaying any chance of coming to Callum's aid. 

He was going to die and as she watched him slowly lower himself to his knees, she could see that he knew it too.

What happened next seemed like a blur - all eyes seemed to be turned away as if she was a discarded pawn in a game of chess. Her purpose to them now served, she was nothing more than a spectator. 

Bianca barely registered her feet hitting the ground, the way the ropes binding her hands protested as she instinctively fought against them. The expanse between her and Callum felt impossibly large, but she all but blinked and there she was - the weight of Callum's sword in her hands, her wrists straining against the rope to accommodate the hold. 

All she knew was that someone would not survive and she could not stand by and let it be Callum. 

She had never thought what it would be like to kill someone. To feel skin, muscle and bone first resist the blade before inevitably yielding. As a priestess, she was to never take a life, for all life was a blessing, no matter how much harm it brought. To kill was to take away another's right to life. 

And yet, Bianca refused to find another way. This time, she needed to act. 

She wished she could say that watching her attacker, the man who had brought so much pain into her life, crumpled to the ground was satisfying, but it was not. Slowly, noise and colour came back to her in flashes and Bianca felt a wave of nausea take hold in the pit of her stomach as she realised what she had done.