The God & The Shadow

Chapter 82

LORE

I pulled the blunt dagger out of my stomach and scowled at the blade before dropping it on the counter. It felt as minute as an ant bite, but my bloody clothes made me look like I just jumped in a vat full of it.

Gently, I rested my sheathed sword to the side and took my shirt off. Angry welts and scars stared back at me in the mirror as I examined the bloody wounds on my body. I had others littered on my arms, neck, and chest—courtesy of the overpowering number of angels that attacked me earlier.

I sighed at the pieces of shrapnel embedded deep into some of the cuts on my arms. More work for me to tend to.

To be fair, I did go alone. But I needed to finish the job immediately, let their damn king stop being a coward and come out from hiding. He was a conniving bastard that barely had the balls to do shit.

Three years ago, he disappeared, only to show up now and plant a bomb that nearly blew up the entire Midas building and killed my wife.

What a fucking joke.

Rifling through the drawers, I grabbed the bag full of first aid equipment and set it on the table. Normally, I'd simply heal myself, but they were getting cleverer by using weapons that prevented me from doing so. At least those three years I was gone weren't for nothing.

I grabbed a clean towel from the rack and placed it underneath running water. Memories of her tending to my wounds flooded my mind, all the times she was so close to me and the dodging she did when she'd try to stifle her emotions.

I remembered how at some point I was the one who ended up tending to her. Ironic how I hurt her during our sparring that night, just for me to help her with the wound I inflicted. She never liked to submit to her pain, but that night, she became vulnerable with me, whether she'd admit it or not. It was a memory I'd never forget, not even in my death.

Not that I really ever stayed dead, anyway...

Looking up from the sink, I internally withdrew from myself when I saw myself smiling. Like a damn idiot. If I were someone else, I'd have punched myself in the gut already.

"Gods," I cursed and began tending to my wounds, my movements faster than usual.

The idea of her in my bed, waking up confused, only for me to stroll in and watch her face grow with shock and happiness. I couldn't wait to see it. I needed to see it. To see her.

Once I finished, I placed the metal instruments that I user to remove the pieces embedded into my skin. I cringed when one of the tweezers clanged against one of the metal handles, dropping loudly unto the marble tiles.

Despite my excitement, I didn't want to wake Veronica so soon. She was still beautiful as ever, but it wasn't so difficult to deduce that she hadn't slept in a while. Days, maybe. Her face was wan, her eyes heavier, her body so recklessly frail. I wouldn't put personal negligence past her—not after everything that happened in the past three years.

I believed myself to be a patient man. I waited three years, what's a few hours more?

Making a quick disposal of my mess, I directed my attention to the door behind me when a quick pattern of knocking rapped against the wood.