Wolf of Eden

Eremos

Wolf's P.O.V

Conflict is something I am all too familiar with. It's something that one has to take in their stride if they're to survive in this forsaken world. You don't go around seeing shit people doing shit things without being conflicted about whether to join them by slitting their throats or by turning a blind eye and becoming worse off.

But I've never felt conflicted like this before. I can barely comprehend the situation that awaits before me. A pissed-off witch turning her back and stomping away with curled fists and probably pouting like a petulant child.

The accusations she spewed left me reeling for a split second, wondering if the crazed witch had fallen too far off her rocker. Anyone with half a brain can tell she's not all there.

The far-off gleam in her eyes, the nonchalant manner in which she speaks of killing her mother multiple times. I guess having a mother that wants to equally kill you can't be all that good for one's mental health.

'You're my mate.'

The ferocity with which she speaks drums through my ears and reverberates into my brain, a splicing headache emerging from my left temple at the tenacity of it all.

There's no way in hell I'm mated to a witch.

She must really be screwed in the head to come up with absurdities such as that.

Watching the witch storm away, I grab my cloak once more, donning the comforting material and hiding myself in the confines of it once more.

That woman must be using her witchy ways on me. That's the only way I can settle the confusion as to why the hell I removed it in the first place.

I need to get a grip. I'm losing myself in more ways than one.

Clenching my left hand into a tight fist, I want nothing more than to quell the pounding in my head but I have more important things to attend to.

Pulling the hood higher up over my head, I make my way from the other end of the garden, not wanting to take the risk of bumping into a crazed woman who's probably out for revenge, or whatever the hell it is women do when they get rejected.

The passageway is damp and murky, unused for hundreds of years except for the stray wanderer such as myself and the King. The latter who currently sits in his office waiting for me. The trek doesn't take long, especially with the gigantic castle engraved in my brain like the back of my hand. Centuries of strolling around the castle as a child and then an adult burns the image of every divot and crease in the large building, the beauty of it all not getting lost on me regardless of all this time.

Reaching the main floor of the office, I make my way toward it, only pausing to knock on the large oak door. I don't wait for an answer, letting myself in after a few beats of silence.

A single eyebrow raises at the sight before me but no one other than myself knows it. The facial expression is hidden underneath my hood as I watch the King sitting comfortably with his Queen in his arms.

A brief image of the unhinged witch flashes through my mind and I have to stop myself from letting out a snort.

"You asked for me?" I ask in a flat tone but still try to be polite.

Queen Fie glances up at me and waves me over quickly, speaking for her mate who's too consumed in looking at her like he's never seen her before.

"Yes. There is a reason as to why we called you."

The sharp laugh emitting from the Queen lets me know she's nervous about something and it sets me on edge. That can never mean good.

My gaze drifts from Queen Fie and over to King Malleus, the man sensing my gaze as he props himself up further, positioning his mate more comfortably.