WARHAVEN II

Eleven

Lorenzo

The creator must be on our side because we spawned right outside the castle gates. I immediately made contact with Andimus, the head of our castle guard. We were quickly granted passage, as expected. The others were escorted to their guest quarters and I shot into the storming skies with Davina tight in my grasp.

It was clear from the weather that Roman's mood had not improved since my departure. I beat my wings against the cold, misty air and flew us straight to the healer's open window, rushing in, I landed amongst the medical supplies and potions, startling the old fat man.

"Giuseppe!" I called, landing on the stone floor, "Please, she needs immediate assistance." I rushed gently, placing her broken frame onto the soft, thick mattress.

He ran to her, panic on his aged face, "Oh my..." He looked her over, his face turning pale at once. With eyes wide, his mouth opened and closed, his words lost on him.

"Giuseppe, spit it out. Can you help or not?" He gulped and grabbed his wound supplies.

"Yes, I believe so it is just..." He said, trailing his words off as his hands shook.

"What?" I demanded, frustration taking over.

"I – who is this woman, sir?" He asked, panicked eyes meeting mine.

"That is not of importance at this moment, doctor." I said firmly, "Help her." I demanded.

He hesitated still, "Well, it is just that I-" He said, stumbling over his words.

"Giuseppe, now." I urged. He looked terrified, of what, I could not figure out.

More stuttering occurred as he spoke, "It's just that the King has sworn me to secrecy. I cannot betray him."

I rolled my eyes, "I assure you, nothing bad will come to you unless you do not tell me what has you so shaken." He moved, cleaning and dressing her wounds, with a swiftness. He hung blood, putting it straight into her vein. As well as some on her purple lips. She did not react.

He still hesitated but finally sighed, revealing his secret, "I just mended the same wounds on our King." Pity and fear shone in his aged eyes. "Is this our intended Queen? His majesty's mate?" He asked, hitting it on the nose.

I said nothing in response to his correct assumption. I cleared my throat, crossing my heavy arms across my chest, "Will she make it?". I asked, pushing anxiety down and remaining stomach.

"She may pull through if she feeds, although her fangs failing to descend is concerning." I sighed, rubbing my hands through my hair.

"Okay, keep at it and I shall return shortly." He nodded quickly and continued his work. I stalked out.

—

Roman

Every emotion I felt these days was negative. From sadness and her betrayal, to heartbreak. The searing pain as I watch my skin slice apart and heal and scar and rip open, bleeding horribly. I am losing my fucking mind.

I am humiliated by her blatant rejection of my offer. Worse than the humiliation, is the devastation I feel. Even after we solidified our bond, she denied anything real with me. Anything permanent.

I feel used. I know it is rather ironic considering my many nights with random fae women, but that was a mutual understanding and they were not my mate. My mate.

I am so broken. My mate. My precious other half does not want me. Pain seared deep in my chest and once again, I was mesmerized by how emotional heartbreak can manifest as physical pain.

I took a sip of my brandy and let it fester, lying to myself, saying the pain in my chest is due to the burning liquor and not my utter despair.

I knew she was in pain. It ripped through my veins every waking second. Her soul screamed for me for so long, but her voice became a hollow, lifeless thing.

I let myself sit in my self-pity so long, I was terrified I had lost both of us. I searched for her, attempted to get to her several times, but was turned away at the WarHaven gates. I was told she did not need me. That she did not want me.

The fourth visit I took was when she first started cutting...us. Marcellus, the new King said, on her behalf, 'Fuck off or die.'

l knew Augustus had been dead for a few months now, but kept it to myself as the realization of her rejection despite our biggest obstacle being removed was horrid.

Her pain is clearly her grief for the little King's death. My skin yearned to comfort her in her distress, but I denied, and I denied for her. The last thing a grieving widow desires is a mate she did not ask for.

She has denied me from day one. Perhaps that is what she truly wants. Our night in the onsen was simply, the bond. I mean she didn't even know what she was doing! And maybe I was selfish and pretended she knew, just to put out the burning flames of desire for her that held me so utterly captive. But maybe I liked it.

I would live 1000 immortal lifetimes in solitude for one more night by her soft, delicate side. To stare at the utter perfection that is her.

She sits in her perfection...letting it steep, intensifying every detail, causing her value to rise simply by breathing, I am in awe of her.

I never thought desire to be painful. Always lustful and guilt coded. My desire for her is only painful. I desire so much more than to simply reside within her warm walls. I desire residence in the rough, hectic corners of her warm heart.

I have been without her for four small months in my immortal life. Four. And I contemplate suicide with every breath, but I will not cave and kill us both I could never cause her harm intentionally. It would simply end my life itself.

My existence is a delicate flower and she is the sun. I crave every fiber of her being, and I desire her so intensely, I thought about slaughtering all of WarHaven. Simply to listen to her breathe. I could and I would in an instant, but she does not want me. She has never asked for me. I doubt she thinks of me.

I truly wouldn't know, as our bond is so severely malnourished that all that is left is fucking beautiful, unbearable agony and I am addicted to it. To my last painful connection that she is real. What a weak man I am. What a dangerous weapon she is.