Veiled in Shadows and Brimstone

12

The bedroom was dimly lit, the fire in the hearth casting long, flickering shadows across the room. Charlie sat on the edge of the bed, her topaz eyes dull with exhaustion. She tried to mask the pain radiating from her left side, but each breath sent a sharp reminder through her body. For four months, she had managed to keep this secret—ever since her fight with Roo to reclaim Alastor’s soul. But now, the wound was festering, the infection spreading, and she could feel her strength waning. Alastor stood by the window, his red hair a stark contrast against the darkness outside. He had been watching Charlie for days, noting her paleness, her reluctance to meet his gaze, the way she moved more carefully. He knew his wife well—knew that she was hiding something, and tonight, he was determined to find out what. “Charlie,” Alastor began, his voice soft but laced with concern, “you’ve been distant, evasive. I know you’re hiding something from me. What’s going on?” Charlie forced a smile, shaking her head. “I’m fine, Al. Really, you don’t have to worry.” But Alastor didn’t buy it. His ears flattened against his head as his frustration grew. “You’re not fine. I can see it in your eyes, the way you’re holding yourself. You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but the words died on her lips as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She swayed on the bed, her vision blurring, and before she could steady herself, her body gave out. Alastor’s sharp eyes caught the moment she began to fall, and he lunged forward, catching her just as she collapsed.
“Charlie!” he shouted, panic lacing his voice. He cradled her against him, the scent of blood suddenly overwhelming his senses. His gaze darted to her side, where his hand had landed, now stained with crimson. Confusion and fear clashed in his mind as he gently laid her down on the bed, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled back the fabric of her shirt. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the soiled gauze wrapped around her side. The bandages were stiff with dried blood, the wound underneath clearly infected. Slowly, carefully, Alastor peeled away the bandages, revealing the deep, festering gash beneath. Gold lines branched out from the wound, eerily similar to the ones he bore from his battle with Adam 14 years ago. Alastor’s hands shook as he cleaned the wound, his mind racing. How had this happened? Why hadn’t she told him? The infection was severe—far worse than anything she should have tried to handle on her own.  He worked quickly, stitching up the wound with precision despite the turmoil raging inside him. Just as he finished, Charlie stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She winced as consciousness returned, the pain sharp and unrelenting. “Al…” she murmured, her voice weak. Alastor’s eyes softened as he leaned in close, his crimson gaze locking onto her topaz one. “Why, Charlie?” he asked, his voice heavy with hurt. “Why did you hide this from me? How did you get this wound?” Charlie hesitated, looking away, but Alastor gently cupped her face, guiding her to meet his gaze once more. “Don’t look away, my brave and foolish doe. Please… tell me.” Tears welled in Charlie’s eyes as she whispered, “It was Roo. When I fought her… to get you back. I didn’t want you to worry, so I kept it hidden. I thought… I thought I could handle it.” Alastor’s heart ached at her words, his grip on her tightening slightly. “You shouldn’t have had to handle this alone,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Why didn’t you trust me to help you?”

Charlie stammered, “I-I was scared… scared of how you’d react… I didn’t want to burden you.” Alastor’s expression softened further, but a hint of sternness remained. “I’m not Seviathan, Charlie,” he said firmly, making her flinch. “I would never hurt you for something like this. You don’t have to hide from me. Ever.” Before she could respond, the door to their chamber creaked open, and their six eldest children peered inside. Liliana was the first to speak, her voice trembling, “We heard yelling… What’s wrong?” Alastor and Charlie exchanged a look, the weight of the moment hanging between them. Alastor stood, his tall form casting a shadow over the bed as he approached the children. “Everything is okay,” he reassured them, his voice gentle but authoritative. “Your mother just needs some rest. She sustained an injury a while back, and it’s been troubling her. But I’m taking care of it.” Aurora’s eyes welled with tears, and Alarik, always the protective brother, put an arm around her. “Is she going to be okay?” he asked, his voice small. “She’ll be fine,” Alastor replied, his tone firm. “But right now, all of you need to go back to bed. It’s late, and you need your rest.” The children hesitated, worry etched on their faces, but when Alastor’s voice took on a more stern edge, they nodded and slowly retreated to their rooms. The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving the room in silence once more.