Blind Obsession

{The heavy door to the King's study swings shut behind me, the golden retriever's tail beating out a welcome against Wrath's massive, leather bound calf, acknowledging the presence of a fellow animal in the room. Wrath, inked forearm muscles flexing as he slow rotates the dagger letter opener in one hand, gets straight to the point with a growled enquiry <<It's done?>> Yeah {The head nod a redundant gesture to my sightless brother, but the King's other senses are honed to a fine point, head jerking in the direction of the black duffle as I let its heavy contents slide down from my shoulder to plant on the fancy-ass aubusson rug} <<What you got there, V?>> {his lips curveinto a cruel smile} <<You take a trophy? The Primale gonna mount that bitch's head on a spike for all the Chosen to see?>> {barking laughter into the hushed opulence of the room, gloved hand scrubbing at my nape, diamond eyes lifted to the King as I shake my head} And that, my Lord, is why you are the fucking King, true..<<Fuck, V, I miss the old days...>> {with the exhaled poignancy of Wrath's words the laughter peters out of the room and we fall into a weighted silence} Can I ask you something, Wrath? {a curt nod spills the waistlength fall of the King's hair over mammoth shoulders} <<Shoot>>... What was it like? When the lights went out.... {black eyebrows sink down behind the wraparounds, a warrior hand dropping from the ornately carved arm of the hulking throne to stroke George's flank, then Wrath pushes up to the full 6' 9" of his imposing height, making every inch and more of that royal presence felt as he rounds the desk to square up, getting all up in my space, nostrils flaring, inhaling deep, voice a resonant growl} << Jesus...Christ, V...you've bonded with her, haven't you?>> {Flinching at the verbalised truth of it. No fucking words necessary, no escaping the scrutiny of the blind King's heightened senses...no fucking denying that dark spice breaking out of my skin even now, just thinking her name...yup...vampires were animals alright, and there were some instincts not even the smartest brain could override...no half measures, when a warrior bonded, shit went down hard, fast and aggressive, like fucking industrial grade superglue} <<So you go to herl. You mate her. The Scribe Virgin can find herself another Primale. She hard-wired the goddamned biology, she can deal with the consequences>> {Man, I counted the King among my few friends, but this show and tell shit was awkward as hell, feeling my skin shrinking, recalling the last time Wrath and I cozied up for a little heart to heart..that was over a century ago and after nine bottles of whiskey. Fuck, my brain still hurt just thinking about the hangover} She won't have me. Not now. Not after... {Feeling Wrath's meat hook hand curl around my bicep, the flat of a palm slapped down hard over the Brotherhood scar in my chest} <<You feel that, V? That flow? Those violent territorial urges? A bonded male doesn't just let that shit go>> {Unless he dies...the last part of the accepted lore goes unsaid, and the hard core truth of it is crippling, a tangible weight hanging from my body, the Primale medallion slung like a noose around my neck} She is blind Wrath. Because of my epic fuck up. I paraded around my preference for her, I rubbed the Directrix' nose in it, for fuck's sake. I threw away the damn temple key. I heard her screams, Wrath. I clawed at that fucking locked door. And I couldn't help her. Sixteen languages, an IQ out of the fucking ballpark and my accursed legacy {voice cracking, landing my gloved fist on the King's shoulder} and I still couldn't stop this thing...mea fucking culpa, true {Wrath's massive palm closes around the leather fist connecting with his shoulder and 
my brain lights up, flickering with grainy glimpses of the past, a pretrans boy, screaming, nails scrabbling bloody at the locked door of 
the crawl space in which he is trapped, forced to watch, utterly helpless as the light fades from a father's eyes...the King's voice drops 
a couple of octaves to a deep gravelled whisper} <<Something my shellan taught me, V. Can't undo the past, but you can refuse to let it rule your future. This shit was not your fucking fault V. Not. Your. Fault.>>


{I'm gagging for a fucking drink as I take my leave from Wrath's office with his words ringing in my ears. Make that several...bottles...
Instead, I find myself crossing over once again to the Other Side, wearing just a muscle shirt and leathers hanging low on my hips, the black duffle slung over one heavily defined shoulder. Taking form in the walled courtyard of Corinthian columns, the crystal fountain tinkling to pristine marble, the rainbow flutter of the Scribe Virgin's birds twittering on the branches of the white-blossomed apple 
tree like demented extras from a Snow White animation. As though nothing had changed...frustration a deep rumbled growl in my throat, top lip curling off feral canines. Truth was, things would never be the fucking same... haunted diamond eyes dragged from the windowless expanse of the Temple of Sequestered Scribes. God, my body's pull toward that female, the primal urge to hunt her down, is a force of nature, stronger than fucking gravity. Closing a tight fist around the hilt of the black dagger in my hand, the Directrix' blood dried to a rusty smear on the steel, arm cocked back to drive the blade hilt-deep, delivering it right to the rotten heartwood of that fucking tree. Perpetually in blossom, never bearing fruit... like the Chosen, like this poisoned hell cloaked in heaven's clothing...forehead ground to the gnarled bark, the trunk still shuddering with the force of the dagger's penetration, scattering the birds to the sky in an explosion of color. The bitch was dead and with her died any sense of purpose to my fucked up existence. The vengeance was the easy part. Few things more aggressive or dangerous than a bonded male. The deep-ingrained, possessive cravings were a whole 'nother ball game. Dumping the duffle unceremoniously at the foot of the tree, laden with the Scribe Virgin's stolen jewels, all save a handful of rough cut emeralds that filled my pockets... later, when I had locked myself into the darkened solitude of the Primale temple, I would feel their jagged facets cut into my flesh, I would bleed for the Chosen. Crimson tears my eyes were incapable of crying. It's true what they say about possession. All you are unable to give possesses you....and I am a male possessed. I would find a way to get to her, and set shit to rights, once and for fucking  all, true}