Epilogue

{Bare feet hitting marble, dropping down from the bedding platform, a growl lodged in my throat, arms punching into the sleeves of a discarded robe, racking my brain to remember a time when a visitation from the Scribe Virgin ended well. This was not a good sitch. Hands dragged in a rake through mussed hair. Caught in flagrante fucking delicto with the deity's personal Sequestered Scribe. Nice. Timing. True. Yanking the sash tight on my hips, hands fisting the fabric, jerking it into an over-tight knot.. she should be a fucking comedienne} <<On the contrary, Primale. My timing is impeccable>> {the corners of my eyes creasing into a diamond-hard glare, jaw muscles clenched and twitching rhythmically...God Damn. I hate it when she reads my fucking mind... said the SIG to the fucking Glock. The glowing hood turns toward the mess of silk sheets on the bedding platform and much as it kills me to admit it, she has a point, five minutes earlier and she would be getting an eyeful of..hmm, yeah, my cock twitches beneath the robe with memories of Serhenity's mouth on me, voice deepened to a rough, graveled rasp} Whatever 'words' you have are with ME, true. Leave her out of this {Getting my substantial warrior mass between Serhenity and the Scribe Virgin's line of sight, her eyes unseen beneath the hood, but the weighty judgement of her stare no less palpable for that, her tone is the vocal equivalent of a high-arched brow <<So territorial. You are aware the Chosen came here with the intent to assassinate the Primale?>> {my response is droll} For Real? And here I thought the knife was foreplay {sarcasm dripping from lips curled in a hint of a sneer, my insolence getting her all frosted up} <<A crime punishable by death, Warrior>> {Fuck! The words are like a frozen slap in the face. Death? FUCK NO! A steel fist of fear constricting my throat, eyes bright as magnesium flares, the bonding scent rolling off my skin in powerful waves. Think Vishous! fighting the urge to pace...gloved hand fisted hard enough to crush diamonds as I stare down the Scribe Virgin} Vengheance is also our law. Serhenity had a right to bear arms against me. <<Indeed. And yet you live, warrior and here stand in the Chosen's defense. Curious, think you not?>> {Is that fucking humour in her voice? Biting back a snarl at her choice of words, while the Scribe Virgin floats, robes skimming marble in a puddle of light as she paces, wringing unseen hands beneath long sleeves...curious?..the omnipotent mother weighs Serhenity's life in the balance and thinks it's fucking CURIOUS!!} A blind Chosen is no match for the warrior you bred and had trained in that brutal camp. Mother {A low blow, the title spat out on a seething growl, but if she wants to play dirty, so the fuck can I...and the accusation cuts deep, bringing her pacing to an  abrupt halt, the glow spilling out from under the hem of her robes losing a little of its lustre} <<So you disarmed my Sequestered Scribe. Am I to understand you forced yourself between her thighs also Warrior?>> {The words seem laced with a mocking cynicism} <<In coming to you, in taking willingly to your bed, Serhenity stands in breach of her sacred vows of sequestration. What say you Primale? Such transgressions demand punishment under law>> {The words thrown down like a gauntlet, I am being tested and we could both be reduced to floor polish for the Primale Temple on her whim. My voice is cracked} Hasn't she suffered enough? {The thought of Serhenity hurting more because of me drives a cold spear of dread into my heart. And so I lie, for whatever good it might do} She did not submit willingly. I forced myself on her, Mother, as is my right as Primale. I am my father's son. You lay under his sweaty rutting body. You know first hand what the males you breed to kill for you are capable of. {The Scribe Virgin's sharp intake of breath comes out on a hiss, dissolving into a stony silence between us.... and then Serhenity clears her throat, to speak?....}
No....*it comes out reedy and thin, a murmur in the presence of Her Highness, the Primale's words degrading all we did into lies...I know how I must look, disheveled, bruised, clutching the silken sheets desperately to shield my nakedness from Her Highness's eyes, any of which could lay credit to the Primale's ridiculous lies...the sound is cleared again from a voice trembling* NO!! Verily...*my hand curls around Vishous' bicep, bidding the protective wall of warrior anger to move so I can address her, to dispel the untruths...and her light is not seen but felt, pulsing against my skin through the darkness, unlike the Primale's, but fear is no longer made of the dark, it is of this great Mother of our race, her moods mercurial, and every word spoken lends me to a more death like ending* the Primale did not force himself upon me. I entered willingly into his chambers, into his bed...*not just his bed, I fear not one inch of this temple was left pure, the columns, the floor...the marble surely imprinted into my skin...Her amusement is a strike against my honesty, and it trembles uncertainty through curves suddenly grateful Vishous did not relinquish his shielding* <<So you broke free of your vows of your own will? 'Tis something you may not want to admit unto doing, child.>>*Yes, she is...amused..her voice softer, her light not as warm against my skin, toned down to a stroke..and I feel like an errant child. Caught in my own honesty, my answers, any I give that are not lies, will result in a punishment I dare not even imagine* Truth. I removed myself from the sacred vows I took upon myself...I...*have no reason, but that the Primale owns my very soul, and all my vows...mean nothing in the light of that* I failed in my vengeance, Your Highness. To kill His Grace, I see now, would result in the greatest of punishments. My life. My heart. My soul, would die with him and nothing your greatest power can do unto me would punish me more. Everything I have done, every vow broken, every blind moment, I would do it ALL again, Your Highness. If it resulted in my presence beside the Primale. *and there is no denying it, his scent lies heavy on my skin, passion is a tangible mist in the air, caressing us in every breath...inhale, exhale, it's so loud in the pregnant silence, she has not moved, the Great Mother is invisible to my senses, barely there, hovering on a periphery of shadows until her voice, soft light, breaks through the shade of my tremulous fear, my resolute conviction* <<You smell of him, child. You are each scented by the other, think me not a fool. I designed you thus. To force my creations to feed from a potential mate in the hopes of this...*a movement in the air...her hand waving to the dark spiced mist* To aid the continuation of our race, this bonding of souls...*She trails off, an air of confusion about her, words quiet...* I never believed it could occur once more...*my fingers are strumming the muscles of Vishous' spine, a comfort to myself as I ground in patience, her words not yet over..confusing....so cryptic, her Highness is, speaking riddles that we are not meant to know the answers to, and if we did, the Fade would be the tree of all our knowledge and we would be gorging ourselves in the afterlife..I can live with not knowing* the Primale's scent on your body, the lies he would tell for you, betray where his true loyalties lie>> *she moves, a whisper in the air and my flinch is unbidden, instinctive, feeling her warmth rise over my body and melt me back behind Vishous...fingertips flutter heat to the darkness of my eyes, brushing my lashes, barely reaching, stilled by the fear that cowers me from her touch...no more...please...what more can she possibly do to my sight. I live in a world where the Primale's face is merely a memory painted in stars to my blindness and yet I cringe from her....she allowed this....her sigh could not be more beautiful, lyrical, chiming sorrow* <<I regret that your sight has been taken from you. That you cannot see with your own eyes the ferocity of this warrior's affection for you. In this matter I have been as blind as you, child. Your destiny is mine. I have known not your path. Neither yours or that of my son. Follow me>> *I move as Vishous does, obedient, trailing my fingers over his skin, shadowing his movements...for sure she will not lead us to our deaths?*
{We walk, the Scribe Virgin talks, and floats, leading us toward the giant doors of the Primale Temple} <<I see many things to come, whole legions of triumphs and tragedies, but they are mere grains of sand within a vast shore. The larger whole of fate, not even I can envision the future of this race I have borne tied too closely with mine own destiny, outcomes unknown and unknowable to me. I favor safety and the security of order. Nature, however, and the natures of my living creations, are messy, unpredictable. And fate it seems, will find her way has found a way, regardless of my intercessions. I would have faith in my creation. The time has come>> {The Scribe Virgin's robed hand extends toward the mammoth doors, the flow of energy from her glowing fingertips charging the air, and the heavy doors swing wide on her command, a yawning gape that opens out onto a technicolor landscape of explosive, vibrant color} HOLY FUCK!! {I feel Serhenity's fingers lace into mine, sensing a change she cannot see, her silk robe bleeding from white to scarlet as we cross the Temple threshold, it's like stepping into the merry ole land of fucking Oz. Holy shit! The grass is emerald green, the sky a deep,  vivid blue, the plants and flowers are painted in a fucking rainbow of retina-burning, Kodachrome intense brights, the Chosen spilling out from the collonades in a stream of multicolored robes, entranced by the sensory onslaught of color spewed out in a million saturated hues. Leather closing around Serhenity's palm in a reassuring squeeze, goatee'd mouth dropped to the shell of her ear to answer the unvoiced question in her mind} It's not white anymore. It's... {Tensing up on instinct, hackles bristling as the Scribe Virgin floats up before us, the hood of her robe rising up from her face as though lifted by disembodied hands to fall to her shoulders. Her beauty is ethereal, so radiant it hurts to look directly at her, like staring into the sun. Beautiful, lethal and utterly unpredictable. She extends robed arms} <<Give me your hands>> {Resistance is not an option. Lifting our joined hands, they are obscured beneath the fall of black robing, energy sparking like static, a radiant heat enveloping our linked fingers} <<Ahhh yes. This is a good mating.  Verily this was ever a very good mating. Would that you had sought my blessing on the first occasion of your union>> {Her cryptic words are edged with a profound sadness} <<I need not speak of worth, of sacrifice, of defense of body and honor. For such are proven, time and again in this pairing.>> {Dark brows slashed low, storm clouds of confusion gathering in diamond eyes. Jesus. The Scribe Virgin has finally lost the damn plot. The first occasion of our mating?? What the actual fuck? God knows the sensory and emotional desert of the Other Side would make anyone certifiable, and right now the Virgin Scribe has joined the funny farm, skipping hand in hand with Murhder through the fucking daisies} <<Verily, fate has brought you together again. I bow to her superior knowledge and release you from your servitude to the Chosen and this Side>> {Holy shit! She's letting us go to be together? Hope swells my chest to fucking bursting. This is nonsensical. And yet her words hold a resonance, in some dark recess of my subconscious. Something felt all along, from the moment I set eyes on Serhenity. Call is what you will. Biology. Chemistry. Destiny...FUCK..the fluxing current of energy radiating from the Scribe Virgin's hands jolts up my arm like a high voltage shock and the skin across my shoulders starts to tighten and burn, a blade of fire branding the old language lettering deep into my flesh...T...O...H.. She is mating us...Fuck!!...the Scribe Virgin has lost her fucking marbles and is carving my back, and the name incised by incorporeal hands is not Serhenity...but...Tohrture...a name plucked straight from the darkest realms of the chilling dreams that have haunted my sleep ever since my shitkickers landed me in this surreal place}
*It's not...white? The Primale's words resonate, the palpable edge in the air explained though my mind can conjure no image to gift me with what he sees....ever blind, though the world changes around me, though Vishous changes, rigid, electric, on fire under my fingertips....I stroke to soothe us both as the madness of the Scribe Virgin dwindles to silence...she makes little sense to my stunned mind....mated...she mated us?...she released us, blessed us in our union and we...are..not...dead...my hands wander, freed from the clasp of hers to take my reassurance in your body, in the life that still thrums through it...in the...a growl hums in my throat, letters in darkness sprung up beneath caresses...this is not my name...the female branded in your skin is named for war...and I...know her, these characters ARE mine...the realisation is trembling, and my fingers curl to claws in the Primale's skin, a hold anchoring me to the strength of him as I bathe in the blessing she gave our souls....*<<Embrace your male, child. Tender your love to him. *her words are amused, and heat creeps my cheeks in a flush* Your souls are near screaming for a mere kiss...silence them>>*A study in confusion,  her permission grants us fusion, her warmth a hand fitted to mine and leading us to lace, male into female, offered up to Vishous in a melting kiss, who moves, I know not..but his hand in mine links us into a hearts embrace of tender kisses, a collision of love crashing into pleasure...I could kiss him forever...and mayhap will get the chance to...she stays, a silent observer radiating...fire, loneliness, regret that bristles over my body...so hot, her flames are harsh on my skin and I bid her, Mother of our Race to silently leave us be...I want to melt into my male..........* <<Tohrture? Tohrture? Tory!!>> * a snap if ever I heard one jerking me back, eyes wide to the female staring perturbed across from me, bathed in the light of golden flames*<<Am I that boring, daughter? That you must entertain your own mind? Childrens tales work not for you?>>*now she is laughing at me and my eyes roll, a smirk curving my lips as I try to shake the lingering edge of confusion, a dream that doesnt feel like a fucking dream, hovering with its blindness...Holy fuck...my eyes seek, roaming out over elegant furnishings burnished in the flicker of a fire, to the expanse of snow covered gardens that spread out like icing beyond heavy glass doors...Vishous. A figure of darkness amidst the white, my shadow breathing tendrils of smoke, some dragon in the night...my soul...my love...my life...my infuriating tormenting wicked hellren who gives me gifts beyond imagining, the twin bundles fighting in the cushions of the couch my most treasured gift as my mahmen's voice drones on. Hellfire glitters fierce love and passion, coaxing V to look up, willing diamond to find my gaze, needing it...no doubt, in all my centuries of battle, of death and war, every scar and inked tally...that I would have found this male, through anything...we are fated*
{The sudden lick of pain in my ungloved hand jolts me from my reverie, lids flying open on startled ice-white irises, sights trained on the epicentre of the pain, the butt of the handrolled wedged between my fingers that has burned down to the quick while I daydreamed out here in the frozen night. Tossing the offending article into the snow on a growled profanity, crushing the embers under the sole of my boot. God, it's so fucking white here. My breathing is the only sound, the snowflakes fall silently, in slow motion, settling on my eyelashes, layering crisp on the ground, filling in the trail of footprints I made from Tory's mahmen's house. I came out for air,  suffocated by the happy families atmosphere, strangled by the conviction that I don't deserve to be this fucking lucky. The Penthouse can burn down, the world can crumble around me, but I have Tory, we have Khaos and Xsykhe, and that makes me the world's fucking biggest lottery winner... I feel the weight of her gaze without looking, every nerve ending in my body standing to full, hell yeah, you got my fucking attention height. The soles of my shitkickers pivot in the snow, the broad expanse of my leather bound  shoulders turning slow to meet Tory's eyes through the glass pane, locking onto the bright emerald intensity of your gaze...Fuck Tory... I was in a coma before I met you, hooked into an emotional life support machine, barely alive though my lungs drew breath and my heart beat. Then you looked up at me, killed me on that first lip curl. Unplugged. Fuck, years gone by in a blur and I still can't fucking breathe when I look at you, my heart kicks into tachycardia, my stomach flips like an olympic pole-vaulter. The whole fucking package. Badass attitude, homicidal instinct, razor sharp wit, incisive intelligence, killer curves built to withstand all my hard edges...watching you wield a blade is a virtuoso performance...feels like fucking yesterday you carved your name in my back and yet to see you with our young would fucking melt an icy warrior's heart. Pyrocant. Absofuckinglutely. You are the flint that strikes my flame, the nitro in my tank, my Helen of Troy in tight leather.. and leather never looked fucking better than when it shapes your peachy, biteable ass...except maybe shredded in my hands... No inch of your body unexplored, every scar, every curl of ink committed to memory...Never more fucking alive than when I'm touching you. Time has not dulled the reaction, only strengthened the titanium bindings that forge us together. Call it magic, chemistry, call it fate, if you believe in such things. Were you precision engineered to fit the jagged puzzle of my soul? Or was it blind chance we met? The corners of my mouth lifting in that secret smile, you gift me its return in kind through the glass. Turning the collar of my leather jacket against the biting cold and my back on the empty, white expanse of the night. My feet carry me back to you and as I stride towards the house, on this, the anniversary of our mating, offering up a scarce heard prayer to the Scribe Virgin that I found you...that I have yet the honor to call you... MINE} I fucking love you Tory... #LoverUntamed #OneYearMated #SoulMated