A/N – I wrote this chapter to Take Care by Beach House, and you can play throughout, or you can play later on in the chapter where I will say for a specific scene.

Enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

—————–

Three months later

Lincoln’s P.O.V

Circling the pristine table, I make sure each chair is just as it should be before I stand behind my own.

“Perfect,”

The council room was hardly unfamiliar, but it had undergone many changes under Wequie’s hand, each of which was admittedly better than the last.

The war map that had hung over the largest wall for months, like a brand, was no longer present, and though it had only been paper and wool, the room felt considerably lighter in its absence.

Similarly, the former linear table that had seen me at the head had been replaced by a round one. My advisers knew that I was Pylen; I didn’t need seating to prove that. This was more seemly, as were the eight elegant chairs that each had an engraving of the owner’s sigil or station within the clan.

Today, these seats would be filled for the first time since the war, and just the thought had pride that could hardly be tamed surging within my chest.

More than a year ago, these had only been plans on paper, preparations for how I’d run my clan once I was in control, but today, they would be made real. All those endless nights were proving their worth, yet again.

Everything we’d ever wanted, made so, I only hoped that this too would be as perfect as we imagined.

“You’re worrying is making my belly feel sick, Master.”

Despite how much time had passed or how I’d thought I’d mastered anticipating Kalem’s popping, I still found my soul leaping out of my body at the sweet voice that sounded behind me.

I spin, meeting the mischief in Kalem’s hazel eyes that he tried to hide behind a layer of innocence that was far too thin. Besides, we both knew that Kalem was anything other than innocent.

“So, you sought to punish me by frightening me?” I ask, already smiling for him.

Kalem twists his lips to the side thoughtfully, “Well, you’re not worried anymore. It worked!”

Chuckling, I pull my love close, lavishing in the feel of his warm body against mine, his fitting just as it was meant to, “Then I should thank you.”

“I think so,” Kalem whispers.

“I hope this will do,”

I catch a glimpse of Kalem’s approving grin just before I bring our lips together. It didn’t matter that I’d spent the morning lavishing in the taste of him; I needed more and I would always happily, enthusiastically, overindulge in my love.

Kalem moans as I swipe my tongue over his lips, pulling him in closer when I find him to be sweet as ever. I groan against his soft lips that enticed me to do all manner of unseemly things to my greatest love.

Gods, what I could do to him right now…

“No! We can’t get naughty in here,” Kalem scolds against my lips, even as his fingers slip into my belt loops and tug me closer to him.

I grind my cock against his hip, letting him feel every hard inch, “But we did yesterday and the day before,” I whisper while tracing his neck with my teeth, “and the day before that.”

“T-That was…ngh! We were redecorating and got distracted,” Kalem squeaks, his pleasure coursing through me and doubling my own. “W-We can’t do that today, Lincoln.”

“I don’t see why not. Don’t you favour routines?”

Kalem laughs, but it soon becomes a pleased groan when I meet the tempting dip in his neck and slide my fangs along it.

“Can I?”

Kalem digs his fingers into my hair, directing me closer, “Please.”

Permission granted, I lap over the skin, only managing to tease us both for a few moments longer before I finally sink my fangs into his tender skin.

The world becomes static around me as Kalem’s blood slides down my tongue, lightening up my insides almost as much as his smiles did.

Kalem gives in to me entirely, melting in my arms and moaning his pleasure as I drink from him, greedy and hungry for more, no matter how much I got.

Kalem’s blood was intoxicating, as it were, but mixed with our love, I knew I’d never get enough. But, we would be hosting guests soon, and as much as I hated to admit it, we could not have sex on the table again.

So, with great reluctance, I draw myself away, swiping at the punctured skin to get every drop until it heals on its own, leaving only a flush of red in its place.

When I meet Kalem’s eyes, they’re dazed and slightly damp, making him appear beautifully debauched in the way I loved most.

“You say we can’t do anything naughty, and yet you look at me like that,” I groan as I rest my head on his. “Like you’re a second away from making a mess.”

“I—you! “Kalem breathes out, huffing as if he were genuinely appalled, “You’re the one who bit me, Master. You are the trouble.”

“I am not ‘the trouble’,” I manage through my laughter. “I am not the sex-crazed one here.”

Kalem gasps, “You are literally crazy, Master! You’ve always been so, don’t make me sound like I’m crazy! And we both like sexy times! We are both very needy people!”

I bark out a laugh, Kalem’s wording taking me by surprise and dragging out chuckles that grow louder still as he joins in after failing to keep his expression serious. Warmth spreads between us, brightening the space between us and making me feel almost high with the pleasure that runs through me.

It’s strong and wonderful and everything I’d ever wanted, but it doesn’t last when I think of the person who hadn’t felt pleasure like this in far too long.

Kalem’s smile soon dips, his laughter tapering off just as mine did. I loathed to see how my pain forced his own when he was only just starting to heal, but I was yet to discover how to stop it.

“I’m sorry,” I try, despite Kalem already shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to….”

I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. I doubted I ever would.

Voicing it – how hard it was to be happy when I knew how Malcolm suffered, made it all too real, and I didn’t know how to bare it.

The war was ended, the clan was as it should be, I had my love and everything I ever wanted; I should be happy. I was, at times, happier than I knew possible. But then, in those highest moments, I thought of the person who’d made this all possible. The one who suffered as if his joy was the cost for mine, and my smiles would die out knowing they couldn’t be joined by his.

It was a neverending loop, a limbo state I was drifting through, and I didn’t know how to escape it without forsaking my closest friend.

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be,” Kalem replies in a whisper trying for a smile, “you don’t have to be, Master. I understand.”

Of course, he understood. He’d also lost his friend, but it was different in so many ways.

Kalem didn’t have to see Aias’ agony every day – if he even felt any, that heartless bastard. Kalem didn’t have to wipe the tears away and face a future that promised nothing but pain.

Kalem, in his own way, was healing and learning to live without Aias. I, on the other hand, couldn’t heal without Malcolm doing the same.

“It’ll get better,”

We both knew those words weren’t true, but white lies were all that was keeping my hope alive, so I didn’t try to deny them. Instead, I nodded as I did every day, choosing to believe them and hoping one day they’d be true.

“They’re almost here,” Kalem says, his smile coming bigger this time, “are you ready?”

Nodding, I let my hands find his. Intertwining our fingers, I hold tight as the warmth of Kalem’s magic wraps around us before he pops us to the front of the castle.

Under the assumption that I was far too fast for their eyes to track, the posted sentinels only bow their respect at our appearance while Wequie beams like a starved newborn getting to feast.

“Right on time,” his golden eyes track over us quickly, “I thought you two would get distracted.”

“Kalem wouldn’t allow it,”

Wequie snickers as he links his arms in Kalem’s, “I would normally condone that behaviour, but for today, good job.”

Preening, Kalem basks in Wequie’s praise as he leans into the touch, just as he’d come to do with their friendship.

Without the ones who’d been their greatest companions, Kalem and Wequie had grown closer in a way I would’ve called a curse in the past. It was a blessing, really.

Without one another, I hated to imagine what wilted forms they may have become, but together, they kept their heads above the water; they kept one another smiling.

I couldn’t break that up, even if it meant I now had to face far more inappropriate questions from Kalem every single evening. The latest of which being, ‘do you want to hogtie me, master’.

The answer was obviously yes, but that wasn’t the point.

“Oh, here they are!”

Untying my thoughts from bondage, I face forward and settle my gaze on the incoming members of my council, along with their chosen escorts.

It hadn’t been long since I’d seen their faces, yet they all looked a little different. It wasn’t physical changes as such, but something under the skin that I didn’t recognise until they were all settled in a line before me.

Fae and Sterling had always been the brightest of the lot, but their eyes were even more alight now. Karios, ever the grouch, seemed a little more amenable to the company of others, and Luciel’s smile was genuine in every way.

They were happy; that was it, they were happy.

“Pylen,” The four immediately bow along with all in their company.

I let my pleasure carry through Lyrra, allowing them to straighten, “You all look well.”

“As do you, Pylen,” Karios replies smoothly.

“You don’t have to lie, Karios. You’re already part of the council,” Wequie whispers, earning a few poorly hidden chuckles.

I ignore him and refuse to acknowledge the laugh he gets out of me as well as I look over the group, “Welcome all, and thank you for coming. I know the journey was long for many of you.”

The expressions that follow said it went without saying, but sharing a word of thanks never hurt anyone – Kalem taught me that.

“Let this meeting of Axand, our first quarterly meeting, begin. I hope we always meet with such warmth.”

I’d chosen Axand in remembrance of Alexander, the first pylen to join my cause and who’d died for it. It was meant to be a reminder of why we’d come together in the first place, and why we always should.

We’d come such a long way, but we still had further to go, and with the way Lyrra burnt amongst us, I could tell all carried that heady acknowledgement.

This was only the beginning, but the future was in our hands.

“Shall we begin?”

———————✠———————

“Oh! Oh! I want to show everyone to their rooms!” Kalem cheers as he gets to his feet. “I made yours extra cold, Luciel, so you won’t miss home too much!”

Luciel laughs with the rest of the council as they all gather any loose items whilst standing to their feet.

The meeting hadn’t stolen any truly great deal of time, much as I’d expected. It was our first, after all, and though everyone in the clan was still adjusting to the new structure of things, they were doing so exceptionally well.

With my current ban on turning any new vampires and the former Pylens acting as wardens, the matters of issues were few and simple enough to handle. Things were as they should be, as they were meant to be – to say the clan was thriving would be an insult; we were doing far more than that.

“Thank you, Kalem,” Luciel replies gently, “I’m sure I will like it very much.”

“Luciel,” I call with a slight frown, “in the case that I need to say it. You do know that relocation is possible? Your clan does not have to live in a fortress of ice.”

“We’ve been telling his people that very thing for ions,” Fae replies with a shake of her head, “they are insistent on freezing to death.”

“As you insist on burning in your desert lands,” Karios retorts as she settles at the door, waiting for Kalem’s lead, “you are both psychotic.”

“Or kinky,” Wequie interjects, “there’s a lot one can get up to in different climates.”

“And that is my cue to leave,” Sterling says with a hearty chuckle and a bit of redness, too, “Kalem, the rooms?”

Kalem rushes out the door, all too happy to lead everyone who follows behind him with shared smiles and conversation, unaware of the fact that neither Wequie nor I was continuing after them.

“Are you not coming?” Wequie asks, his gaze showing the worry he no longer tried to hide for me.

“I will join you all soon… after I see Malcolm,”

Wequie’s shoulders drop slightly, and I know all he’s going to say before he even starts.

“It would be easier if you just let him sleep,” he whispers carefully, but I still find myself tensing all over at just the thought. “For him… for us.”

“Wequie, please,”

“This isn’t living,” Wequie presses, “not for him, and definitely not for us.”

I close my eyes and shake my head. I didn’t want another argument, we had far too much as it were, and I didn’t want the day to be ruined for him. He’d worked so hard to get it all prepared alongside Kalem, happy to get their hands in something, if only for a distraction.

“I’ll join you later,”

Wequie eyes me for a moment longer before he nods and retreats, graciously letting me win for today.

I blow a breath out, trying to steady myself, but when my eyes pass over the chair that had remained empty earlier, I find myself choking on it.

Pain casts itself over my insides, but I swallow it down and start on my way, hoping and praying that Kalem’s white lie will prove to be true for once.

———————✠———————

I wait until I’ve walked several paces from Malcolm’s room before I let myself lean against a nearby wall.

Closing my eyes, I breathe in deep and only let it out when I can’t take it anymore.

Today marked four months since Aias had left Malcolm, and he was only getting worse.

He didn’t cry anymore, not with physical tears, that was. They’d ebbed after the first set of weeks, his tear ducts likely drained like the rest of him, but he still cried.

In the stillness of early morning, when the castle was at its quietest, I heard his sobs. The sound was like that of a battered animal that showed no signs of healing. They would grow loud and horrorsome until he could no longer make a sound.

Then, when he was drained both inside and out, he’d try to fall under. Every day, he tried to give in to the call of the deep slumber, and every day… I was forced to stop him.

I’d used Lyrra on Malcolm in the past, but it’d never been like this – each time leaving me drenched with the stench of betrayal.

Malcolm’s choice was supposed to be his own, but I was taking it away by keeping him awake.

It’s for his own good; that was what I told myself every time I was the source of his prolonged envy, every time I faced Wequie’s anger and my own guilt.

It’s for his own good.

If allowing him a slumber meant that Malcolm would wake as I knew him in decades or even centuries, I would’ve allowed it without even a moment’s hesitation, but sleep would only prolong the path he had to make through this.

Letting time pass didn’t mean the pain would go with it. He’d wake one day and be bombarded with all this pain as if no time had passed at all. It would still be fresh and damning, and I couldn’t, wouldn’t, bear to see him suffer so.

So I kept him awake, and now, the only time my best friend spoke to me was to beg for mercy.

He begged and begged, like a captive seeking refugee or a tortured soul that saw me as the villain when I was only trying to help.

I knew that soon those pleas would turn into demands. It was only a matter of time, and when that happened, it wouldn’t be long before they became hateful curses.

It was the order of things. I knew that, but just the thought of ever facing Malcolm’s malice made me live in fear.

“Gods, when will this end….”

A cough sounds nearby, forcing me to part my eyes and face the world again. In the otherwise empty hallway, it’s not a task for my gaze to find the lone figure waiting against the opposite wall, their obsidian gaze honed on me.

Zhoron.

I blink once as I take in the new form he’d elected for himself. Kalem had told me he’d taken the shape of a warlock, but seeing it in person was still jarring.

Zhoron had kept his long hair as dark in colour as his eyes, but his previously staggering height now matched mine. His features were still sharp and piercing but softer in places where the pretence of witch magic filled the mask, covering up the demon beneath.

It was my first time seeing him in his new form because in truth, I hadn’t seen the nyphilim in all my time back within the castle, but that was not for lack of trying.

I did actually want to get to know Kalem’s brother, to a degree, but he didn’t seem to share the desire. Zhoron only lingered nearby when he wanted to see Kalem, and once they parted, he was quick to return to wherever he’d claimed as a home.

It wasn’t a problem for me. If he liked only his space and Kalem, that was entirely fine; but if that were the case, why the hell waiting for me?

“What is it?” I ask, half afraid to be presented with some new problem and too tired to try and frame my words any nicer.

“Zani shared that you wished to speak with me,” Zhoron replies very plainly, void of any and all emotions.

He didn’t sound nearly as unearthly as he did in his true form. It was more of a stilted timber that still managed to be eerily cold.

“And you’ve come to talk months after that request?” I reply drily as I push off the wall, “and here is where you wish to do it?”

Zhoron’s thin brows tug closer for a moment before they ease, “No. I was ready to speak with you for quite some time, but there is never the time for it. You are either preoccupied with your clan, my brother or your grieving friend. I grew tired of waiting.” Zhoron explains in a measured list. “If you worry that your friend shall hear us, I have warded us so no other will.”

I frown as I look around, only just noticing how unnaturally still the air had become.

If not for the fact that Zhoron would never risk Kalem’s wrath or happiness, I’d be somewhat worried that my life was in danger, but as it stood, the thought didn’t linger in my mind for very long.

“Well then, what matter did you wish to discuss?”

I swallow my rising annoyance, reminding myself that Zhoron was naturally pissy; he was a demon born to kill after all; it was in his blood.

“The charge,” I reply making his eyes narrow instantly.

Zhoron sweeps his gaze over me in a flash so quick that I almost miss it, “The charge?”

“Yes, I want to know what it is truly about.”

I’d had more than enough time to ponder the situation, and I’d done so, time and time again, and yet I still could not figure out the reasoning behind it; the cause.

From all Aias had told Kalem, he’d come here because he had to; it was a task that the ‘protector’ had to complete to preserve their realm’s future. That made sense to me.

What didn’t was how aiding me and, by extension, my species, helped see that cause through.

More than that, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it that Aias hadn’t shared, and I was well and truly tired of being held in the dark.

“Zani and I left long before that practice was established. I have no knowledge of it,” Zhoron replies smoothly – too smoothly.

“But you understand it more than I do, and Aias’ charge in particular,” It wasn’t a question, “otherwise, why would you listen to him? You wiped the memories of everyone in this clan because he said to.”

“It was to protect Zani,”

“But you went along with it? Just like that?” I ask as I step forward, “I don’t think you would’ve done it so quickly, if you didn’t trust him to some extent.”

Zhoron remains quiet, his narrow eyes becoming slitted.

“I want to know why,” I press, “I want to know what this charge is about.”

Zhoron eyes me like a predator, not moving an inch or saying a word. I hold his gaze, not willing to back down when this was very likely my only opportunity to understand why Aias had come here in the first place.

“I have only a theory,” he warns.

“That’s better than nothing,”

Releasing a breath, Zhoron looks me over once again, “We should not discuss the matter here.”

I frown, “You said we were warded.”

“Aiasthlyn’s magic is littered throughout this castle much like peeping holes. We will go to where I can be sure we are void of them.”

Before I can question it, the cold rush of magic entirely opposing Kalem’s warmth wraps around me. It’s horrible and far too similar to what I’d felt when Diablos’ staff had pierced me.

Deadly and horrid, the magic encases me in a violent hold before it snatches me from the castle’s confines to a land I did not know.

I stagger forward, struggling to regain my bearings whilst I try to shake off the chill still clinging to my skin as if it wanted to rip the life from me.

When I manage, I register the empty acres of tall grass that surrounded us for as far as my eyes could see. It was endless green, clear skies and sat directly under a truly ominous mountain, was a small cabin-like structure at the bottom.

“This is your home?”

I couldn’t quite imagine Zhoron living somewhere so… peaceful.

Zhoron doesn’t reply, only continues walking down an already etched path of black, dead grass that led directly to the cabin.

I follow him, watching closely as the grass blades that sway his way and accidentally brush his fingers withered and died within an instant.

Was that a hard way to live? Kalem said it was the order of things; him the light and Zhoron the darkness, but surely it couldn’t have been easy.

I knew that Zhoron was basically the grim reaper, but seeing it was an entirely different matter. To think he shared the same blood as the boy who ran around kissing flower petals when they bloomed was almost inconceivable.

“You may sit there,” Zhoron announces when we reach the cabin’s base, where two oversized chairs are positioned.

I approach the chair he gestured to, and my lips stretch wide when I scent the traces of honey lingering there; this was clearly Kalem’s chair, which meant this is where he came whenever he snuck off to see his brother.

I settle into the seat, feeling wonderfully warm and content even without my love here, but the feeling struggles to stick when I face Zhoron, who’s already glowering coldly at me.

“Your theory?” I prompt.

I didn’t hate Zhoron as much as he clearly hated me, but I had no desire to stay within his company longer than necessary.

Zhoron eyes me again, much like he had in the hallway before he folds his arms across his chest and leans back within his seat, any inner contemplation apparently settled.

“In simple terms, I believe your species to be elven,”

I stare unblinkingly at Zhoron, the words not quite computing.

“In part,” he adds as if that made all the difference.

I find myself laughing. Laughing loudly because it had been a long time since I’d heard something so stupid, and coming from such a serious man, I found myself laughing even harder.

Maybe I’d underestimated how much Zhoron didn’t like me, and this was his way of showing that; by completely wasting my time. But Zhoron’s expression doesn’t change, remaining the same impassive structure.

“You’re joking,”

“I do not joke,”

My laughter falters, quieting as I look at Zhoron, truly look at him, “You can not be serious.”

“I am,” he replies flatly. “I told you, it is only a theory,”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would be such a foolish one,”

“Foolish?” Zhoron’s jaw tightens, twitching just a little as he breathes out slowly, “You are the foolish one for denying what you do not understand. You have not heard my reasoning yet deny it so readily, like a fool.”

That was fair enough, but it didn’t change the fact that what he’d said was ridiculous.

Vampires being elven. That was literally impossible, but I’d listen to his little theory before I alienated myself even further from Kalem’s most precious brother.

“Alright, I will listen to your reasoning,” I agree with raised hands, settling for peace and backing away from the nerve I seemed to have struck.

Scowling, Zhoron takes to cursing me in his common language, maintaining eye contact to ensure I knew the spitted words were directed at me.

When he calms himself with what I was sure were violent promises, he relaxes as much as his animosity for me would allow before he finally begins.

“I am told your kind was made by three witches. That they were the strongest of their kind and that they made you first. Is that true?”

I stiffen before I nod.

Zhoron hums thoughtfully, “From what I understand, no other has been able to replicate that magic though many have tried.”

I nod again as I peer at him.

“That seems odd to me,” Zhoron admits, despite the confidence in his expression. “If it was done once, why not again? Power is not an anomaly; that, in fact, is the only constant in every universe. Power can be developed, crafted, earned, and raw power can appear again, so why has no other witch been able to do what those three did? It’s odd.”

It was, though I’d never noticed quite how strange the matter was until now. I didn’t give a damn what witches did or didn’t do amongst their ranks, as long as they never bothered my kind again.

“Reasoning would say if it is not a matter of power, then perhaps the answer lies in the method,” Zhoron continues, “the question becomes, how did they do it?”

“Witches have their spells,” I answer quickly, “It’s how they use their magic.”

“A spell can be replicated, reformed and advanced,” Zhoron dismisses quickly. “If it were a matter of aligning the right pieces, another would have done so by now.”

I fold my arms across my chest as my skin begins to crawl uncomfortably, “So, what are you trying to say? That witches got some help from the elves and made us?”

Zhoron’s left eye twitches a little, the only hint of emotions that said that he was annoyed to be rushed, but he doesn’t say as much aloud, “I can only assume that one thing was different in the case of those three. Their magic.”

I shake my head, “Witches have only three types of magic. Ancestral connections, earthly talents and dark magic.”

“All of which are just different formats of channelling energy,” Zhoron corrects sharply, “that is all magic truly is, energy adapted and reformed. Witches know of those three ways of doing so, but I believe those three witches who formed you and your kind discovered a new way to channel energy, or rather, rediscovered.”

My eyes narrow, “Rediscovered? As in, it was firstly discovered by elves?”

“Yes,” Zhoron replies simply while he holds my gaze.

If my body functioned like any other, I was sure my heart would be galloping, and my fingers would grow wet from the unfamiliar wash of nerves settling over me.

“How–” I pause, struggling to get words out for the first time in ions. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Zhoron’s thin brows dip slightly, “If you were listening, it would.”

“No, it simply doesn’t make sense,” I dismiss sharply. “You are saying that witches discovered how to channel energy like elves and made us. That elven magic made me – made my species. Which would mean that vampires are…”

I falter, losing sight of all possible words.

“Elven creatures,” Zhoron fills in, “yes, as I said to begin with.”

I shake my head as my eyes fall close. This was too much. Too much that didn’t make sense by any stretch of the mind.

“I did consider the possibility of it being other magic,” Zhoron continues, ignoring my mind’s disintegration entirely. “After all, channelling elven magic is no easy feat, and there are other magical creatures within this realm which all channel energy through different methodologies. But there were two undeniable pieces of evidence to support that it was, in fact, elven magic used.

“Firstly, Aiasthlyn’s charge. Elves never plague themselves with issues that do not secure personal gain. Yet, Aiasthlyn spent an entire luhe – year – in your company, aiding your plight and earning your trust with no promise of compensation or allegiance. Now, you are the leader of the only immortal supernatural species.”

“Wait,” I try, raising a hand, my head aching from the influx of information, but Zhoron surges on.

“I can not think of what they stand to gain by that, but they are the only outside species interested in your kind, and as I’ve stated, you are immortal, and that is something every creature without it yearns for.”

For a man of little words, Zhoron was speaking far too quickly without pause, and I could barely keep up.

“That’s a very big assumption made from a wild guess,” I manage when he takes a breath.

Zhoron scowls at me, “A theory is a compiliation of assumptions.”

“Yes, but that’s–”

“Not the strongest piece of evidence, yes, but then there’s the matter of your bond with Zani.”

My lips part as fear creeps forth, “What about our bond?”

“It has long been believed that elven creatures can only form love bonds with other elven creatures,”

Zhoron says it plainly as if it were the most simple matter in the world.

“What?! Why the fuck didn’t you lead with that?”

“Because,” Zhoron bites out, “it was only a belief as we rarely left our own realm, and never for the purpose of bonding. There have been no true cases to see if it were true.”

“So it is another assumption,” I deadpan frustratedly.

Zhoron stills, turning to stone while the ground around us quickly becomes poisoned with a black fog that seeps from his fingers and heads straight for me. But before it can reach its target, Zhoron manages to draw it back.

“I would appreciate it greatly if you stayed quiet until I finish or unless I prompt you to speak,”

Strange. This was possibly the first time someone had asked me to speak less.

“Elven creatures are particular in every aspect of their lives; it is why we are considered as rather stringent beings. That decisive trait carries the same for connections of company where they may form. A bond that deep needs to be reciprocated in every fashion, and only elven creatures can do so.”

Zhoron eyes me with distaste, “It was that very reason that I believed what you and Zani shared was no more than infatuation, but then Zani almost destroyed this planet and all life on it when he saw you hurt. That is not infatuation.”

I could never doubt that Kalem and I loved one another. My love for him was bone deep, in the marrow of my bones, unshakeable. It was instantaneous, explosive and right in a way I’d never felt before.

It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

I freeze.

“What?” Zhoron questions, noticing my pause.

“Kalem…” I swallow hard. I’d spoken the words time and time again, but this time it was near impossible. “Kalem is the only person I’ve ever loved.”

Zhoron purses his lips, but he manages a nod, “Another substantial piece of data.”

Mind reeling, I think about all the souls I’d come upon throughout my lifetime and cared enough to share more than a night with. But most of all, I think of Timothy. I think of how deeply I’d cared for him but how impossible it has been for me to find his love.

I’d tried so hard, wanting nothing more than to love him wholly, but I never could. It was impossible to the point that I’d believed I was incapable of love.

And then I’d met Kalem, and loving him had taken no effort at all.

“You have loved no other in all your lifetimes?” I shake my head, “Not even other vampires?”

“It was never right,” I admit before I frown, “but if they’re also elven creatures, as you say, then why not any of my own kind?”

Zhoron frowns, looking pensive, “I do not know. I will have to further research the matter to see if vampires are capable of love outside your species.”

I wanted to say we were, after all, many turned humans to join them in an eternal life forever, but maybe, this ‘love bond’ only took after they turned.

I rub at my head, feeling draining and confused in a way I never had before.

“There is also the matter of the abandoned pisen, Malcolm,” Zhoron continues, sorrow twisting his features for a fleeting second before it’s gone.

“Abandoned pisen?” I blink fast, “that’s what Aias called him, pisen. It’s a term of affection.”

Zhoron’s frown deepens considerably as he shakes his head, “Pisens are a special, precious type of elven creature. They are revered for the purity of their hearts and are the most heavily sought for a lifetime match. Your friend is undoubtedly a pisen, an a claimed one at that, which is why he suffers as he does. His piro has left him; if he weren’t immortal, he would have wasted away by now.”

“Piro?”

“His caretaker – master,” Zhoron replies simply, “the one to ensure that his every desire is met; it is the only way to earn a pisen’s affections. They are as particular as any other elven creature. Bonds with them do not take unless it is perfect in every way, and when they do, their partner becomes their piro.”

“So without his ′piro’, without Aias….” I question, voice hoarse now.

“He will suffer a thousand agonies, endless heartbreak, until they are together again, as will, Aiasthlyn,” Zhoron answers, that earlier sorrow returning stronger now and bleaching his eyes with undeniable pain. “It is a cruel fate, the cruellest fate.”

I swallow hard, struggling to cope after hearing the one thing I would’ve died to avoid.

I kept telling myself to believe in Kalem’s white lies, to be there, and that would be enough, that Wequie was wrong, and he’d make it through it. But if all Zhoron said was true, then he wouldn’t.

Malcolm would never make it through this… Aias has condemned him to a lifetime of misery.

“The fact that Malcolm is a claimed pisen is the strongest evidence I can present,” Zhoron says conclusively. “Your bond with Zani comes next, and finally, Aiasthlyn’s charge. I believe it was centred around you because you are, in part, elven. You all are.”

At the start of this conversation, I’d thought Zhoron and his theory to be foolish, to be some nonsense he’d concocted, but now… I felt like I’d just been put upright for the first time in all my time on this planet.

I thought back on all the destruction we’d caused when we were first made, unstoppable against even the strongest species of Earth because we weren’t like them. We were different in ways that went beyond our stagnant hearts and craving for blood.

We were different because… weren’t of this realm.

“I still must prove it,” Zhoron says into the quiet, “a theory is nothing more than unproved observations, and this one is no different.”

“How will you?” I ask, forcing my eyes back up to his, “prove it?”

“I will intercept the witches and their covens, and over time, I will uncover all there is to know about the root of their strongest bloodlines,” Zhoron replies in a tone that said that should’ve been obvious. “It is why I have taken the form of a dark warlock.”

I nod, understanding coming as the jagged pieces finally start to align themselves, creating a picture that terrified me more than I would’ve liked to admit.

A dry laugh comes from my breath as I shake my head, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.”

“Nothing,” Zhoron answers easily, “this has no significant impact on your life until it is proven. You should do nothing but keep my brother happy.”

I feel my lips twitch a little, “That goes without saying, but—” Malcolm’s tearful face flashes before my eyes, “Malcolm….”

Play the song now if you haven’t already

Zhoron quiets, no answer at the ready for the man who was promised an eternity of agony.

“You should let him sleep as only your kind can,” Zhoron answers after a moment, “he deserves to rest.”

I feel my throat tighten, pain making it hard to swallow or do anything at all.

If Malcolm were to sleep now, it would be entirely up to him when he woke, and as he was now, I didn’t see him ever waking again.

To live without my closest friend…

“He should not suffer,” Zhoron continues as if he were reading my thoughts, “and neither should any of you. I’ve seen through Zani what you have all endured to claim the safety you now have. You all should be allowed the happiness you fought for.”

I laugh drily, “None of us would even have the chance if it wasn’t for him. Malcolm was the one who started all this. He put me on the right path in life, kept me company, led me to Kalem, and had me fight for this world we have now. He should be a part of it. He shouldn’t—” I pause, emotion making my eyes wet and chest tight, “… this wasn’t the plan.”

Malcolm was there, always there. In the earliest days to the very last, he was meant to be at my side, always.

When he’d convinced me to take control, to stop hiding and do more, to plan for a world once we did… he was there.

“Things never go to plan. No Gods are kind enough to allow for a happy end to things,” Zhoron whispers while he looks out upon the glass swaying in the evening winds, his features relax into something almost soft, “There is always a price to pay for even the smallest scrap of joy.”

I look at him, knowing the words rang truest for the man who’d sacrificed everything just so that Kalem could have more.

“This is the price,” he says, looking back at me, all softness gone, “you must pay it.”

I shake my head, denying his stark outline of the world and my choices even when I knew it was the truth.

Nothing in this world was given, and even when you worked for it, there were still sacrifices to be made, but Malcolm…

Before, I could ration that keeping Malcolm awake was for his own good, but if he would never feel anything but pain again, then the answer was simple. It was too simple, and I hated that I had to be the one to deliver it.

I find myself crying, my face made wet by my tears, and I don’t try to hide it, not even for Zhoron.

It was not only mourning for the greatest friend I’d ever had, but for all the ways I’d failed him.

If I’d protected his heart more, the elf would’ve never sunk its claws into him. If I’d paid him more attention and returned his unwavering love not only when I was forced to, maybe he wouldn’t suffer so.

But I had, and now I had to let him go, the one constant in my life.

The tears pour from me unabashed, and they do not waver, not even when Zhoron takes me back to the castle, delivering me in front of the door where I could hear Malcolm’s cries from outside.

In the most horrible way, they matched my own; horrisome and grieving.

I enter by force onto myself, going to his side and settling beside the same lump he’d been for far too long. He was thin – so horribly thin from the lack of blood that made his skin withered by age that wasn’t supposed to show.

I tried to make him drink, but he could never keep anything down, and now, I knew why.

When Malcolm’s grey eyes meet mine, the tortured agony within them wavers for a moment as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing, and then, relief crashes within him.

“Thank you,” he sobs, already knowing what this was. “Thank you, Lincoln.”

I nod, unable to get words out around the emotions clogging my chest and threatening to drown me entirely. I take his hands instead, holding on strong as I let Lyrra deliver all the love I held for him that I never quite managed to put into words.

Malcolm’s tears fall faster, but then he smiles for the first time in a long time. It’s big and beautiful, a glimpse of the happy man I’d always known.

“I love you too, Lincoln,” Malcolm whimpers, smiling so widely that for a moment, I could believe that everything else had been a bad dream. “Always, to the end.”

My sobs break me down entirely, but I manage to return his smile, “To the end.”

Except, this was the end. It was here, and there was no more running away from it.

“Thank you,” Malcolm repeats in a small whisper, over and over again until I free Lyrra’s hold on him, allowing him peace.

Slowly, his words tapper off, growing into quiet slurs and then nothing at all as his eyes close, freezing him in time with only one small mercy.

When Malcolm stilled entirely, muscles turned to stone… it was with a smile on his face.

—————————

Aiasthlyn is going to hurt like a bitch.

Thoughts???????

Thoughts on the happy moment at the start? The meeting?

Thoughts on the talk with Zhoron? I know its super confusing and probably makes absolutely no fucking sense, but this is no longer a standalone, it’s a series which makes this book 1 and Aiasthlyn book 2, and the story will continue and make more sense as it unravels.

In the end, I couldn’t write the final chapter without putting Malcolm down because there would be no happiness for anyone when he’s like that day in and day out. But I guess, this isn’t really a happy ending either smh.

I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!!! If you even teared up at the end, lovely, because so did I. Got all choked reading that shit.

ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Vote and comment if you enjoy, I beg of you!!!!!

Next up, is some Patreon AM time.

Until next time,
Byeeeeeeee Humanssssssssssss