Chapter 6 Wrath
WRATH
As I exit the library, Mikkel suddenly steps to my side beyond the doors. My preoccupation with my own inner darkness makes me startle hard; normally, I can feel my drakes at a distance, but thanks to my stewing about Baldur, I didn’t even feel him one bit.
As Mikkel surprises me outside the mirror-stone hall, I barely arrest myself from flinging him into a punch-and-throw combo, drilled into my bones for ages.
It would have sent my Third Drake right to his ass on the corridor’s stones; it’s the second time just today that one of my drakes has startled me, without me even feeling them at all through our bond.
I don’t like it, whatever’s going on with our magic, as Mikkel lifts an eyebrow now.
Gloating that he just got a rise out of me.
“Jesus! Mikkel!” I gasp as I lower my hands, relearning how to breathe.
“Thank you for not dropping me to my ass just now with all your warrior’s training.” Mikkel gives a darkly amused smile, despite everything that just went down inside the library hall.
“Were you waiting out here the entire time?” I ask, as I rub my chest and my heart rate finally lowers, though not by much.
“Where else would I be? Am I supposed to turn tail and hide whenever Bjorn orders me around?” He chuckles as he hands me a magical torch now, from the two he’s got.
Both torches light up in our dragon’s colors as we egress towards the dormitory hall in the underground warren we call home.
“I’m truly surprised you couldn’t feel me out here, Rikyava.
Your magic’s very preoccupied if your dragon-senses aren’t picking up on the whereabouts of your drakes, and even your Bloodbond isn’t. ”
“Dealing with Baldur’s resurgent rage is obscuring everything with our connections, I think.” I frown now, knowing Mikkel is right. “Or it’s the Black Dragon’s curses. Either way, not good.”
As I go internal now, into where my connection to my four drakes lives, and even a bit of connection to Laerke, thanks to her being Mikkel’s twin, I feel almost entirely Baldur now.
Mikkel feels stronger, since he’s right by my side; Bjorn’s brimstone fire feels swamped, though, since he’s inside the hall now with Baldur.
Even Strom feels distant as he peruses the magical stacks, looking for ancient information that might help us.
I rub my chest again, as worry fills me that I can’t feel all my drakes evenly.
Not since Baldur was cursed by the Dragon of All Souls.
I darken now as I churn, worrying more that the Black Dragon’s power in Baldur might somehow be drowning out my connections to my other drakes. Aesa’s Truthstone hums upon my chest, as if in agreement with my revelation; Mikkel watches me, intent as we walk.
Observant, I know Mikkel can feel what’s happening inside me. I say nothing now as we walk side-by-side down the fey-dark passage, however; it’s only a theory, what’s happening to our bond, and Mikkel’s not the right person for me to talk it out with, anyway.
As we walk through the luminous hall, though, I feel how we’re suddenly alone, in a way we haven’t been for a while. It’s then I realize I haven’t had a lot of time with my Third Drake since Chambord; I glance at Mikkel, and his dark eyes glitter as he watches me.
It’s not quite the intense standoff we were having when we needed to sort some shit out in our relationship while we were in France, but a prickly, surging energy still lances between us.
As we turn another corner, Mikkel eyeballs me, the slightest smirk on his face.
As he holds his torch aloft, it blazes green-black and copper, just like his magic.
Still with its poisonous chartreuse energy in it, Mikkel’s power has quite a lot of copper, now that we’ve had some straight-talk and he’s realized he can be a better man.
It’s a long road, though, as the deadly pirate glances at me now, amused.
Aware that I’m holding out on him.
“You’re stubborn, Rikyava, I’ll give you that. As stubborn as any of my best opponents, when I was still in business,” Mikkel says suddenly, as he watches me—knowing I won’t share what’s on my mind with him.
“You were being a dick, Mikkel, back in that hall,” I counter, glancing at him as we walk. “I know you’ve been through a lot lately, but Baldur’s been cursed by the Black Dragon. It’s not something you’ve felt yet, or know anything about.”
I feel terrible as I say those words, however. Because Mikkel’s been through hell these past days, recovering from the beyond devastating time he was held captive in the Jarl of Copenhagen’s cells.
A situation he almost didn’t survive.
As I feel our connection move between us, subtly contentious but mostly just exhausted, I feel how he’s barely recovered any of his true power yet.
Mikkel has needed almost as much rest and healing as Baldur, from the terrible bone-deep lacerations and wounds that were upon him from the Jarl’s torturers.
Even after our battle in the Jarl’s hall and a few dragon-shifts, those scars have persisted, and it’s a miracle Mikkel wasn’t permanently maimed. I glance at him now, feeling even worse for reprimanding him as Mikkel smiles bitterly and rubs one scar on his chest that hasn’t healed much yet.
Still raw and ugly, from his time being tortured by his Jarl’s thugs.
“I simply showed Baldur what he could not see.” Mikkel is sober now as we walk.
He glances over at me, his black eyes deadly serious as he addresses my reprimand.
“I showed him that the darkest side of him has needs, not just the brightest side of him—and it cannot be avoided. You all believe you’re heroes; you’re also villains, however, in your deepest heart of hearts.
Me, I know I’m the villain—and I have no problem playing that part within our bond.
Sometimes, others need to have their darkest side shoved in their face; I did that for Baldur today.
Because he needs to remember that there’s a side of him that doesn’t do what he does out of heroism… but out of hate.”
I’m silent now, because I can’t gainsay what Mikkel’s said. As his words spiral through my mind, I know he’s spied deep inside me that most terrible place where my darkest nature hides.
Because it is hateful, as I feel something deep within me resonate with Mikkel’s words now. That part of me is all-hateful, a black poison and an ultimate darkness, far too much like the Black Dragon itself.
And it wants those who wield the Usurper to suffer.
As countless images fill me—a barrage of terrible fancies of turning the Black Dragon upon Litha, Emil Beck, and her Bloodmates—I shudder. Because it’s not my heroism I’m feeling now as Mikkel eyeballs me, understanding what I’m going through.
He stops me with a hand to my shoulder in the dark passage, then sets his torch down. He takes mine away and sets it aside, too, before coming to me.
As he wraps his arms around me, he pulls me close. I startle as Mikkel suddenly nets me in the dark hallway, since it’s something he’s never really done before.
I don’t pull away as a strange energy moves between us now, though; a deep understanding of everything he has to manage daily, thanks to his remorseless dragon, and everything I try to hide.
Because I don’t like to look at my vast hate; I understand it’s the counter-nature to my heroism, however, as Mikkel plays the villain for me and exposes my darkest desires now.
Because I want those fucking with us to suffer. I want to take charge of the Black Dragon and banish them for all eternity, as something terrible roars inside me and I shiver in Mikkel's arms, cold to my marrow.
As my darkest Bone Magic roils inside me, roaring to be unleashed, unopposed by my brighter Blood Magic, part of me wonders if this massive inner hate is something Baldur’s denying, too. As I churn with my struggle, deep inside, Mikkel only holds me.
Watching me fight to get my heroism back.
“You hate them, the people doing all this to us. You want to make them hurt, don’t you?” Mikkel says quietly now as he cups my jaw with one hand, running a thumb over my lips.
“Yes.” I shudder to my very blood and bones as I finally admit it out loud.
I glance up, pinning Mikkel with my gaze as something utterly dark blazes inside me, my inner Bone Magic unhinged.
“I don’t just want to kill them, Mikkel.
Some part of me wants them to suffer endlessly for their crimes, for unleashing this monstrosity upon us. Forever.”
“Keep that knowledge in your sights, Rikyava.” Mikkel is quiet now as he watches me, serious.
“For if we do not acknowledge our darkest desires, they have a way of getting away from us when we least expect it. Believe me, I know all about that when I flew off the handle into my Wraith a few days ago and nearly got us all killed. Badly.”
“You had no control over that.” I trap his hand to my cheek, still fighting my inner darkness as I churn.
“I should have.” Mikkel is serious, his dark eyes sorrowful.
“Perhaps I should have taken Laerke’s advice ages ago and got some therapy, or something else that could have helped me deal with my massive overwhelm of inner darkness and wrath, when I got that call.
Because I always knew it was a possibility for our clubs to be attacked by our Jarl.
Laerke and I had planned for it; we had contingencies on our contingencies, knowing it could eventually happen.
I hadn’t dealt with my inner demons enough to get control of my hate when it finally occurred, though.
Only Laerke did, because she’s been through all the counseling, the self-help courses, the meditation getaways, and hypnosis therapy sessions.
I haven’t. You paid the price when I stormed the Jarl’s palace in Copenhagen like a madman, alone. My beloved mate. I’m sorry.”