Chapter 16
Portarius
BATTLE CRY - IMAGINE DRAGONS ?
“Steve, help me. I can not rouse her!”
I storm into the tavern without a care for those that are witness to my unraveling.
It was closer than returning to the apothecary, and I know Steve has healing knowledge from the brawls that go hand in hand with liquor.
She is cradled in my arms, a small, lifeless beauty whom I must protect with all that I am.
Sweeping my arm across the bar top, I swipe drinks and tumblers with such force that they smash against the wall.
Shattering into a thousand pieces as the warm ale saturates everything within its reach.
Steam catches my eye, rising from the minotaur’s snout beside me, as he wipes a hand over his face, ale steadily dripping from his chin.
Staring at me like I'm the one with the problem.
Can't he see my bonded is helpless? Standing at the bar, a demon's glowing eyes reveal his rising anger.
He too, stained in ale, such a trivial setback. Stupid fucking beasts.
I lay her limp body on the bar, her chest quietly rising and falling.
The phantom flicker of fire grazes my fingertips.
My warrior's flame igniting. With one hand still on her chest, I search for Steve as he's rummaging through a bag on the counter.
He must understand what's required. He must. He knew of the poison; most of us can smell the taint wafting from her now. Her sweet scent, souring as every hour passes. My body hums, the Gate sensing my unrest as my head snaps side to side, scanning every creature here. Sparks shoot from the minotaur’s snout, causing my hackles to rise. If he wants a fight, he has found one.
The air thickens as those in attendance sense the shift.
The scorching sensation of flames lick up my arms as an almighty roar dominates the room.
Spittle flying as I scream into the face of the minotaur.
Twisting my arms in front of me, two brass daggers steadily emerge from my palms, glinting in the dim light.
Weapons conjured from the threat to my bonded.
My fingertips darken, as black ink spreads up and around my forearms, forming lines and ancient markings as the Gate lends me its power.
It feels the pain, the turmoil we face. We have been blessed to find our souls equal, circumstances however, have us holding back.
A torturous waiting game, because she needs to choose us.
A decision of this nature can not be forced, or we risk its failure.
She must give herself willingly. Without fear or hesitation. She must want eternity.
The weighty brass comforting in my hands as I spin the daggers, keeping a constant moving eye on the dangers within the room.
Steve mumbles behind me as he pulls Emmie into him, offering her both protection and aid as he curls over her form, tinctures in hand.
Glancing back at them every few seconds, I face the room, guarding my human from all threats, those known and those still hidden.
The demon's eyes have simmered. He is wise to control his anger, as we both know how quickly I could end him.
The minotaur dips his head in deference, stepping back and extinguishing the sparks that ignited only seconds ago.
A minotaur's flame can burn through the toughest steel, and while its burns inflict immense pain, my body will heal.
A murmur spreads throughout the room as I remain in a defensive stance. Everyone waiting to see what the next move will be. The balance of their fate hangs on a precipice. Will she die, and I slaughter everyone here? Or will she live?
If she does, I will tell her the truth about being my bonded. I will tell her everything.
My hands and arms now bear the mark of the obsidian warrior, tattoos illustrating the power I wield.
Summoned to eradicate any threat to our bonded.
Steve's muffled words continue for a few seconds more until the sweet sound of Emmie's gasped breaths has me dropping my defences, turning my back to the room.
She is propped up, her head lolling to the side as Steve puts a vial of whatever roused her back on the counter.
“Emmie?” I rasp. My voice thickened with pain, her essence dancing with death's song too closely for the ease of my heart.
My head whips around when a commotion breaks out in the far corner.
A piercing cry rings out as an imp is launched across the room, landing twisted on the ground before me.
A two inch hole in their chest oozing murky black blood.
Panic spreads when the perpetrator reveals itself, an Ananea steps from the shadows.
There are no identifying marks or features, yet I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
The chances of two rogue Ananea are not impossible, however, this feels premeditated.
He could have scented her while we walked through town today.
Following its instincts to track a vulnerable prey, the poison coursing through her body an irresistible scent. But that is where the problem starts.
She is not their prey.
She is mine.
I have been a fool not to tell her everything as soon as she felt at peace in my home.
Steve, Selene and the potion master have all inquired about bonding her, and I've been too stubborn to even tell her the meaning of the word.
Everyone saw what I ignored and now I shall pay my penance.
I will protect her with my last breath, rejuvenate, and keep on fighting.
They will not have her.
If this Ananea wants a war, then they have no idea of the hellfire I will rain down on them.
No one threatens my bonded.
No one threatens what's mine.
I raise one arm high, a fighting stance ready to attack an incoming threat, and the Ananea does not disappoint.
His legs smash against the wooden floor like a series of hammers as he accepts my invitation.
Unfortunately for him, he is young, and while the determination is there, the skill set is not.
The two larger legs that hang over its head smack together with each step, the familiar snap of each strike that I heard only days ago.
With a twist of my body, I dip and bend, the drag of one dagger, slicing a long, deep gash in his round belly, leaving a trail of innards in his wake.
For a split second my eyes lock on Steve shielding Emmy beyond the carnage, my chest swelling with gratitude.
I will not take chances today.
Closing the distance between us, the tavern is all but deserted.
Everyone is familiar with Ananea poison, and no bar fight is worth the risk of being inadvertently poisoned.
His body drops to the ground, legs no longer able to function with the blood loss, a pale green, creamy goo, slowly spreading from where its entrails lie.
He releases a piercing screech as I slice through his two stinging pincers with little effort.
My daggers could pierce even the toughest armour, so their integrity is appreciated as I grab onto the Ananeas head.
He looks up at me, pale green blood dribbling down his chin.
“She knows,” he rasps, barely audible from his weakened voice.
Who knows? Emmie?
I will not be tricked, as I’m sure this is just a game of sorts.
It's common knowledge for creatures to play tricks as death comes for them, so why would this Ananea be any different?
I grip onto his hair, my other hand holding the dagger tip to the centre of his head.
I'm not slow as I impale my dagger into his skull, but as sweet as it would be to watch him suffer, I do not want to waste precious minutes when Emmie has only just awoken.
His lifeless body drops to the ground with a thud, the damned in the corner of the room stepping forward as Steve motions for him to clean up the remains.
Spinning to Emmie, her small body is faced away from the fighting, turned into Steve's chest. I leap over the bar, approaching her like a timid animal, aware my new appearance is frightening.
My hand seeks hers, and she moves, sitting on the counter, legs dangling over the edge. Steve shifts so I may take his place.
“You have new tattoos?” she slurs, her lashes dipping closed again with fatigue.
“And your eyes, they're glowing.” The corner of her mouth twitches up in a semblance of a smile, softening my heart.
“I'm t … tired, Portarius, take me back to our room?” Her head bobs as she fights to stay awake, her body desperately seeking rest. Scooping her up, her arms wrap around my neck as she melts into me. Her familiar weight a balm to my torment. I glance around the destroyed room and throw a look of apology at Steve, his returning nod of acceptance a true signal of his friendship. “I’ll be better tomorrow, I promise,” she whispers, as I move down the hall to our room.
The comfort of our small space eases some of the tension from my muscles as I tuck her under the bed covers.
Fetching water, I remove all of my clothing.
Quickly washing away any of the Ananea blood that has splattered my skin.
Once dry, I slide in behind her, the dip in the mattress rolling her soft body into me.
Tomorrow I will bathe her. We will stay an extra day, and she will have her rest. The Gate continues to hum in my chest, offering its support as her body nuzzles closer into mine, the worry of her approval circling in my mind until her soft breaths lull me into a restless slumber.