Chapter 9
Killian
The red-headed male in front of me has grated on my nerves since the first moment he opened his idiotic mouth, a few hours ago. I don’t give a damn if he’s Kahlya’s cousin or the fucking High General of the human army that we need on our side like we need air.
He is an arrogant, presumptuous son of a bitch who is currently leaning way too close to my female.
His grubby hand is leaning casually against the back of Aimee’s chair, his fingers a hair’s breadth away from glorious skin that he is not worthy of ever touching.
She is a vesper vision in nuances more precious than the rarest gemstones I have in my treasury in Sangeries.
Her beautiful chocolate locks caress the sides of her face like precious waves of darkness framing a fucking masterpiece, and this stupid shit of a human is sullying them with his closeness.
You don’t fucking touch a masterpiece.
You worship it.
You stare at it with reverence and with the humble understanding of your own insignificance in the presence of such perfection.
But you don’t fucking touch it.
Unless you are me.
My fingers itch to wrap around her mane, to pull her tight against me and claim her in front of him. To shatter any asinine belief he might have that he actually stands a chance with her.
But I don’t.
All I do is clench my fists at my side, a vein throbbing painfully in my temple as I repeat my earlier question.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
Aimee straightens in her seat, her eyes narrowing slightly at me, while a scoff escapes her luscious lips that I haven’t tasted in way too long. My shadows churn against my skin, as to remind me it’s no one’s Akaoridamn fault but mine.
“Discussing politics,” she answers straight-faced, just as the ginger dipshit says with a laugh, “Sharing secrets.”
“Which one is it, then?” I ask as I take a seat across the table from them.
It doesn’t escape me that he conveniently occupied the seat next to Aimee, leaving me to stare at this undesirable proximity.
I would love nothing more than to break every bone in his way too fragile human body, but it would probably be a declaration of war I can’t afford right now.
“Can’t it be both?” the male answers my question with one of his own, and I grit my teeth in annoyance.
“Mael was telling me they possess the last dragon in existence, Killian. Did you even know that dragons were real?” Aimee leans over the table toward me, whispering in astonishment.
“We don’t possess K’haram, sweetheart. He is not a possession but a magical force of nature that guides us and grants us his infinite wisdom and connection to this land.
We revere him as a God because it is through his mercy and goodwill that we flourished in Reweroth, that Azwrah was built and we found peace and serenity away from both your races. ”
Did he just fucking call her sweetheart right in front of my face?
Does he have a death wish?
Aimee’s cheeks color in sheepishness, and she turns to the cursed human, touching his forearm gently.
“Oh no, Mael, I meant no disrespect. Forgive me if my word choice offended you.”
I stare at her hand on his arm until angry red spots swim in my vision, and the urge to throttle the bastard overpowers me when he wraps his slimy fingers around her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Such a striking creature as yourself could never offend me, sweetheart. But K’haram is sensitive to wording, and if you are to meet him like my cousin and Celine desire, you should be aware of his peculiarities.”
Strike motherfucking two. I am really starting to lose my patience here, and I know I’m being a huge ass hypocrite right now.
Because I’ve been doing nothing but pushing Aimee away for the last several weeks.
Might as well have been pushing her directly into the arms of this human twat, but come hell or high water, she is mine.
I will not stand here like a loser while some nobody sweet-talks my female.
My shadows pool at my feet, writhing in anticipation, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
They hate this stupid dinner just as much as I do, and it gives me solace that I’ve finally found some common ground with my shadow self.
We’ve been at odds since the showdown with Aurora, and it’s only gotten worse since he’s started fucking Shadow Aimee every chance he gets.
It’s a whole new level of messed up to feel deep to my very core, every little pleasure he wrings out of her shadow double, while I deprive myself of the same rapture.
It makes me wonder for mere moments why I am putting myself through this form of hell, when I clearly still yearn for her with all my wretched being.
But then I remember her dishonesty.
That’s why I’ve been so curt with her lately. I’m afraid that if I allow myself even a second of reprieve—if I allow her back into my heart—the damn floodgates keeping the last remnant of my sanity at bay will shatter unequivocally when she inevitably lies to me again.
“Imiryion to Killian. Did you hear what I just said? Dragons are real!”
My attention snaps back to Aimee, her brows furrowed as she awaits my reaction.
“I heard you, umbra, and I’m not surprised. Myths have a tendency to be real in this realm. I’ve heard rumors during my long existence, but I assumed they had perished long ago.”
“I can assure you K’haram is very much alive,” the human butts in.
“And he’s willing to meet with us?” I ask the pressing question. If we can secure an alliance not only with the humans, but with the dragon that protects them, it would give us the edge we need to win this war.
Vampires are weak in the face of Morweena’s sinister influence. Humans can be slaughtered, or worse, turned and thus mind-controlled. But a dragon is immutable. A sacrosanct magical being that not even Morweena can control.
“That is what Celine and Kahlya are negotiating with K’haram right now. That is why they couldn’t greet you or take part in this dinner. But I am sure they’ll explain everything in great detail tomorrow, once the effects of the trance ritual are gone.”
“Oh, Mael, you have to explain what this trance ritual entails, especially if we’ll have to undergo it too,” Aimee quips animatedly, her eyes shining with childish curiosity.
Sometimes I forget how young she really is. That under her carefully constructed facade of stoicism and badassery, there still hides a young girl who was deprived of a happy childhood, a warm and loving home, or a nurturing family.
Maybe that was my mistake.
I wanted so badly to give her the world, to be the one that helps her heal her wounds, that I did not stop to think for one second if she could give me the same in return.
I just assumed that because I loved her with an all-consuming intensity, she felt the same.
That because I was honest with her about my past and my shortcomings, she’d be just as transparent with me.
But maybe some wounds are so deep and festering, it takes much more than love to heal them.
“It involves taking a mind-clearing desert flower called Cistanchea. We grind it into a powder and consume it blended with mahia,” the human answers.
“So it’s a drug?” Aimee questions further.
“No, no, no,” the human laughs, leaning closer to her chair again. “A drug alters the mind, producing hallucinations. Cistanchea opens unused pathways that allow us to communicate with K’haram in a language we can understand. It’s like having a waking dream, somehow.”
“Fascinating,” Aimee whispers. “But how did your ancestors communicate the first time? How did they know to use this plant for such a purpose?”
I can see her mental wheels spinning behind those striking amber eyes of hers, and my shadows hunger to have her gaze upon us, for her to look at us with open curiosity and fascination, like she once did.
“I can tell you all about it later, if you wish. We can go somewhere more private after dinner. Let’s not bore your companion with our conversations,” he says, lifting his hand and twirling a single lock of her hair between his fingers.
I see fucking red.
“Get your unworthy hands off her, you bastard,” I seethe, my shadows exploding from my skin with a hiss.
Before I think better of it, I blink into nonexistence and materialize in a fury of crimson, pushing the human away from the table and pinning him against the wall, one hand wrapped in a vice around his easily breakable throat.
“I am not her companion, you vapid ass,” I spit through clenched teeth. “She. Is. Mine.”
“Killian!”
Aimee jumps from her seat, pulling on my arms frantically, but I don’t budge. The human shit is wheezing as I clench my fingers around his neck.
“Don’t you ever dare to touch her again, do you hear me?
Or I swear on Akaori, I’ll eviscerate your guts where you stand, and I don’t care what retaliation comes my way.
I will let this entire motherfucking realm burn to the ground, without even an ounce of remorse. Nod if you understand, motherfucker.”
The human barely nods, his face turning purplish-blue before I release him and he falls in a heap to the ground.
“Killian, you brute,” Aimee wails from next to me, and I turn to see tears marring her beautiful skin.
“You can’t do that,” she says between hiccups, and her whole body trembles. It’s agony to see her this way, panic filling her golden eyes, and I take one step toward her, but she immediately retreats.
“Umbra,” I say, regret filling me as the distance between us increases. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Scare me?” she says, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Scare me?”
Her eyes take on a fevered, crazed glint as her voice sharpens, going up in tempo.
“You don’t scare me, you moron. You’re embarrassing me and yourself.”
“Umbra…”
“Stop fucking calling me that, Killian. I am not your umbra, nor am I yours in any way, shape, or form.”
She is full-on screaming right now, her snake-like black shadows pouring from her skin directly onto the ground, forming a sable halo around her shaking form.
“You have no right to call me yours. Not after the way you’ve been treating me. You have no right to decide who touches me or not. You. Have. No. Fucking. Rights. Over. Me. At. All!”
“Don’t say that…” I trail, trying to placate her. She’s right, yet she’s oh so wrong. I might be the biggest bastard on the face of Imiryion, but I’ll sooner die than let anyone else take her from me.
“Don’t you fucking tell me what I can say or think. I hate you, you idiot. I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!”
She’s vibrating with unrestrained fury, her eyes ablaze as angry tears pour down her face. She glances at the human on the ground, sobbing.
“Mael, I’m so sorry,” she whispers in a broken voice before she turns and bolts out the door.
The predator in me roars like a caged beast inside my chest, and I growl in frustration.
“No, you don’t fucking run from me anymore, Aimee. I’m done with this shit!”
I give chase after her, not giving the human even one second’s thought or parting glance.
This ends tonight.
I’ve been avoiding this confrontation for weeks, burying myself in grief and bloodwine, but no more.
It’s time we fucking faced the music.