AEGIR
The sharp tang of iron hit me the second I entered my room. Blood.
I found her with reddened and puffed eyes, curled at the bedside—bloodied, bruised, and beaten.
My chest ached so much, I thought my heart was going to freeze on me.
And that’s when what I had long hoped for, what I had begged my god for, at times suspected, finally kicked in—striking within me like lightning does to a solemn tree.
Mine.
Mine.
MINE!
My gelid heart had me sinking to my knees. As did my aching soul. It was indescribable, the way it tossed—it felt like an ensnared eagle that flipped and ruffled its wings in desperation to free itself—it implored me to rip apart whoever did this to her.
I really, really wanted to heal her. To brush my hands with the gentleness of a feather’s touch along every inch of her beautiful body.
To kiss all of her pain away. To rid her of its memory, and instead replace it with something entirely different.
But I was so afraid to touch her, I only allowed myself to cover her and to heal her head, just as she had asked me to.
I knew I had to kill him, of course, there was no doubt in that. My soul was threatening to tear itself out through my chest if I didn’t, but when she touched my hand and told me to stay, it…calmed. My soulbound. And so I stayed.
I stayed until I was certain she was deep asleep, safe, her head resting.
I slipped into his room, locked the door behind me and set a sound barrier in place. I found him sitting at his dresser, a wet, bloodstained cloth to his face. His nose looked broken. Good girl.
He stiffened in place. He knew what was coming for him.
When I followed his disgusting scent earlier, I imagined what hers would smell like if she were to have one.
I imagined it to be fresh and floral, like fields of ballerina lavender that thrive near sea spray.
I wished I could swap—her scent for his—but now, now that my soul drowned and gorged on the scent of his terror, I might have to reconsider.
“Lord Hailin,” he croaked. The look on his bloodied face mirrored his scent. “Now is not a very good time for me. If you need something, I’ll send one of our servants to your room.”
“But now is the perfect time,” I assured him, taking slow steps towards him. My stare alone pinned him to his chair. I knew he could feel it as I got closer and closer—death.
I was never more grateful for my ability to conceal sounds. I would have hated it, having to stuff his mouth to stifle his screams. I wanted to hear all of them—each and every one. The thought alone almost made me shiver.
I clutched his neck, clenched my fist around his throat, just like he had done to her.
I had to restrain myself not to kill him just yet—it would have been so easy to just snap his neck—he didn’t deserve easy.
And so I was forced to redirect some of my anger, to let some of it spill.
I bellowed a wild, growled roar that made the floors and the walls quake.
His eyes snapped wide just as his feet lifted off the floor.
“You shouldn’t have touched what’s mine!” I swore that it was my soul that bellowed those words. I never sounded more bloodthirsty.
Only weak gurgles came out of his mouth.
I reached for his belt with my free arm and snapped it off from around his belly, then placed it on the dresser.
Then I shoved him back onto his chair, my hand never leaving his throat.
He tried—he tried so hard to free himself, scrabbling at my arm, like a little mouse trying to fight off the strong talons of an eagle.
He was not even close to flinching the son of a Fae and a Strongman.
I grabbed hold of his upper arm and pulled, one forceful yank that dislocated his shoulder. His gurgled screams reprieved my soul—it absorbed them like a sponge does water. But there was so much water, the sponge was not nearly enough. I needed more, I needed much more.
I let go of his neck only to hear his pain better when dislocating his other shoulder. Then I went on and dislocated his hips, too. He looked like a marionette without his puppeteer—with his misaligned and loosely hung limbs. I relished every cry, every beg, besotted with his futile screams.
But I grew hungrier, like a drug addict who couldn’t care any less about overdosing and just wanted more, more, more.
I grabbed hold of his lower leg and yanked it forcefully while pressing down on his thigh. His knee snapped awkwardly. Then I went on and wrenched his other one. His screeching cries turned frantic, they pierced my ear drums, but I only basked in that pain, too.
My soul embraced all of it—it sang and danced, revelling with joy.
More.
I wanted to drench myself—no, I wanted to submerge myself in his fear. I needed to destroy every part of him. And that’s when I grinned at him and snapped his nose back into its place. I healed it.
Oh! He felt it! And his face!
His tear-streaked face trembled at the realisation of the infinite number of times I could snap his same bones over and over—an endless torturous game of breaking bones.
Bones, like those bones of surprise that Cordelia had shared with me once.
The day she called me by my name for the first time.
I still remember how it sounded on her lips, how I wished to hear more versions of it in different breaths and tones.
My own thoughts reminded me—whom he had hurt—and that sweet little distraction turned into a raging sea of restless turmoil, as angry as the Wrathwater Depths.
So I kept breaking him apart, bone after bone after bone, and not just his fingers, his ankles, elbows, and wrists, too. He often fainted, so I healed as needed and slapped him awake, only to break him once more.
As much as I wanted this game to go on for an eternity, I had somewhere else to be, someone else to be with.
And as much as I wanted to rip his flesh apart and paint the room red, I couldn’t risk this son of a bitch interfering with my plan of alliance—the reason why I was sent here.
I wouldn’t let him win a fight after his death.
Dawn neared, and so it was time to put him back together, bit by bit. I started by snapping his fingers back in their place and ended with relocating his hips. All bones were sealed and back in their sockets except for his dislocated shoulders…not just yet.
When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself upright.
His brows knitted and he lowered his gaze, finding resistance. He saw himself standing on a chair and I knew that he could tell his belt was wrapped around his neck. It gave me pleasure, watching him try to reach for it with his useless arms and failing.
I allowed him some time to take it all in.
I listened to each of his choked begs and stammered apologies.
“I—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt her, I won’t ever look at her, I promise, you—you can keep her, take her with you.
” It was hilarious, really, how he thought he had a say in any of that.
Of course I was going to fucking keep her.
“Please, please, please,” he cried, watching me close our distance.
I tapped at his chest and thanked Boreas that her necklace was in his breast pocket and nowhere near his soiled trousers.
“Ah, there you are,” I murmured, letting the necklace dangle between our faces before tucking it safely in my pocket and tapping on my own chest.
My next satisfied smile informed him that this was finally goodbye, and that’s when his apologies turned into pleading and frantic calls. “Help! Help! Somebody! Help! He’s going to kill me. Anyone, please!”
“You can scream all you want, no one’s going to hear you.”
“No, stop, please stop, please.”
I didn’t stop. And before kicking the chair from beneath his feet, I told him, “Remember this while you rot in Daekon’s Hell: you are nothing and you are nobody.”
His eyes grew wide at the instant lack of oxygen, at the snap of his neck. He desperately kicked, like a fish thrown out of its bowl.
I did not blink.
I replaced his shoulders into their sockets and made sure he was whole. Then I waited.
I watched his eyes bulging out of their sockets and his tongue protruding out of his mouth.
I inhaled deeply and let out a long exhale as I watched his life leaving his eyes, my body and soul somewhat sated—the eagle finally freed from its devious traps. But now, the longing, the ache for her, replaced my earlier rage.
Before I left, I wiped his bloodied face clean, then let the cloth burn in the kitchen stove.
I wished I had burned my clothes in the godsdamned stove, too. I had to wash myself first. I wouldn’t allow any of his filthy scent anywhere near her.
I took out the red dress from the bottom drawer, her drawer, and placed it on the dresser. And alongside it, I carefully laid her necklace. Then I arranged a jar of water and a bowl of grapes for when she woke up.
I wished to lie next to her, to hold her in my arms and tell her that everything was all right. That he could no longer hurt her, but I feared she didn’t want to be touched. So I took the carpet instead, reaching my arm up if only to graze her hand.
I heard her wake, but pretended I was still sleeping, just to give her some time for herself.
But when she breathed my name, I practically ran to her. Then she froze me in place.
Oh. My. Fucking. Gods.
I saw her for the first time with her thick, wavy, dark brown hair set free, and I swore it reached down to below her tailbone.
And the red dress, now wrapped tightly against every curve of her toned body, hit me in two ways.
One was pride—pride at the fact that I was a part of this healthy change, and the other—the other just beckoned fervent want. It shocked me, her perfection.
Then my soul waltzed cacophonously while we kissed. It just couldn’t and didn’t want to contain itself.
She was mine and she kissed me back. No, not only, she also wanted me to kiss her again…I knew I had healed her lips. They didn’t really still hurt.
I had bedded many women in the past, but this kiss, this, did not even dare to compare.
It felt deliciously unworldly. Although I was confused at how tasteless it was, the mere touch of our lips, our tongues—it whispered of home.
I was sure it did. I didn’t care that she was invisible to my senses; she was mine and I would take whatever she chose to give me.
She was mine and I was kissing her, leaning onto her, grabbing her, touching her.
She was mine and she was cooing moans and spreading her legs for me.
She was mine and I was licking her jaw and kissing her neck.
She was mine and I lost all sense of self-control.
She was mine and so I claimed her. Then lust and desire morphed into shame and self-disgust.
She deserved better.