Soul-Deep Pain
GAbrIEL
Who did this to you?
Wren’s question rings through the cabin, and it’s the only thing I can hear. The walls are closing in, my fingers tremble, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. How to speak. How to do anything at all except stare at Wren.
I always knew this moment would come. I knew that one day, she’d see the scars on my back, the evidence of the abuse I suffered at my father’s hands, and I’d have to explain them.
I fucking knew it, and I thought I was ready. I thought I’d mentally prepared myself for this.
But here? Right now, after what was undoubtedly the best night of my life?
I was wrong. I wasn’t ready—but it’s too late for that. Wren is crying for me now, but what will happen when she finds out about my father?
I should’ve been better prepared for this moment. Should’ve warned her somehow.
But it’s too late.
“Gabe?” She clings to the sheet wrapped around her body with one hand and reaches for me with the other. “Who hurt you?”
“It’s . . . a long story.” I pick my words carefully, weighing each one before I give it voice.
“We have a long time,” she offers quietly.
All the time in the world might not be enough for this, but I owe it to Wren to tell her the whole truth. Even though she might look at me differently after, even though things may change between us when she learns about my family, I must tell her.
People have been lying to her for her whole life, and I refuse to be added to the list of people who keep things from her no matter how much it pains me.
“Okay.” I brush my lips against hers, relishing in the softness of the kiss. I commit it to memory because this might change everything. “You may want to get dressed, because this is a long story.”
I slide out of bed, pull on a pair of pants, and get us each a glass of water from the jug on the dresser before reclaiming my spot.
Handing Wren the glass, my breath catches as I realize the shirt she chose is mine.
The fabric falls to her mid-thigh, and she isn’t wearing anything beneath it.
She looks so gods-damned delectable in my clothing that for a moment, all I want to do is worship her once more.
But then I look back at her tear-streaked face, at her watery eyes and the pity in them, and I remember that this isn’t the moment for thoughts like that.
And that maybe after she knows everything, there won’t be any more moments for us.
Maybe, even after all the words we exchanged last night, it will become nothing more than a distant memory, a cherished moment that I remember on cold nights when I’m alone with Mist.
Wren takes a sip, her eyes never leaving mine. “The scars, Gabe,” she prompts.
I squeeze the cup. “There is something I need to tell you, and I hope you’ll listen to the whole story.” An ache blooms in my chest, and I rub it with my fist. “I hope we can talk about this and what it means for us.”
Her brows knit. “What are you saying?”
“You are my whole world, and I meant what I said last night. You are mine.” She will always be mine, even if this is the end of us.
Water sloshes in Wren’s cup, and she inhales sharply. “Gabe, I don’t understand.”
“I was always going to tell you. When the right time came, I was going to tell you.” Although is there really a right time to tell the woman you love that your father wants her dead? I’m not sure this would’ve ever been an easy conversation.
Her fingers tremble, and she puts the glass aside, focusing on me. “Tell me what, exactly?”
There’s no more avoiding this.
“The person who gave me these scars wasn’t a stranger to me.”
But I wish they were. I wish my mother had never dropped me at the foot of the throne, wish I’d never met the king.
Wren shifts closer, placing her hand on my knee. Her touch is warm, and heat spirals from that point of contact. I hadn’t even realized how cold I had become.
“Who . . .”
“My father.” The hushed confession seems to boom, and for a long moment, all I can hear is the pounding of my heart. It slams against my ribs.
Wren’s fingers tighten. “What the fuck? Why would he—”
“He hates me.”
“What?” Shock is clear in her voice, and gods, what must it be like to wonder how a parent could harbor hatred for their child? To not know the sting of being despised by the ones who are meant to love you?
I will never know.
“I don’t understand, Gabe.” Her voice is a mere whisper. “Why would he do this to you?”
I’ve asked myself that same question hundreds of times over the years.
My father’s boots click as he circles my kneeling form.
Severus is standing in the corner of the cell, leaning against the wall. His foot is kicked back, and his arms are crossed as he sneers at me. His hair is blond, where mine is dark, but like me, he is tall. Our noses are the same, and we both have green eyes.
Severus wears his hatred of me like a tunic, and he never takes it off. I cannot remember a time when he hasn’t looked at me as though I am less than scum. I used to think he would grow out of it, but I’m sixteen now, and he only seems to despise me more.
I don’t like him much, either. I’d glare right back at my half brother but remaining conscious is taking all my strength. The stones beneath my hands are damp with my blood, and agonizing pain radiates through me.
“You are such a motherfucking disappointment, Gabriel,” the king says, trailing his crimson whip behind him.
A few sparks shoot off it, coming dangerously close to me. I know how much they hurt when they land on exposed flesh, but I don’t flinch.
Showing weakness in front of these two will only make things worse. I’m not even sure why I was dragged in here today. I was in the training yard when I received the king’s summons.
No one can ignore those.
I walked into the castle of my own volition, where I was dragged down to the dungeon by my father’s favorite Protectors.
A few minutes later, the king strode in with Severus on his heels like an eager puppy.
My half brother doesn’t always join in on these torture seasons, but when he does, they’re worse.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” I grit.
I don’t even know what the fuck I’m apologizing for.
The king raises his whip, and I brace myself for what comes next. The pain. The agony of having my flesh torn apart. The blood.
This beating has already been worse than most of the ones I’ve endured, and even with blessed salve, I know I’ll be laid up for days, healing from this.
But the whip doesn’t land. After a few moments, I look up. The king is studying the crown prince—the child he loves. The one who shares his blood and his magic.
“My son,” the king says with a strange mixture of warmth and ice that has my skin crawling. “Would you like to administer the next portion of your brother’s punishment?”
A wolfish smile creeps along Severus’s face. He pushes off the wall and saunters over, coming to stand next to the king, but he doesn’t take the whip. Instead, he extends his hand. Severus turned twenty-one a few months ago, and he and our father have been spending more time together than ever.
Scarlet sparks, brighter than our father’s crimson, erupt from my brother’s hand. I watch in awe and horror as Severus forms a whip identical to the king’s, and my stomach knots.
This is new. I’ve known my brother possessed magic, like the queen, but he’s never used it to hurt me.
The wretched grin on my half brother’s face would make serpents sick, and it only grows as he slashes the whip through the air. I brace myself for the impact, but even that can’t stop the cry from ripping out of my chest as the weapon slices through already broken flesh.
“Again,” the king commands.
Ever our father’s favorite, the prince immediately complies. As the whip sails through the air, I wonder what I did to deserve a fate such as this.
Shuddering, I force the memories away and focus on the present. On Wren, who is waiting for my response.
“I’m not the son he wanted.” That is a fucking understatement.
Wren’s lips thin as she studies me. “That’s why he hurt you?”
Sympathy shines in her eyes, but it won’t last for long, though. Not once she finds out the rest.
“Partly. At first, I think he did it because he thought it would help make me more like him.” Help break my soul and turn my heart as inky as his.
“Why?”
The word contains many questions, and they swell in the air around us.
Why would he do that?
Why does he hate you?
Why would he try to break you?
I wish I didn’t have to keep going, but I do.
Steeling myself for what is to come, I meet the violet gaze belonging to the woman I love and say the five words that could rip us apart. Destroy us before we had the chance to truly begin.
“My father is the king.”
Seconds that feel like gods-damned lifetimes stretch between us. Each is longer than the last until it feels like time stops completely. Endless moments pass us by, and then Wren sucks in a sharp breath. Blinks rapidly.
“What?”
“My father is—”
“I . . . I heard you. I just . . .” She scrubs a hand over her face. “I need a fucking minute.”
She removes her hand from my knee, and that hurts more than all the lashes I ever received.
“Okay,” I whisper. Because what else can I say?
I have never despised my lineage more. Why did my mother have to abandon me? I would’ve been better off not knowing my father at all.
After several minutes pass, Wren looks up.
“I don’t understand, Gabriel.” Her Mark is an incandescent star upon her forehead. “How can you be the king’s son? You’re a Hunter. You were hunting me.”
Tears line her eyes, and they make the ache in my chest worse. She’s in pain because of me, and I despise myself for that.
“None of that has changed. I became a Hunter to get away from the king.” To try to become something more.
She frowns, and vines twist around my heart, tighter and tighter. Silence unspools between us, and thorns pierce that vital organ, sending pain lancing through me.