Faces by White Luna

Chapter One

Chapter One

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He knew that face. That utter defiant, stubborn face that was a terminal flaw in her nature. Had circumstancecs been different, he would have been soothed to know her rejection if he was not so infuriated by it. If it had been another time, another day, another human. Part of him still recoiled at the thought, but the heart does desire what the heart desires, and his demanded nothing less than her.

Regardless, she perceived it as a betrayal, his need for a pure blood to his line, and that he had made it clear with the utmost of certainty it may not be avoided.

They should have been mated. They should have not worried that this would come to pass as an eventuality, that her arguments that in the future it would not matter, could not matter in the centuries to come and that this decision was one that would be fruitless but for a brief period of time. Not the eternity they would be facing together. And what would be done, could not be undone.

Perhaps her points had merits.

Perhaps they should have been taken into consideration.

But his honor, and his rage at her questioning of that honor, could not withstand her verbal diatribe of his person. She yanked against hands that were as immovable as the mountains, and just as powerful a force. Tears of fury scalded hot against flushed, delicate, mortal cheeks as she babbled inanely of the injustice of it all.

'Why do I have to love you of all people?! Why? You're too cold to love anyone properly...' the last part was bit out bitterly, a murmur hidden behind a mass of raven hair.

But what was his anger, if not passion, if not a fire stoked by her accusations?

Hadn't they addressed this? Hadn't they spoken of their differences, of their incompatibilities and agreed it was better to try to work past it than not at all?

Too infuriated to handle her further, he decided to deal with it at a later time.

Who was he to know that time would never come?

She flew from him like a trapped bird finally finding an open sky, unsteady and eager as she ran toward the well that held her solace, the well that held her future she spoke of that held not a western kingdom. He knew she would return, she always did. Even if he could not follow, though at times insufferable, she was above all else loyal.

How could he have known, so soon after the defeat of their common enemy, the bauble that had held all their fates in the balance removed from existence, that the well would have closed? How could she have known? Neither paid heed in the midst of their differences.

Though he raked through his memories, ascertaining this information, the last moments of her life playing on silent repeat through a mind unable to consolidate the idea she was really and truly gone—he watched in slow motion as she leaned over the well, an oddity for her, and looked back at him once more with betrayed and tear filled eyes. Whether she had slipped, or had been caught off balance, or plunged herself head first he would never know. Merely that he stood there, expecting a blue light to engulf her and take her far away from him.

Never did he imagine nor expect the sickening sound of her neck breaking, or the cold curling sensation of terror rooted deep in the pits of his stomach followed by an anguish that froze him in place for precious seconds. He never moved quicker in his life than to find himself on his knees at the bottom of the well, holding the woman he would have called wife, mate, lover, friend just days from then.

The well had indeed taken her, but farther away than he would have ever guessed.

Pulling himself from his recollections, he impassively glared at the place that had become her grave, disgusted Tenseiga had refused to heed his call to resurrect her. Already, her soul was in a place beyond his reach. A fist curled into itself, the only physical sign of his internal distress. Blood dripped between claws as he swore to himself he would journey to hell, if only to find her once again.