The chamber was a tomb of silence, broken only by the faint, hungry crackle of logs in the hearth. Christopher remained seated, a statue carved from granite, his gaze lost in the rain-streaked window. His mind replayed the amber glow of the burning village, a phantom limb of memory. The screams of the dying, once a deafening roar, were now a distant echo to the silent storm raging within him. His expression, as always, was a fortress no one could breach, a mask of cold obsidian.
"They're calling it the 'Wolf Scourge'."
The voice was an unwanted intrusion, breaking the fragile peace. Christopher didn't need to turn; he recognized the irritating cheerfulness, the inevitable, infuriating grin etched across Alex's face.
"Quite the pyromaniac, aren't we? Burnt the whole place to the ground." Alex sauntered further into the room, the scent of rain and old leather clinging to him. He moved with an easy grace that Christopher found grating.
Christopher gave no immediate sign of having heard him, his focus remaining fixed on the streaked glass, the world outside a blur of grey and green.
"All this for your Princess," Alex continued, his tone a light, teasing lilt. "Shouldn't you be with her? I've been a marvelous distraction in your absence, keeping her mind off your little 'business trip'. She was asking questions, Chris. Many questions." He took a seat opposite the fireplace, stretching his long legs out, an image of calculated repose. He teased, knowing full well the reaction he was about to elicit, the simmering rage beneath Christopher's control.
That finally did it.
Christopher's eyes swiveled, blazing with a fury that felt like a physical blow. His gaze was a hot knife, piercing Alexander, a silent promise of violence that made the air in the room crackle with an unspoken threat.
Alex merely chuckled, completely unfazed. "Someone's a little green-eyed."
"Silence would be a more valuable contribution than your meaningless words, Alexander," Christopher ground out, the regret of sparing his friend's life yesterday tasting like ash in his mouth. The near-lethal fight the day before, a test of wills and power, had left a bitterness he couldn't shake. "Are you truly so idle?"
"Incredibly," Alex beamed, leaning back into the chair. "And even if I wasn't, I could hardly go anywhere when the wounds your little 'demon' gave me haven't healed yet." He gestured with a dramatic flourish to the barely visible, yet lingering, marks on his neck. Vampiric healing was fast, but Christopher's power, a raw, ancient magic unlike anything else, had a way of slowing even that. "You almost killed me," he said, the grin unwavering, the words a challenge wrapped in a jest.
Chris sighed, a sound of long-suffering patience that seemed to come from the deepest part of his ancient soul. He was used to his friend's unique brand of annoyance. "You should be grateful I didn't finish the job." He muttered, his voice low and gravelly, a rumble of thunder on the horizon.
"So," Alex said, the humor draining away in an instant, his face finally adopting a mask of stark seriousness. The shift in atmosphere was immediate and profound. "Do they know you have her?"
"Yes," Christopher's voice was a low growl, "and they intend to take her." The unspoken 'over my dead body' hung heavy in the air.
"But what made them come at you?" Alex pressed, a genuine puzzle in his tone. "They know they can't defeat you. The wolves and witches are all afraid of you. For them to be so courageous now is... unexpected."
Christopher finally turned away from the window, his gaze meeting Alex's. The depths of his eyes held a cold, hard truth. "They are desperate. We've waited for a hundred years for her. We both know she is the key, the fulcrum upon which this war will turn. But I can't let them have her, not yet. For now, she is mine to protect until she gives me what I want from her." His voice dropped to a near-whisper on the last words, the weight of his purpose a physical thing.
Alex almost felt bad for the girl, this "Princess" who was merely a pawn in a game older than empires, a prize in a cosmic tug-of-war.
"What if you get attached on the way?" He raised a brow, a glimmer of the old humor returning to his eyes. "What if you fall in love?" He grinned, pushing the boundary once more.
Christopher didn't reply to his question. He knew what Alex meant. The girl was his mate after all, a cruel twist of fate by the gods, a bond he despised and denied with every fiber of his being. But one thing he knew with an iron certainty: he would never give his heart to anyone, especially not her. She was his ruin, his punishment by the gods, and he would not succumb to the weakness of love. He would use her, protect her until his purpose was fulfilled, and then... then the gods could have their final laugh. But not yet.