"The devil was a monster, but I would become his nightmare." - Kerri Maniscalco
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The next morning, Valen lies in his bed with Alia curled up against his side. Her head rests on his chest with an arm thrown over his waist. Gentle exhales warm his skin, eyes closed as she dreams about things Valen wishes he could see. His unyielding arm is wrapped around her back, holding her close whilst his other hand fiddles with a dagger. Hard eyes stare at the dark ceiling, sunlight obscured by thick curtains.
He hasn't slept.
The darkness of the room repelled him to the point where he almost left Alia to sleep on the couch with the light on. But the need to hold her and feel her warmth whilst she slept overpowered his desire for sleep, so he stayed with her. Awake.
When morning came, the sound of waking wolves was all he could think to listen to. He followed their voices, lightly visualising them as they trained or socialised at the tavern, opting to even listen to them whilst they conversed in their homes.
His focus on each wolf didn't last long, attention normally moving on after listening for a few seconds. He continued to sift through them, listening for any repugnant male who would say his mate's name, who would dare to desire her — who would dare to try and take the warmth of his soul away from him.
With every breath she makes, he remembers each and every time he had her against a surface in his home, taking her in a way he knows she craved, and it makes the need to swipe his dagger across a throat that much more potent.
If it meant keeping Alia by his side, he'd slaughter this entire Pack to ruins without so much as a second thought. He'd shed his Gamma's blood, watch as the Untitled scream for mercy, and slice apart all of his loyal Warriors before they can even think to pick up a blade.
If she is ever taken from him, Valen would become a cruel man. An unforgiving man. And he'd burn down this entire Kingdom if it meant he could have her again.
Sitting cross-legged on Valen's couch, Alia types away on his laptop after finding Gamma's crumpled lists of book titles in his entryway. She remembers her iron grip on the papers, grasping them with all her might whilst Valen carried her to his home. But the moment he had her against the wall, they were out of her fingers and falling to the floor, landing near the table where his helmet lies. Only when she awoke did she remember them, and for the past two hours they're all she's been working on.
So far, none of the titles she's researched have had any historical significance, and as the pages dwindle, she suspects none of them will. They're not familiar to her nor are they old enough to warrant any value, but Bertraim is not one to abide by rationale. He could be having a tantrum over a beginner's guide to tracking wolves for all she knows.
Valen shifts behind her, and Alia falters in her work. She smiles softly, turning her head to look over her shoulder at his sleeping face. He lays on his side, body spanning the entirety of the couch whilst his arm is draped around her hips.
After finding out about his lack of sleep, Alia almost ran to the bedroom light switch to allow him to rest, but her legs felt like jelly and she crumpled to the ground the moment her feet touched the soft carpet. Her legs were useless, and the ache in her lower back and between her thighs was numbingly painful. So Valen's large arms lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bathroom, whilst his amused voice promised her that he'll have some rest if she promised not to run out of his bed again.
She agreed, distracted by the way he lowered her in front of the sink, arms around her waist whilst he leaned down and trailed kisses along her shoulder. His torso was flush against her back, warming her bare skin as she brushed her teeth with shaky breaths.
Reaching down to caress his face, Alia's gentle touch doesn't awaken Valen and her gaze softens even more.
One of his black, cotton t-shirts covers her upper body, drowning her frame with a fabric that's covered in his calming scent. It did nothing in preventing him from sliding his arm underneath the fabric, skin touching hers before he closed his eyes to sleep.
After the bathroom, she slipped on her underwear from the day before, reminded of the need to grab a change of clothes from her own home. Valen only wears a pair of dark grey joggers, torso exposed to her admiring gaze. She tries not to focus on the scars scattered across his skin, but it's proving to be more difficult than expected.
Alia turns back to the laptop, deciding to move her focus back to the lists. Upsetting her mood won't solve anything, so she preoccupies her mind with the work that needs to be done instead. But her gaze drifts to one of the walls of his living room, and her heart clenches at the sight.
Hundreds of journals are stacked on top of each other, lining the white wall with thousands of dark memories. A different four-digit number is carved onto each cover, indicating something Alia desperately wishes to uncover. Her soul yearns to wipe away the torment from his mind and clear him of the misery that plagued him inside that immoral cell. Having to relive them every time he's touched or reminded of his captivity is something that Alia fails to fathom, and she's horrified by the reality of him having to live another life underneath Evropí even when he's hundreds of miles away.
At least when he sleeps he can be free from Evropí's grasp.
Her thoughts still, reminded of a time when she sat underneath the orange-leafed tree with Valen. It was the night she touched him for the first time, after an old memory of her mother was stained by buried trauma. She remembers something he said to her after she asked him why he was outside in the first place:
"It's been a shit day, and I don't want to make it worse by sleeping."
Alia's expression drops.
...worse by sleeping.
No. Surely he couldn't be reliving his memories whilst he slept. He couldn't be. That's not... it's not...
Alia looks down at Valen again, noting the peace in his features. Then she glances back at the overwhelming stack of journals.
Quietly moving Valen's laptop off her lap, Alia places it on the rectangular, glass coffee table in front of her. The lists of titles are already there, scored with pen lines to indicate their incapability of being the book Bertraim desires. Beside the many pages are three of Valen's journals with the numbers 1962, 2138 and 2034.
When she first took notice of the journals, Valen hesitated before telling her that she could read them if she wanted to. Alia shook her head, instantly feeling as if looking at those pages would be an invasion of his privacy, but his eyes were completely calm whilst he carried her. He sat her down on a stool at the island, ready to prepare an easy breakfast for them both. But then he walked over to the stack of journals and picked out a random three. Valen held her gaze whilst he placed them on the coffee table, unspoken words as clear as day.
Alia picks up the one closest to her, with the carving 1962, and flickers through the pages with her thumb to see how many pages have been used. It's filled with varying colours of ink, words and drawings lining the pages with Valen's memories.
To prevent herself from backing out, Alia forces herself to turn to the first page and begin reading.
Entry 1; Journal 1962
Valen's memory
Hands grab skin, claws digging into flesh as Valen's body is dragged across a silver floor. Blood drips down his forehead, deep gashes in his chest struggling to close. His vision is blurred, breathing faint as his body fails to resist the actions of his captors.
The scent and sound of burning flesh reach his senses, but he can no longer feel the pain of his flesh against silver. He doesn't make a sound when he's lifted and dropped onto a metal examination table, chain brackets clamping around his wrists and ankles before he can blink.
The silver ceiling and walls swirl around him, surfaces shiny yet covered with remnants of his blood. White lab coats surround the table, dozens of gazes filled with a sadistic craving for knowledge. A thickly gloved hand wields a silver blade, the only blade that can scar him and keep him from healing before they can finish their work.
Blood fills his throat, choking him after the blade is shoved below his chest, hilt meeting flesh. He coughs, blood spluttering out of him and staining white fabric. A pressure builds inside his mind, arms weakly pulling against restraints as the blade is pulled down his abdomen, slicing his flesh in two.
Delighted murmurs meet the ringing in his ears, hands finding chins as they look down at his opened body as if he was a rare specimen uncovered before their eyes.
The blade is tugged out of him, crimson gleaming underneath the rectangular, clinical lamps above. The male's other hand, which is completely bare, is shoved right into the bleeding slit and it makes an extremely weak, strained gasp escape Valen's bloody mouth. Fingers wrap around his intestines, pulling them out for the scientists to observe as they lean closer to the raised organs.
"How many samples?" The male asks one of the scientists.
"Thirty will suffice."
Nodding, the male swipes the blade through a section of Valen's small intestines and splits the organ in two. Valen doesn't move, nor does he react to the second slice. A terrible tremor overcomes his body, surprising the studious spectators. A large section of his small intestine is tossed into a box of ice, carried away by gloved hands.
Valen's eyes meet the male's when his bowels are shoved back inside of him. Vile hatred stabs straight through the male's soul, stunning him to a halt. Valen's weak glare is potent, and he watches as blood vessels burst inside the male's eyes, veins protruding across the entirety of his face as blood begins to pour from his head's orifices. A sickening snap sounds inside the cell, neck bent at a nauseating angle only to be bared to the man who lays in his own blood. Skin a reddened purple, the male's eyes are wide and lifeless when he collapses to the floor.
The scientists scramble to escape the room, but Valen manages to tighten one of his hands into a weak fist before they can reach the door.
Blood and flesh splatter across the silver walls, lab coats falling to the floor as the bodies underneath burst into nothing but fragmented remains.
"Cover his eyes and burn him," an angered voice orders behind the cell door. "I want his skin to resemble ash when I return."
The cell door opens. Darkness seeps into Valen's vision when an acrid liquid is poured over his skin. He can taste the bitterness on his tongue, and he can feel it burn his eyes and trickle inside his nose as it coats him completely. The bright orange glow of a match appears in one of his blurred peripherals. He barely manages to follow the mesmerising arc as it's tossed towards him, landing on his eviscerated abdomen. Darkness renders him unconscious just as he's ignited into flame.
The journal drops out of Alia's trembling hands. Tears stream down her face as her wide eyes are burned with the words of her mate's devastating torture. Horror laces her features, and she turns her head towards the stacks of filled journals, knowing that similar entries are written inside.
Her hands clench into fists, nails digging into her palms as an outraged fury boils inside of her. She will do everything in her power to make Evropí suffer for what they did to Valen.
Even if it means involving Death himself.
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