"PTSD is a whole-body tragedy, an integral human event of enormous proportions with massive repercussions." - Susan Pease Banitt
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1.5 hours later
Splatters of blood decorate the concrete walls. Bloody fists slam into bodies, broken bones leading to hisses and growls through clenched teeth. Wolves limp down the silent paths, cradling disfigured arms whilst listening for sounds of movement.
The prospect of exiting the maze has now become an impossibility. The finalists caught on to the false nature of the round after an hour passed with no sign of escape. It didn't take long before they turned on each other, smashing limbs into concrete to take out the competition. It was a decision of panic, for they were desperate to end the final before they fell under a blindfolded gaze. But when the numbers fell from twenty-six to fifteen, Valen intervened.
He appeared behind them, their bodies resembling piles of swinging limbs, and plucked one of the wolves off of another. The female's legs dangled in the air, limbs frozen from the grip holding the back of her shirt. Horrified eyes could only watch as Valen brought his other hand to her throat. His fingers wrapped around the sweaty flesh, bandaged eyes staring at the stiff finalists whilst he tightened his grip. The girl writhed in his hold, and before she could raise her hands to peel his fingers away, a low whisper warmed her temple.
"Touch my hand, and it will cost you yours."
She didn't listen.
Before her fingers could touch skin, he released her throat and threw her into one of the walls. Concrete cracked underneath the force with blood remaining after her unconscious body dropped to the floor. Valen flexed his fingers at his side, the souring of his mood perceivable to every competitor.
"Your objective has changed." He slowly rolls his neck to the side to relieve the tension within. "The last wolf I touch, wins."
It was all the finalists needed to hear before they took off running. They dispersed in seconds, the sounds of their sprinting feet echoing through the silent training hall.
One by one, Valen hunted them down. He observed how they reacted to him, whether they would plead for respite or run. Those who ran only managed a few steps before he yanked them back and sent them to the ground. Those who begged were met with a cold, unforgiving silence, and he spared them no mercy when he grabbed their faces and slammed their heads into concrete.
As the numbers dwindled to five, it seemed like all of the prospects would fail to gain the courage to stand their ground, and Valen almost mind-linked his Gamma to tell him. But that was before he stood in Yaro's path.
Now, Yaro stares at the General, arms tense as an open path stretches out behind him, tempting him to escape. Blood stains the Warrior's fingers, a sharp segment of bone piercing out of his left forearm. Blood drips from the wound, trailing down his skin before splattering onto concrete. His breaths are controlled, shirt torn at the collar with his left sleeve removed. He glances at the blood highlighting his path, lips twitching with displeasure. One of his hands balls into a fist, frustration flashing through his gaze before it settles back on the General. Yaro's voice is careful when he asks, "If I get past you, will I remain in the Trials?"
Valen's expression remains blank, but a brewing darkness hides behind his blindfold. Images resurface in his mind, the urge for blood growing with every breath. "Yes."
Yaro doesn't allow himself a moment of relief. Instead, he slowly adds, "If you touch me in the process, will I still remain in the Trails?"
Yaro's mouth on Alia's. His hand on her face. Breathing in her scent. Feeling her. Tasting her. Valen can feel the veins protruding underneath his stinging eyes, claws verging on lengthening. Tension travels through his body, stiffening his arms as he tries to restrain his primal urges. "Yes."
Noting the dangerous shift in the General's presence, Yaro decides to stay exactly where he stands. A trembling hand betrays his feigned, collected composure whilst beads of sweat glide down his temples.
Valen takes a step forward and Yaro stiffens. He steadies himself and faces the General completely, a surge of courage firing within his dark brown gaze. Hands ball into fists, and his airways constrict with every additional step. His shoulders ache at the powerful force trying to push him to his knees, the dominance of the General potent and all-encompassing.
Standing a breath away, Valen lowers his head and whispers into the male's ear. "The only reason you stand before me is because you touched her before she was mine."
Yaro's eyes widen, skin paling.
Valen brings a clawed finger to the male's face, the sharp tip lightly scratching the skin underneath his right eye. "If these eyes ever convey desire for her, I will remove them." His finger slowly drags down Yaro's face, blood seeping to the surface. The tone of his voice is dark, unforgiving, and it sends a haunting chill straight down the Warrior's spine. "And if you ever try to recreate the events of the training centre," the claw digs deeper, forcing a strained grunt out of the Warrior, "I will skin you alive."
Pulling away, Valen straightens. "Do we understand one other, Yaro?"
The Warrior nods, face reddening at the progressive depletion of oxygen. Valen doesn't say another word before he turns around and walks away, a different finalist on his mind.
Yaro drops to his hands and knees. Coughs splutter out of him, one hand reaching for his throat in an attempt to ease the burning ache within. A lingering tension weighs down on his muscles, fatigue draining his body as quickly as he dropped to the concrete. Why did the General spare him?
Only three wolves remain. Valen approached every one of them, assessing their response as he threatened their place in the Trials. They stood in place, hands balled into fists as they forced themselves to think of another way to remain. One of them even tried to take a swing at him, attempting to fight their way past. It was a commendable effort, but Valen took him to the ground anyway.
Finally, the bell rings. Confusion fills the training hall at the number of finalists, wondering why they didn't continue until one remained.
When Valen hears the bell, his eyes automatically open underneath the blindfold. Darkness invades his vision and he sucks in a horrified breath. One of his trembling hands finds a concrete wall as the other yanks the blindfold off and throws it away. His hair is dishevelled, wide eyes blinking repeatedly whilst light invades his pupils.
Quick breaths sound inside the emptying maze, exits revealed to the three finalists. Voices are muffled in the background, ringing ears making his head spin. Faint images flash through his mind, and eventually, his hands find the concrete floor. Sweat begins to cover his body, hand grabbing at his shirt in a failed attempt to tear it off. He feels suffocated, and hyperventilating is only making him feel fainter.
Alia notices the change in Valen's camera view and shoots to a stand. She calls his name, desperate to know if he's okay.
He can't hear her. He can't hear anything other than his past screams.
Alia begs for him to respond, but he never does. Instead, a tormented plea enters her mind. 'Alia.'
She takes off running. Christian's eyes are wide when he notices her panicked expression, having left the bench to speak to the three exiting wolves. He runs back to the tablet and opens up the view of Valen's chest camera. When he sees a trembling hand on the floor, his face pales and he mind-links the entire training hall to remain silent and still.
Pushing his back against a wall, Valen tries to stare at the blinding lights above in an attempt to pull him away from the resurfacing memories. But it doesn't work, nothing does.
He reaches for the camera around his chest and slices the straps off of him. He tosses it away, the camera sliding until the lens faces him. Tremors travel through his body, forcing his eyes to squeeze shut as he fights the resurgence of his primal side. Black fur sprouts from small areas of his skin, disappearing quickly after. It's a repetitive cycle that he can't stop, mind plagued by a memory of his arm being severed by a silver blade, foreign fingers plunging into the bloody stump of his shoulder.
Alia reaches one entrance of the maze, but when she finds herself inside, she stops. How will she reach him? How will she manoeuvre through the paths of the maze? Her hands find her hair in frustration, a teary hiss sounding through her clenched teeth. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Movement flickers at the base of one of the walls, the crevice where the floor meets the concrete segment filling with dark shadows. Alia's expression falters, hands leaving her hair as she takes a step closer. The shadows begin to move along the path, and she quickly realises that the God of Darkness is assisting her.
She doesn't even care for the reason. Not now.
Alia runs after the line of shadows, weaving past turns and sprinting down straights until she turns a corner and finds her mate's hyperventilating form. He's hunched over on the ground, fingers pushing into concrete to try and contain his mind. The ground cracks, blood spilling from cuts in his flesh as he mutters breathless words to himself in an attempt to stop himself from succumbing completely.
Running to him, Alia drops beside him and takes his face into her hands. "I'm here, I'm here." He doesn't acknowledge her, eyes clouded and fingers digging deeper into the ground. She wraps her arms around him, hand in his hair. He continues muttering to himself, the language foreign to her ears.
"You're not there," she tells him, mouth beside his ear. "You're not there. You're not there. You're not there." She continues to repeat it, even when he lifts his fingers out of the floor and leans back against the wall. His breaths remain quick, but he's stopped speaking.
She moves onto his lap, chest pressing against his as she pulls herself closer to him. Her hand continues to move through his hair, touch gentle and slow. She kisses his neck and says, "You are Valen Volkov, my mate, my King. No longer are you Evropí's captive. Their entire land has become ash for what they did to you, and I trust that their souls will suffer in the eternal fire until the end of time. You are not there."
Deep breaths intermix with quick ones, slowly calming his lungs as he wraps an arm around her waist. His other hand grips her thigh, almost as if to keep her from leaving him. His eyes remain cloudy, but it begins to clear when she places gentle kisses on his face. His cheeks, his jaw, beside his eyes — she covers him in her scent and he responds well to it. He relaxes under her touch, head moving to rest on her shoulder. Deep breaths warm her skin, and she can feel his body unwinding against her.
They're quiet for a while, basking in the presence of one another. Valen's voice rumbles against her skin, "I think I need more than a few days."
Alia nods, arms tightening around him. "I think so too."
He whispers a curse, voice pained before he pulls back and leans against the wall. Alia moves her hands to caress his face, assessing his expression to ensure he's fully grounded. He looks so incredibly tired, and it makes her chest ache.
He moves the hand around her waist to reach into one of his pockets. "I grabbed this from my other pair of trousers before I got changed." He pulls out a closed fist. "Close your eyes."
Alia obeys, hands moving down to his clothed abdomen when his own move behind her neck. A small weight presses down on the space between her collarbones, and her brows furrow in response. His hands move back down to her thighs and he says, "Open."
Alia blinks, registering Valen's gaze which is locked on her own. She raises a hand to her upper chest, fingertips brushing against something curved and hard. Frowning, she glances down to be met with a pair of canines with a piece of thick black thread piercing through them. The scent is unmistakable: it belongs to the man who tried to touch her mark, the man whose face she clawed.
Head snapping up to look at Valen, Alia's mouth is parted in disbelief. She remembers the first time he had her in his bed, when she asked him if he'd be pleased if she wore the canines of the men he'd kill around her neck.
One of her hands finds her mouth before she bursts out laughing. Head rearing back, Alia's laughter fills the training hall whilst her heart warms at the gift. Adoration fills Valen's gaze as he smiles down at her, head resting against the wall behind him. His hands slowly move up and down her thighs, wounds healed and tension relieved.
"Forgive me for not obtaining the canines of the man who tried to mark you," he says. "I didn't think to pull them out before I had his crushed skull between my teeth."
Alia turns and leans her back against his chest. His arms wrap around her waist, body flush against his. She angles her head back against his shoulder to look up at him, fingers gliding against the smooth canines at her neck. "There's always Bertraim."
Valen hums, amused. "Would you rather I give you his head? You could use a stake to display it to the Kingdom if you wished."
Alia feigns pondering the idea. "How about you give me his head and I wear his canines?"
Valen reaches for her jaw, hand gentle but firm against her skin. He angles her lips up towards his lowering ones, their warm breaths intertwining. Alia's heart begins to race, body heating at the look in his eyes. Her eyelids grow heavy when his lips brush against hers, a low murmur filling the space between them. "I'd give you the Kingdom if you wished it."
Alia's hand grasps his shirt, voice a whisper. "Is that a yes?"
Valen hums before he kisses her. Alia's other hand lightly wraps around his forearm, the hand on her jaw making her stomach fill with violent butterflies. The hand around her waist is unmovable, muscles strong against her clothed skin.
When he releases her jaw and moves his fingers into her hair, his other arm loosens so he can twist her body and kiss her deeper. But a collective, stunned intake of breath from above makes him freeze.
Slowly pulling away, Valen's head raises to icily scan the amphitheatre above them. They're low enough to the floor to be hidden from prying eyes, but the surprise on the wolves' faces is enough to tell the pair that they have an audience.
Alia's face reddens, eyes wide as the grip on Valen's shirt tightens. His darkening gaze snaps to the camera he tossed, noting the direction of the lens. Canines lengthening, a deep rumble begins to vibrate within his chest. He begins to move her off of him so he can crush the camera in his hand.
She stops him, hand directing his face to look back down at her. Flecks of gold swim within his chilling gaze, but Alia isn't fazed by the fear other wolves would feel. She moves her hand down to the side of his neck and says, "Let them watch."
Valen begins to shake his head, veins appearing underneath his possessive, golden gaze.
Alia's voice drops to a whisper, eyes drifting to his lips. "Let them see I'm yours."
Valen momentarily closes his eyes with a strained groan. His jaw ticks and his opening gaze heats with desire.
His lips find hers.
His mouth moves with an intense fervour, hands pulling her body towards his. A golden ray sprouts from the concrete beside the camera. It loops around the device once, twice, three times, before yanking back into the ground to slice the camera into unsalvageable pieces.
Hand on the back of her neck with another on the lower curve of her spine, Valen holds Alia close as he devours her. Their tongues move against one another, forcing the breath out of her lungs as she clings to him. Breathless, she pants, "Home. Let's go home."
Valen makes a sound of protest, the hand on her back slipping underneath her shirt. 'We must stay here until the Titles are granted.' His palm is hot against her skin, hand spanning almost the entire width of her waist.
"Fuck," she whispers, a whine in her voice. "We should stop then."
The hand on the back of her neck moves into her hair, grip tight against the strands. Valen pulls her head back, golden eyes glued to her parted, swollen lips. Her eyes are closed as she tries to control her breathing, but it's useless when his strong hands remain on her body.
"Beg," he whispers. "Beg me to stop and I will."
Alia shakes her head, heated eyes opening to meet his own. "Never."
•
I delayed my entire morning to finish this 🫡
Poor Yaro going through the most shit. I'm still a whore for you though 🫶🏻