"She who laughs last, laughs best." - anonymous
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Bertraim slowly drums his fingers over one of the armrests of the throne, eyes filled with cruel amusement. "How delightful of you to answer my call," he says. "If I had known that all it required was your name, then I would have searched for Death's name instead."
Greed's upper lip twitches, his displeasure evident. "How did you come to know of it?"
Bertraim hums. "Oh, just from a little mouse called Restal."
Greed bristles at the name. His shirtless frame tenses as he balls his hands into fists, wings adjusting behind him. He begins to turn away, green smoke building at his feet. "A name is only a name," he mutters. "I came because I was curious, not because I was powerless."
The boy's expression darkens at the revelation, and he swiftly reminds himself to continue speaking. "I know of what you did to Lycaon."
The green smoke manages to reach Gule's knees just as the God stops walking and turns his head back towards the throne. His face is blank, but his eyes carry a fragility that Bertraim is eager to break.
"I know you aided in his imprisonment," Bertraim adds. "And I know that he sleeps somewhere underneath this Kingdom because of you."
Gule's sickly eyes darken, and it sends an unnerving chill down the boy's spine. Bertraim tries to play it off, but it forces him to adjust his position on the throne.
"He took from me," Gule answers lowly, the green smoke slowly starting to cover the floor of the throne room. "So I took from him."
"It seems my little mouse failed to inform me of such matters," Bertraim says. "But another mouse of mine did reveal something quite intriguing."
"I do not care for—"
"He got out," he lies.
Gule's blank expression shatters. A fear so fierce and destructive overcomes the God's expression, and it has his skin paling just as Bertraim's body tenses from the potent aura of dread that fills the room.
"And I know where he is."
A hand wraps around Bertraim's throat, nails digging into flesh just as the God dangles him above the throne. Air fails to enter the boy's lungs, and he chokes on the tightening grip around his neck. His hands grab at the God's iron-like fingers, face slowly turning pink.
Unnaturally pale and with eyes slightly crazed, Gule seethes, "I will have you feast on your flesh just for daring to blackmail me. Your knowledge dies here, mortal."
Bertraim can hear the shakiness in the God's voice and it has him grinning. He chokes again, barely able to respond with another lie: "I told others."
Gule releases the boy, who collapses onto his hands and knees before the throne. He brings a hand to his throat, gasping for air as his airways burn with need. "If I die," he coughs, "they will tell Lycaon of your actions in my stead."
Panic merges with Gule's fear, and it makes his eyes widen and hands tremble. He stumbles back down a few steps leading to the throne, breaths quickening as sweat builds on his temples.
"Do as I wish," Bertraim says, "and I will ensure your secret dies with me."
Sephtis lounges on Alia and Valen's couch, head resting on the armrest Alia clawed through as he lazily creates floating, horizontal rings of fire with his finger. Each ring floats towards the ceiling before shrinking into a bundle of sparks. His wings remain retracted, and he occasionally adjusts his shoulder blades at the unusual sensation of having them weightless.
A larger, vertical ring — large enough to allow Valen to step through it — burns in front of the couch. Inside the ring is the interior of Alia's old home, where the mated pair gather and carry her limited clothes and belongings into their shared home. It's only been fifteen minutes since they began, but for Sephtis, it's been fifteen minutes too long.
When Valen allowed him back into the house, Fenrir opted to roam through the forest instead of following the God inside. Valen didn't comment on the absence of the insufferable child, nor did he scold Sephtis when he muttered, "Animals," after taking sight of the couch.
Instead, he asked him to create a portal into the mortal's old home, just so they could finally move her out of there. Sephtis didn't have it in him to deny the request, and he doesn't think he'll ever have it in him to deny any request.
Because they're not requests.
Not when they come from Lycaon.
Alia's voice travels through the portal where she digs around underneath her bed for the phone she never opened and the box containing the money Gamma gave her when she first joined Rosía. "You said Sephtis was created," she says, grabbing the unopened phone box. She reaches up and puts the box on top of the bed. "Created by who?"
Valen closes her wardrobe, deeming it empty. "No one knows," he says, moving into her bathroom. "Whoever created him created all of the Gods."
Alia grabs the box of money and gets to her feet. "So you're siblings, in a way?"
Sephtis scowls on the other side of the portal, his displeased voice making Alia's head turn towards the large ring of flames. "Our bond is thicker than blood, mortal."
Valen walks back out of the bathroom after deeming it, too, empty. He closes the bedroom light and guides Alia through the portal after taking the two boxes out of her hands. Just as the ring shrinks into sparks behind them, Valen shrugs a shoulder and says, "In such terms, you could consider him my younger brother."
Alia briefly glances at the God who continues to make rings of fire above himself, and she realises that the description fits him perfectly.
Six days later
There hasn't been a day that's passed without Sephtis spending a few hours with Valen somewhere out in Rosía. Alia wasn't too pleased with it all at first, frustrated at the aspect of having to share her mate. But when the two Gods returned home smiling and laughing, it sated her displeasure instantly.
Valen's boyish smile and ruffled hair were enough to make her swoon from the couch. She loves seeing him in a state of peace, and seeing that Sephtis has had a role in it has made the hatred she feels for him lessen just a bit. It was strange seeing the blindfolded male grin as she'd only seen him scowl in her presence, but the expression looked good on him. And it seemed that being able to spend some time with one another after centuries apart is allowing them both to heal from the trauma of it all.
It was past midnight when Alia looked down at Valen as she lay on top of him, skin bare against his. She could feel his fingertips slowly trailing up and down the curve of her spine, white eyes on hers as she brushed some of the strands of his hair off his forehead. His eyes were half-open as he watched her attention drift to his hair, one of her hands slowly running through the dark strands. Every touch of hers was lulling him towards sleep, and it made her smile when he closed his eyes completely.
His fingers slowed against her spine, and eventually, they stopped moving. The warmth of the duvet against her back and the body of her mate underneath her were enough to make her want to curl against his side and let sleep take over. But she whispered in the darkness of their bedroom instead.
"Your hair's getting long."
Valen's tired voice sounds inside her head, 'I've been meaning to cut it.'
Alia continues to move her fingers through his hair. "Does someone do it for you?"
'No,' Valen answers quietly, 'I do it myself.'
"Can I cut it for you?"
The corners of his mouth raise ever so slightly. 'If you wish.'
Now she walks alone through a supply store in the town centre of Veuross whilst Valen does his General duties elsewhere. Warrior training is in a few hours with another practice session for the ball a few hours after that.
More than a dozen isles span the local shop with equipment varying from mundane to industrial specifications lining the shelves. Being the early afternoon, many wolves line each isle alone or chatting with companions. Baskets are carried in hands, filled with a random assortment of supplies whilst Alia remains basket-less and item-less.
She wears her Warrior uniform and it's unsurprisingly brought many gazes upon her. Valen told her, along with the other new Warriors that, as a Warrior, they all need to wear their uniform when they're out in public. It allows for easy identification if something urgent arises or if an unranked Untitled suddenly requires aid or protection from another wolf. This is all until a General appears, of course, and then the responsibility is off their hands completely.
But unlike the other Warriors, Alia wears a necklace of canines around her neck. Her fingers mindlessly fiddle with the blunt tips as she searches for a pair of scissors to cut Valen's hair with. The house didn't have any, and when she asked Valen why, he told her that he never thought to buy one as he always used a dagger to cut his hair.
She laughs quietly at the memory.
Rows upon rows of specialised kitchen knives line the section Alia scans, already having searched the previous three isles. She tucks her hair behind her ears and crouches down to search the bottom shelf, already feeling hopeless with this section.
She probably should have searched for an employee to help her before she began her search, but she wanted to kill time until she was able to see Valen again.
Two female voices walk past her back, and their conversation catches Alia's attention as they move to the opposite end of the aisle — a section Alia hasn't yet searched through.
"Quiet, Mila. You know what happened to that man when he suggested a desire for his mate," one voice says.
"I'm not talking about his mate," Mila corrects. "I'm talking about him."
"Please, Mila. You're crossing a line."
"I'm not crossing anything, Sasha. I've desired that man years before that girl ever laid eyes on him. He was mine first. Not hers."
Alia turns her head towards the two females, brows furrowing. Mila, Alia suspects, looks calm with dark blonde hair and brown eyes. She wears athletic, bright-coloured, training clothes whilst her displeased friend wears a dark blue apron over casual clothes.
Sasha must be an employee as her pale blonde hair is tied back and a lanyard with her ID dangles from her neck. Her blue eyes are hard as she crosses her arms and refuses to entertain the desires of her friend.
"He's a mated man," she tells Mila.
Mila rolls her eyes and turns to the shelves before her. She picks up a spatula and inspects it without interest. "Like that means something."
Alia stands, expression souring.
How despicable.
She shakes her head and moves closer to the two females, now standing before rows of spoons and forks. It makes a sigh leave her lips. A handful of wolves also scan the shelves beside and behind her, but their gazes eventually flicker between her and the two girls when they notice her unamused expression.
"Of course it means something, you imbecile. If he's willing to remove heads for just speaking of his mate in an inappropriate manner, then it means she's probably willing to do the fucking same."
Remove heads?
No one in Rosía can remove heads except—
Alia's expression darkens, a deadliness seeping into her blackening gaze. The change in her composure is evident to everyone else in between the two aisles, but Mila and Sasha remain clueless.
Mila puts back the spatula with a scoff. "Oh, please. If she harms me she'll get her fingers removed just like everyone else."
Claws lengthen and canines elongate, ready to slice through the very throat that dares to speak words of desire for her man. She'll be willing to lose her entire hand if it meant she could tear out that bitch's heart.
Eyes don't leave Alia as she moves towards the two females who barely reach her shoulders. Mila doesn't turn to her, nor is she able to.
Alia's hand wraps around Mila's hair just as she kicks the back of one of her knees. The girl drops to the ground with a cry, hair yanked back by Alia's fist to expose her throat to a clawed hand. Sasha stumbles back, eyes wide as she recognises Alia instantly from the necklace around her neck and the scent on her skin.
Mila tries to resist Alia's grip, but Alia slams her boot onto the girl's calf instead. Bones crunch underneath the force, and it makes Mila scream.
Alia's black eyes find Sasha's frightened blue ones. Her voice is cold and unforgiving as she orders, "Who does she desire."
Tears fill the girl's eyes as she looks at Mila and then Alia. Weakly, she reveals, "Valen Volkov."
Alia's claws dig into Mila's neck before tearing out her throat. Blood sprays out of the open wound, coating Sasha's apron as it also pours down Mila's choking and gurgling body. Hands try to cover the torn flesh, but Alia yanks the girl's head back even further. She moves her face over Mila's and recognition flickers within the girl's terrified gaze.
A possessive growl builds in Alia's chest as she watches the life pour out of the girl's eyes. Blood pools around the three females, horrified gasps sounding around them as more wolves move to investigate the source of Mila's scream.
"He's. Mine."
•
You asked for a murderous Alia and you shall receive a murderous Alia.
Also guys for the question I asked last chapter about next stories and things — it was a trick question. I was always planning on writing about both Sephtis and Nyxus, but Sephtis will be first 😌
I'm going to scream after whatever Wattpad decided to do because why CANT I UPLOAD MY LITTLE DIVIDER PICTURES THROUGH MY PHONE?!?!!!!!?!??! I CANT LIVE LIKE THIS!!!!!!!