Chapter 8

Once they walked through the door, Ria grabbed his hand and led him straight to the bathroom.

“I’m not that dirty,” he said, a weak attempt at humor to mask the swirling thoughts in his mind.

Ria didn’t respond, just gave him a pointed look over her shoulder that clearly said Don’t even try me right now.

Before he knew it, they stood in the cozy bathroom, clothes quickly discarded. Ria turned on the shower and squeezed out a generous amount of body wash into her palm.

“Come here, baby,” she whispered, pulling him closer.

Mark leaned against her, his body relaxing as her hands, warm and slick with the fragrant lather, began to glide across his skin, tracing the contours of his form. She lathered him thoroughly yet gently, soothing the aches.

He closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation, the warmth of her hands, the scent of the shower gel, the steady drum of the water against his skin. A wave of relief washed over him, Ria’s touch easing the tension from his aching muscles.

But as much as her touch comforted him, it couldn’t chase away the thoughts clawing at the edges of his mind.

How am I going to tell her?

His mind raced, searching for the right words, the right approach, but his thoughts were a tangled mess, his brain still fuzzy, from the blood loss, from the sheer intensity of what he’d just experienced.

“R-Ria ... we need to talk.”

“Shh,” she murmured, her fingers moving to his scalp, massaging in slow, rhythmic circles. “We can talk in the morning. You need to rest.”

“No, there’s ... There’s something I HAVE to tell you.”

“It can wait. Whatever it is.”

“Ria, I...” he began, but she silenced him with a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Baby, I’ll listen to you for hours. I promise but not tonight. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

He knew that tone - her mind is made up. She could be surprisingly stubborn. She wasn’t wrong. The pull of sleep was strong, his limbs heavy with fatigue. Still, the weight of what he needed to say pressed on him, guilt and confusion tangling his thoughts.

After their shower, Ria wrapped him in a towel, her touch gentle, almost feather-like. She hopped onto the soft mattress, pulling him down on top of her.

They sank into the mattress, bodies naturally finding their way back to each other.

His head found its usual resting spot, ear pressed against the steady rhythm of Ria’s heartbeat. Her naked body warm and comforting.

She began to hum, a soft, familiar tune that always calmed him, her fingers gently carding through his damp hair.

As her humming filled the quiet room, Mark felt his resolve crumble under the weight of his exhaustion. The guilt and questions would have to wait. Tomorrow. I’ll tell her tomorrow.

▲\▼/▲—∞—▼/▲\▼

A bone-chilling cold seeped into Mark’s bones, waking him.

He opened his eyes to a world of blinding white. Snow. Everywhere. It stretched as far as he could see, an unbroken expanse of pristine white beneath a sky the color of a bruised plum.

It crunched beneath his bare feet, the chill biting through his skin like tiny needles.

Massive, snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks piercing the twilight sky. A huge, luminous moon hung overhead, casting a strange glow on the frozen landscape.

The air thrummed with a raw, untamed energy that made his skin tingle. Where am I?

A deep longing, a sense of loss so profound it ached in his chest, washed over him. He felt like he was missing something, someone, a vital part of himself ripped away, leaving behind a gaping wound in his soul.

“Aaawwwooooooo...”

A mournful howl echoed through the mountains, a sound filled with such raw pain it made his heart clench. He turned towards the sound, his feet moving without conscious thought, drawn by an invisible force.

“AwoooOOOooooww!”

The howling continued, relentless, desperate, a cry of anguish that resonated with something deep within him.

He trudged through the deep snow, his body numb with cold, his heart heavy with a grief he couldn’t understand. The howl grew louder, guiding him towards a towering mountain that seemed to pierce the very sky. And atop it, he finally saw the source—a gigantic wolf, its fur stained with blood under the moonlight.

The wolf howled again, its ivory fangs shining in the moon’s glow. As Mark approached, the wolf’s piercing eyes locked onto him.

The wind howled around him, the snow biting at his skin, but he didn’t feel it. It was as if they were the only two beings in this vast, frozen world.

And then, the regal wolf simply ... collapsed, its massive body crumpling to the ground.

“No!”

He broke into a mad sprint, legs burning with every punishing stride through the ever-deepening drifts.

Reaching the great beast’s side, he fell to his knees in the crimson-stained snow, hands roving desperately across its heaving flanks in search of any visible wound. But there was no gash, no gaping trauma to account for the flow of blood.

Those emerald eyes bored into his own, full of anguish and pleading. Mark felt a profound sense of loss as if something precious was being torn away.

An emptiness that could never be filled.

He pulled the beast close, resting his brow against its fur, his tears mingling with its blood. The night closed in all around - the peaks fading into shadow under the moon’s judging gaze. Until just the two of them remained.

One final, shuddering breath brushed against his cheek, and then the wolf was still, its eyes dimming, its weight going slack in his arms.

A scream of pure anguish tore from his depths. He didn’t understand what was lost, but the absence utterly unmade him.

▲\▼/▲—∞—▼/▲\▼

Mark jolted awake, cold sweat drenching his skin.

It took a few moments for the reality to seep back in. He lay there for a moment, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the unsettling images, the raw emotions that had ripped through him.

It felt too real, too personal. And that wolf...

The smell of breakfast wafted up from downstairs. Ria’s cooking.

The morning light was seeping through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. Even though it wasn’t winter, an unshakable chill seemed to cling to his bones.

He quickly pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of slacks, his gaze catching on his reflection in the mirror.

A few lingering bruises, the fading marks of the fight, but that wasn’t what made him pause. Faint scratches marred his back, and near his neck, a dark, almost purplish love bite stood out against his skin.

Ria must have noticed. Shit.

Guilt twisted in his gut, a bitter taste on his tongue. I fucking screwed up.

With a resigned sigh, he headed downstairs, his stomach rumbling, the smell of breakfast drawing him towards the kitchen.

Ria stood at the stove, her hair pulled back in a messy bun stirred the eggs with a practiced hand.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, smiling warmly. “Have a seat. Breakfast is almost ready.”

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” he said, settling onto a chair. “We could have just grabbed something.”

“And miss out on my world-famous bacon and eggs? No way,” she chuckled, flipping the eggs in the pan. “I think not ... Besides I bet you’re starving.”

His stomach seemed to agree with an insistent growl that made Ria laugh.

She was right. He was starving. Ravenous. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in days, even though he’d had dinner just last night.

I never felt this hungry.

Any further musings were cut short as Ria set down heaping plates of bacon, eggs, and buttered toast before him. The scents alone made Mark’s mouth water uncontrollably.

Without any hesitation, he gulped down the hearty breakfast at a voracious pace, barely coming up for air between huge mouthfuls.

“Slow down there, tiger. You act like you haven’t eaten in months.”

“I don’t know what it is, I’m just ... really hungry.”

“Clearly,” she chuckled, watching in amusement as he promptly demolished the rest of his plate.

“Thanks, Ri,” he said, pushing his plate away. “I needed that.”

“You looked like you were about to eat the plate too,” she teased, collecting the dishes and placing them in the sink.

Mark slouched, feeling the bliss of being home with Ria after nearly facing death.

It was almost jarring how swiftly everything had reverted to such blissful domesticity.

But the weight of what he had to confess hung over him like a dark cloud.

“Ria, we need to talk.”

“Hold that thought,” Ria said, setting two steaming mugs of coffee on the table. “There’s something I need to say first.”

Her voice was serious, her expression unreadable. What is it? Does she know?

His heart hammered, his brain a whirlwind of scenarios.

“What is it?”

“Never ever fucking do that again.”

“What?”

“What you did back there, in the caverns. That was ... bullshit. Stupid. If you ever pull a stunt like that again ... I swear to god, I will personally rip you to shreds.”

Mark blinked, stunned by her anger. “Whoa, Ria, that’s a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think? I was just trying to...”

“Overreaction? How would you feel if you had to watch someone you care about die while you watched helplessly?”

He flinched, the memory of his parents’ murder, the helplessness, the despair, a raw wound that time had failed to heal.

“I didn’t think of it that way.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any less shitty. You think you’re the only one with something to lose? I was out of my mind with worry, Mark. I can’t lose you. Not like that. Not over some stupid heroics.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“That’s the thing, you weren’t thinking. You were just reacting. We’re in this together, you and me. You don’t get to make those calls alone.”

“I...”

Guilt gnawed at him, choking back his words mid-sentence. She is right. He had been reckless, selfish, and he had put her through hell.

“I promise ... I won’t do that again.”

She broke into a smile, the tension easing from her face. “Good. Now that’s out of our way, what did you want to talk about?”

Mark hesitated, unsure where to begin. He opened his mouth, then closed it, the words failing him. The guilt, the confusion, the sheer strangeness of everything that had happened - it was overwhelming.

“Hey...” She cupped his cheek gently urging his eyes back to meet hers. “Remember when I promised I’d always be here for you, no matter what?”

He nodded, his throat tight.

“I meant it. No matter what happens, I’m here for you. Through everything. You can tell me anything, and we’ll face it together.”

Just tell her, Mark. He took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

“After I ... after I sent you away,” he began, his voice low, “I fought that creature. I lost. I woke up ... back in the mansion. The one from my dream.”

He described the strange, disorienting experience, the strange interaction, the chanting voices. Then he talked about the fight, the surge of power, the black flames that had consumed the creature, the unsettling sense of ... satisfaction he had felt.

She simply nodded, allowing the pause to stretch out as Mark struggled to find the right words for what came next.

“I chased Elia into the woods ... and that’s when it hit me ... That same insane need that overwhelmed me when we first met.”

Ria listened silently, her expression unreadable, absorbing every word.

Here it comes.

“And then ... I-I ... came across these werewolves and there was this...”

He told her about Katrina, about the fight, about the overwhelming scent, about the way he’d been drawn to her, of the overwhelming bond that mirrored what he’d felt with Ria.

Silence hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken questions and anxieties. Mark braced himself for the inevitable explosion, the anger, the accusations, the heartbreak.

But Ria surprised him.

“That figure ... did you encounter it before, in the mansion?”

“No. Whenever I dream about that place, it’s always empty. Just me, the creepy hallways.”

“And this ... surge of power ... when you fought the creature? How did that feel?”

She’s not mad? Is she even listening? He was thrown by her calm demeanor, her focus on the details of his dream, of the fight, rather than on the fact that he had just confessed to sleeping with another woman.

“It felt ... unreal,” Mark thought for a moment, trying to capture the feeling. “Like I was invincible. Free. Like I could destroy anything, anyone. But it also felt ... unlike me.”

“Unlike you how?”

“I...” he hesitated, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. “I know I’m ... gifted. I’ve always known since I was a kid. Lida made sure of that. Taught me how to use my powers, how to control them, and how to hide them. My first instinct, when there’s trouble, isn’t to blast everything in sight. It’s to ... I don’t know ... think things through, to find a solution that doesn’t involve magic.”

“That’s ... not exactly typical for a mage you know? Especially not for someone with your kind of ability. In our world, it is often the first resort, not the last. It’s how we protect ourselves, how we assert our dominance, how we solve problems.”

“Yeah, well ... Lida could be pretty strict on that front,” he managed a faint smile. “She drilled it into me from a young age. Responsibility, restraint, discretion ... It was her mantra.”