Solar
His neck itched.
The accursed bite mark tingled, begging to be scratched and nibbled upon, to be completed. And he sank nails into teeth marks, brows furrowed, expression grim. Betas always reminded him of her. So did dark hair, pale skin, and eyes the colour of nightmares. He'd killed plenty for it — girls with nasty eyes and wicked smirks; girls with emotions that tasted cloudy with deceit; girls with devils for souls; girls that looked like Euodia.
But he had no qualms about stabbing swords through their hearts, for he knew without a doubt that those girls were pure, unadulterated evil.
Solar had oracles in his blood and seers in his family. And the knowledge that what he did was always right came with a surety that pumped through his wings and stretched to his bones. He killed with justice and order from a higher being, with a deity that knew a better future, with the secrets of time. He knew that those girls would violate Omegas, knew that they would have dragged them to bed, ignoring unwilling tears, sank teeth into necks and embedded seed into their bodies.
He killed knowing that everything he did was for the better.
But for the first time in his life, Solar was now grappling with his prophecies, fingers tugging at the strings of time, hands sweaty and nervous as he shuffled the cards that showed him everything he did not want to see. His hands were pressed together in prayer towards the stars; his faith steadily breaking.
Her.
Quinn was an anomaly.
For in the fleeting moments of his feast, with his fingers teasing her clit, his arms veiny and rippling from exertion and his breath hot in the air, he had seen the mirage of Euodia on her face. A mirage that should have sent him into a fit of rage, should have had his claws sinking into her flesh. And yet his mind had trembled, raw, ravaged, shuddering. For it was not the Euodia that had broken his heart and left him dying in the snow that he saw that day. Nor was it the Euodia he had met in his childhood, one with mud clouding her soul and darkness flavouring her being.
It had been the Euodia he'd always wanted her to be.
The Euodia of his dreams, his visions.
The God.
And those visions came dripping, slow into his thoughts, twisting lush from the bottom of his spine, until they mingled together—fantasies and divinations, visions and dreams. He couldn't tell the difference anymore, caught in the web of what must be only his hyperactive mind.
Quinn, pressed against his shoulder, their bodies drowsy from the warmth in late winter. Heat fluttering from a hearth, fanning over toes. He'd look, feeling wealthy, feeling greedy at pink cheeks and gentle smiles. The taste of peach was crisp on his tongue, and her nose was against his, a sweet, gentle exhale fanning over cupid's bow. He'd purse his lips, lean forward eager for a kiss, fingers laced with hers. A laugh from her had his belly hot with anticipation, mingling heat.
"What if we ran away together?"
His heart soared, anchoring towards her. And her smile stretched, they were pressed closer now. Belly to belly, legs tangled, chest to chest. He felt as if she might feel his heart, stumbling in his chest, rushing with his panic. "You're joking."
"Somewhere secret where no one could find us. Just you and me."
"Where to?"
"Anywhere. Let me take you away," he begged, heart racing, tears burning at the back of his eyes, a fake smile on his cheeks. And Solar struggled with the realisation, gasping in those dreams, learning that it was not her that had wanted to leave but him. He had wanted to run away, but why? "Before they eat you alive."
"Eat me?" She'd smiled, hand on his cheek, pads soft, touch gentle. "I know the wastelands like the back of my hand. The Lonely will not hurt me." There were worse things out there in the wild, other things that might kill her. And the words bubbled in his throat, tasted sour in his mouth, but they did not leave the tip of his tongue. His mouth tumbled with her name, a pleading whine. "There's only a couple of days left till I get my freedom," she'd grinned, a kiss to his lips, smeared soft, comforting, but it only led to a rush of desperation that wedged itself in his throat. "But I'll come back." She'd taken his hands and flipped them to press a kiss to the insides of his wrist. He'd shuddered. He couldn't betray his mates, couldn't reveal the truth. "Trust me."
"Don't leave." His voice had been shaky.
"I'll tell you a secret," she whispered. "There's a secret spot in the wastelands." Her voice sank lower. "A cave under a waterfall. Inside, there's a valley with a bubble of heat that creates the perfect environment for flowers. I'll pick some for you and then I'll come back. I promise." Her fingers had left him, the cold spreading over his digits always immediately, and he'd swayed, hands clenched into fists. In his mind, he watched her go like an idiot, the shadow of her silhouette disappearing into the darkness, and he closed his eyes, body stiff.
Acceptance.
She wouldn't come back, and those shadows peeled back to reveal his six mates hunched in the dark, huddled in a circle, squatting and gnawing over something. He stepped closer, placing a hand on Zen's shoulder, horror blossoming when his eyes were greeted by his mate's bloody tears. The air stank of the sweetest, ripest peach. And his ears were ringing.
"Solar," Zen wept, rivulets of blood spilling from his eyes. There was nothing else he could say, a wail dripping from his lips as he continued slurping at the rubbery sinews between his fingers. A wail so pitiful and lonely it seemed to echo straight to his soul, settling in his bones, tightening around his throat. "Solar. Solar. Solar."
Solar had peered over Zen's shoulder to the body on the ground. And his mind froze, startled at the moon-like radiance of her skin. Her eyes were closed as if she were sleeping, lashes fanned across her cheeks, still beautiful, still glowing a cold, sickly blue. Zen continued weeping, and he noticed the silence from his mates, the tightness in their bodies, the quiet that dragged loud in the air.
"Solar, where did she go?" The sobs that rippled from him almost seemed desperate, as if the world was ending.
"She's just sleeping," Solar assured, but his body was only growing colder, heart sinking lower.
And then he tasted the iron on his tongue, a familiar tang that had his guts churning. Her body was revealed slowly as Zen moved to grant him a seat—her bones were exposed, arteries pouring crimson, and a dead heart was now in his hands puddling with her death. He startled, dropping the organ back from whence it came, squelching into the bloody gorge of her chest. And his eyes flooded with empty tears, a numbness settling over him as if something inside him was breaking. His fingers darted to cover her nudity, clumsily buttoning up her blood-stained frock.
"She's just sleeping." His hand was on her cheek, staining her cold, frozen flesh. His mind jumped, danced to the imagery of pink, warm cheeks, then back to the freezing blue. He was panting, eyes glazed over. The blood was smudged so harshly over her skin, that it had crusted into a dusting of pink, he smiled. "See? She'll wake up."
"When?"
"She's just tired, let her rest."
"But Solar—" Zen wailed, tears in his eyes. A hiccup and he sagged against the floor, then went quiet and utterly still. The others were no better, hunched over in their spots with dead eyes. But Solar paid them no heed. For there were flowers in her fists, clenched tight like the ones in his mental garden, sweet pastel, brilliant pink, cheery yellow — daisies with colour. The petals were rotting. They were for him.