Pain
I can feel the blood dripping down my fingers, pooling at my feet, staining the stone beneath me. But I don’t care. Physical pain doesn’t register, not anymore. It pales next to the endless, gnawing agony inside. Every punch, every fracture, is a desperate attempt to drown out the torment that clings to me, never loosening its grip.
My fists collide with the stone beam again and again, the impact reverberating up my arms. Skin splits, bone fractures—it’s a welcome distraction. I push harder, faster, as if I can outrun the darkness inside me. But I can’t.
A sick, twisted satisfaction curls in my gut when I feel the first crack in my hand. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. Not compared to the gaping hole she left. She’s gone, and it’s my fault. My fists keep flying, the sound of shattering bone almost lost under the roar in my head. More. I need more. The pain in my hands isn’t enough. It will never be enough to drown the guilt, the screams that replay in my mind, over and over.
Without warning, I slam my head into the beam. Once. Twice. Blood trickles down my face, blurring the world into a haze of red. It’s still not enough. It will never be enough.
Suddenly, something hard collides with my chest, knocking me off balance. I stumble backward, blinking through the blood, only to see Carter, my beta and best friend, towering over me. His chest heaves with barely contained fury, his muscles taut, as if he’s ready to explode. He looks down at me like I’m some rabid animal—maybe I am.
“What the hell are you doing, Asher?” he snaps, his voice cutting through the haze of violence. His eyes burn with frustration, but underneath, there’s something worse—pity. That look, like I’m some broken thing that needs fixing, makes me want to tear him apart.
I stare up at him, breathless, my vision swimming. What can I say? Words feel empty, pointless. I have nothing to offer.
His shoulders slump slightly, the fury in his expression softening into something more unbearable. “You can’t keep doing this. At least let your lycan heal you.”
I bark out a laugh, a sound so hollow it scrapes at my throat. “Fuck my lycan,” I spit. “I hate him.” The admission tastes like bile, but it’s the truth. The lycan—my lycan—is the monster that hurt her. I’ve kept him locked away since that night, refusing to let him heal me. I deserve the pain. It’s the only thing I can control anymore.
Carter kneels beside me, his voice low, pleading. “Asher, your lycan was under control—you were under control. He loved her just as much as you did.”
The words hit me like a slap to the face. He doesn’t get it. He couldn’t possibly understand. He wasn’t there.
The scream that’s been clawing at my throat finally rips free. “You weren’t there!” My voice is raw, a jagged edge that cuts the air between us. “I saw it all, Carter! I watched her run from me, terrified. I felt her bones break beneath my claws, her blood on my hands. And the worst part? I couldn’t stop it. I watched him throw her into the wall, her head cracking from the impact, and I couldn’t stop it. Not when I was trying to f—”
I choke on the words, on the memory. Her wide, terrified eyes, the sound of her body hitting the stone… the way I tried to fuck another woman right in front of her. My voice cracks as I collapse, the weight of it all crushing me. “I was trapped inside my own body. Powerless.”
The sobs come then, tearing out of me, raw and violent. I can’t hold it in anymore, and I don’t want to. I collapse to my knees, my body shaking under the pressure of the grief I’ve tried so hard to bury.
Carter moves closer, wrapping his arms around me in a brotherly embrace. It shouldn’t help, but it does. I hate myself for leaning into it, for needing this. What kind of king am I? Crumbling like this. Weak. Worthless.
We stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the only sounds in the room my ragged breaths and the distant echo of my own despair. Eventually, Carter pulls back, his hand squeezing my shoulder. “Her memorial’s starting soon,” he says softly. “You might want to get cleaned up.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Another year. Another reminder of the time that’s passed without her. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, smearing blood and tears. “Thanks for that,” I mutter. “I’ll be there.”
Carter stands, flashing a weak smile. “Good. If you’re not, Arya’s coming for you. And you know how she gets.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, I manage a small, bitter laugh. “Yeah, I’d rather avoid being burned alive today.”
He jogs off, leaving me alone in the room. The scent of blood and sweat lingers in the air. I force myself to my feet, every movement heavy, like I’m being dragged through the mud of my own grief.
I make my way to our room, each step harder than the last. Everything in this house is a reminder of her—every creak of the floorboards, every piece of furniture, every faded memory. Our memories.
Looking at the bed I remember the nights I’d hold her to sleep, the love we’d made, the faces she’d pull during her slumber. She truly was an angel in every way.
I flip through the photo album she’d left behind, it’s almost like she knew she may not return. I glide my hand along her beautiful face as more tears drip from my eyes, the amount of tear stains on this album make it look like it’d been submerged in a pool.
I walk to the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. Blood streaks down my face, mingling with the tears, making me look like something out of a horror movie. Fitting. I’m the monster in this story.
The hot water hits my skin like fire, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is her. The way she’d laugh, the softness of her skin, the way she’d look at me like I was her whole world. The nights we spent tangled together, her head resting on my chest, her breath soft against my skin.
I scrub at my face, my hands trembling. The tattoos on my right side—the swirls of waves, flames, branches, and wind—catch my eye. They mirror hers. They appeared the night we marked each other, a symbol of the bond we shared. Now, they’re just a painful reminder of what I’ve lost.
When I finally step out, the world feels too quiet. Too empty. I dress in the only clothes that feel right—black pants, a white dress shirt with purple buttons. The colors she always loved on me.
I stare at myself in the mirror, my dark hair has grown longer, I style it roughly to the side, but it falls where it wants to, I have quite the beard now, it makes me look rough, but I don’t care, I have no one to impress anyway.
I look into my light brown eyes, they’re almost yellow, like honey she used to say. I hate looking at my eyes, they’re too similar to my mother’s, all of this is her fault in the first place.
The wound on my forehead looks pretty decent, got myself a goody there, it’s stopped bleeding now, the wound has already started healing, my knuckles still look fresh although the bones have repaired themselves, I wrap a gauze firmly around them.
I take a deep breath in and out, my muscular torso shows through my shirt, I’ve been training all day and every day, I won’t fit these clothes soon, for now they’re very snug.
I walk straight past the kitchen and out the door, I barely eat now, unless I’m absolutely starving.
She’s gone.
And I’m still here, trapped in a world without her.
