He tightens his grip on his ax. “Show yourself.”
Another flash of silver eyes, this time with the silhouette of long, sharp ears and snout in the fog. It is gone again before he can react.
The voice laughs a low, sinister hum.
He tenses, but fights his instinct to attack or run.
The Wolf doesn’t play with its food. So I am not food.
A PLAYLIST
image description in the alt text. click subtitle or image to hear playlist on youtube!
HEAVEN IS HERE / FLORENCE + THE MACHINE
and i ride in my red dress / and time stretches endless
with my gun in my hand / you know i always get my man
THE WOLF / PHILDEL
i'll leave with your head, oh, i'll leave you for dead, sire
the wishes i've made are too vicious to tell
WOLVES WITHOUT TEETH / OF MONSTERS & MEN
you hover like a hummingbird / haunt me in my sleep
i breathe what is yours / you breathe what is mine
RIBS / THE CRANE WIVES
the dark doesn't frighten me / i chose to close my eyes
don't let them sell you any armor / all your ribs are still your own
COUNTING PATHS / MATTHEW & THE ATLAS
soon your touch will disappear / something that i should have come to fear
no one's ever looked at me that way
HELL OR HIGH WATER / THE RESCUES
trees are burning, ravens fly / smoke is filling up the sky
bury everything they said / never fall, never fall
THRONE / SAINT MESA
you hate my bad behavior / you cut my loosened tongue
you play the part of savior / i watch you come undone
THE HORROR & THE WILD / THE AMAZING DEVIL
remember me i ask, remember me i sing / give me back my heart, you wingless thing / think of all the horrors that i promised you i'd bring
LIAR / THE ARCADIAN WILD
i need you to see through my act / to tell me i'm wrong, to take off the mask
or else i'll be left in the lie / and i'll deceive my way straight to demise
Taglist:
@annetilney @bebewrites @diemohnblume @eventideintrigue @isabellebissonrouthier @lexiklecksi @little-mouse-gardens @mr-writes @perasperaadastrawriting @phantomnations @wildswrites
comment or message me to be added/removed!
Late morning sunlight filtered through slatted blinds, pooling in rich amber splotches on the floor of Isaiah’s office. Beyond its cramped confines, he could make out the clamor of the hospital’s daily routine, but it came to him through a thick fog of grogginess. He cracked an eye open, only to be greeted by a messy whirl of blurred shapes and colors; his glasses had slipped from his nose sometime during the night. Reluctantly, he began to search for them on his desk, one hand sweeping across unsigned papers and discarded pens, the other tucked comfortably under his cheek.
As his fingers brushed against cool glass and metal, the lock on his door gave a hearty click and swung inward. Wolf stepped into his office, closing the door politely behind him, and waited while Isaiah struggled to collect himself.
“Thought I locked that,” Isaiah grumbled.
“You did,” Wolf said. “It isn’t a skill a holy man should possess, but—” He held a makeshift lock pick aloft to catch the light, both his smile and posture sheepish— “old habits die hard.”
“So do old boyfriends apparently.”
Wolf took a seat across from him. “He dropped by then?”
“Yes.”
“How did it…?”
It was a stupid question. For Isaiah to have locked himself in his office was one thing; the clan had yet to settle since waking, and he didn’t have the time to spare for every minor worry. (“That’s why we have interns,” he always said.) For him to refuse to see anyone, even those closest to him, was another matter entirely. If what Wolf had been told was correct, he had even sent Xerxes away when the lad had come calling. After that, everyone had decided it might be best to leave him well enough alone.
Everyone, except for Wolf.
Isaiah slid his glasses back onto his scowling face. “Terrible,” he replied, “it was an absolute disaster. He’s as much an idiot now as he was then, and I’m busy enough without him trying to bumble his way back into my bedroom.”
“I don’t think that’s what he came for, Isaiah,” Wolf said.
“No?” Isaiah looked up sharply, but swiftly dropped his gaze to the papers scattered helter-skelter across his desk. With a muttered curse, he began to organize them. “He told me he still loved me,” he confessed after a pregnant pause. “I kicked him out on his ass.”
“Well—” Wolf shrugged— “he never was any good at reading the room, was he?”
“No,” Isaiah agreed. Pursing his lips, he turned his attention from neatening his desk back to his guest. “That’s why I fell for him; he’s honest to a fault. Look, I know you’re gonna tell me to make amends, but I can’t. After what he did—y’know, trying to murder me and all—I don’t think there’s any reconciliation to be had.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“How would you know? We haven’t exactly been friendly these past seven cycles.”
At this, Wolf’s smile faltered and then gave way to a thoughtful frown. He stared hard at his hands, clasped neatly in his lap, and saw, for the briefest instant, the mark where his father’s ring had once sat proudly upon his finger. It had long since faded, but he remembered how looking at it after leaving Goldsparc had made him feel—homesick, uncertain, alone. He wanted to say that those had been better days, back when they’d all been together. Maybe they had been. He wasn’t sure anymore.
“We were both trying to escape our pasts,” Wolf tried to explain, but Isaiah cut him off.
“I know,” he said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You thought I needed space, I thought you needed space, we made new lives for ourselves, and then they just never intersected again, not in any meaningful way.”
“They can, you know?” Wolf shifted forward in his seat, the subtle movement catching and holding Isaiah’s attention as easily as it had seven cycles prior. “No matter who I am now, my love for you will never change. We were brothers then, and we always will be. I know that Absolom feels the same.”
“I know,” Isaiah said again, “I know, I just—” He took a second to chew on his next words, the taste of them nearly making him gag— “I’m not ready.”
“You’re still in love with him, you mean.”
“No, I—”
There was no point in lying to Wolf, so Isaiah decided to save himself the trouble. The pair fell into a lengthy silence, during which Isaiah pretended to busy himself with his desk again and Wolf pretended to watch him do so. All the while, they waited for the other to speak, the only sound the clock on Isaiah’s wall, ticking ever onward. The space between them felt sickly and warm.
“Of course I am,” Isaiah mumbled. “I’ve tried not to be. I’m a doctor; I’m supposed to be able to think logically.” Then, groaning, he dropped his head into his hands to hide the red rising in his cheeks. “We were practically engaged,” he went on. “I was just waiting for him to pop the question—and if he didn’t have the balls to do it, I was more than willing to do it for him. I’ve told myself for seven cycles that there are plenty of fish in the sea, but there aren’t. Not for me.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Wolf said. “The two of you were smitten from the moment you met. You spent your entire lives courting one another. That’s a difficult relationship to simply toss aside.”
Isaiah peered at Wolf through a crack in his fingers. “What are you, my therapist?”
“No,” Wolf replied, “I’m your friend.”
“All right, friend, what do you think I should do?”
The question seemed to catch Wolf off guard, and Isaiah couldn’t help the slightest smirk as he watched his old partner in crime flounder for a response. Wolf swirled his reply around in his mouth for several moments, like a fine wine, before finally heaving a weary sigh.
“I think you should do what is best for you,” he said, “and in my opinion, what is best for you is to confront your past, just as I now must. However, my opinion is not the one that matters.”
Isaiah wanted to say, “You’re damn right!” but wisely held his tongue. After all, he’d asked for Wolf’s input—but, gods, it was just like Wolf to give him the right answer and yet no answer at all. Of course confronting his past was the right thing to do; running from it had only made him miserable. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, though. What he wanted to do was lock himself away until his chest stopped aching and his head stopped spinning, until Absolom was long gone, until he didn’t have to confront anyone or anything anymore.
Where was he even supposed to begin?
Before he could ask Wolf that very question, the door to his office flew open, slamming noisily into the wall and causing several books to jar loose from their shelves. In the doorway stood Xerxes. He was gulping down lungfuls of air, and trembling so violently that Isaiah immediately leapt to his feet. Fortunately, Crucis was there in a flash of fuchsia and white, all but forcing Xerxes back into his wheelchair.
“I tried to stop him,” he insisted in his usual monotone, “but the boy’s as stubborn as ever.”
“Xerxes—” Isaiah began.
“Don’t ‘Xerxes’ me!” Xerxes interrupted, rising from his chair again, only to be held down by Crucis. “No one’s seen you since yesterday! Did you sleep here? Do you know how worried we all were? You’ve never refused to see me! Never! I thought—I thought someone must have died for you to be so upset!”
“No one’s died,” Isaiah assured.
“Then what happened?” Xerxes asked.
“Xerxes? Is something wrong?”
A familiar face appeared around the door frame, though Isaiah had not expected to see it again so soon. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a high-pitched wheeze of, “Lamium?” The young Imperial blinked groggily, stifling a yawn and shuffling into full view. He looked healthy—or, well, as healthy as someone like him could look. Were it not for the sleepy way he moved and spoke, Isaiah would never have guessed he’d been caught in a time loop.
“Oh,” said Wolf, “I forgot to tell you. Those we managed to pull from Aphaster’s loop have started to wake.”
“That’s why I came to see you last night!” Xerxes cried. For a moment, it looked like he may overpower Crucis—then Lamium placed his hands on his shoulders, and Xerxes settled deeper into his wheelchair, every painfully tensed muscle in his body relaxing all at once. “You told us to tell you if any of them woke up. Well, Lamium did, so I came straight here.”
“I—” Isaiah looked away, examining his once flawless bookshelves— “I’m sorry, Xerxes, Lamium. I, ah, had a few personal things to see to.”
“Are you all right?” Lamium inquired.
“I should be asking you that,” Isaiah replied. Finally, he found the courage to meet Xerxes’ tearful glare. “I’m fine, Xerxes. Wolf and I talked it over, and I’m going to, er, ‘take care’ of what’s been bothering me.”
“Just…”
Xerxes slumped somehow further into his wheelchair, and for the first time, Isaiah noted how exhausted his ward was. There were dark circles hanging beneath his eyes, which seemed to have lost their luster in recent weeks, and it was clear by the looseness of his clothes that he’d lost weight. Isaiah’s chest tightened at the sight, a lump swelling in his throat.
“I’m so sorry,” he rasped. “I’ve been tied up here at the hospital, and—Xerxes, I’m so sorry.”
“Just don’t scare me like that again,” Xerxes demanded, but was quick to add a quiet, “please.”
Without another word, he fell abruptly into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Isaiah watched as Lamium leaned down to brush a strand of hair out of Xerxes’ face. He had known the two had grown close before their clans had been caught in the loop, but to look at them now, he would have thought they were lovers. Yes, that must have been it; that must have been how Xerxes had been able to pull Lamium from the Aphaster loop.
How had he missed so much?
“I suppose he’s right,” Isaiah said as he shrugged on his coat. “I need a break, before the rest of your clanmates start to come ‘round, Lamium. Come on; let’s get Xerxes home and into bed.”
