Obsession is the height of passion, but what does one do when they find themselves enthralled with their enemy. Talamayas Sol loses his mother when he stumbles upon a mage in the deserts of his territory, and he is plunged into a despair he's never...
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It took a little less than two weeks for Wren to return to normal from the seals, but it wasn't as if that was a relief. In the less painful times, Talamayas had explained the process by which one became a soul bound, or a mate if they weren't a vampire. It was no wonder that Remus Shade and Neil Arc had forgone such things and also clear why the council practically required it. A dog pissing on a tree was a less subtle way of marking what was theirs. The council knew that once Wren was marked in this way, the mages would never take him back.
Not that Wren wanted that.
It did serve a legal purpose, even if it was a bit archaic. Harming or feeding from a vampire's mate was a capital crime in their society, while humans–mage or not–were treated no better than pets at best. If your neighbor ran the cat over with their car, it wasn't okay but no one was killed in retribution. The bonding mark publically distinguished who was protected and who was potential roadkill.
Wren waited in the room they'd chosen in the lower levels to perform the ceremony, clean showered and dried off, but wearing a loose robe over the normal airy pants of the desert people. To solidify the bond between them, Tala had to brand his neck as well as join them in a dark magic ritual that would forever taint his aura. It altered the way he was perceived by vampire and mage kind, shadowing his light magic with Tala's own. It was irreversible and the council knew that. Becoming a vampire's mate was for life.
Talamayas came in after Wren had collected himself and stopped to make sure that he was ready for lack of a better word. Such a significant life change was daunting, but neither of them had a choice, and it wasn't like Wren's life path could have veered elsewhere. A smile lifted his expression as Tala turned over to the sink to set down the knife he'd brought with him. Tala couldn't handle looking at him even though they'd both discussed this for days. Wren was okay with it, but he felt like Tala wasn't yet ready for this.
It wasn't at all because Tala didn't want him though. That hadn't been in doubt in decades. Tala just had a softer part of himself that cared deeply for his people, Wren included, and he preferred to give him more time to process this. While Wren would also like that, time wouldn't change the way they felt about each other, the way fate had brought them together, thrown them down, and then lifted them up in a strange series of events that had ended them up like this.
Tala gestured silently, and Wren went to his side, taking a seat on a stool in front of the stone basin. It was as big as a utility sink, and Wren took one last look at his red hair in the mirror where it hung on either side of his face. It had grown so long over the last few years, and the streak of grey had solidified on the left side of his face with only silver strands wandering here and there.
"This part of the ritual seems superfluous," Wren said as Tala bent his neck over the sink edge, the blade glinting in his hand on the edge of Wren's vision. "You can also use scissors."
