MATED TO THE NIGHT WOLF (MTTNW)

[15.1] CRISTON THE CRUEL

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"Mate? Do not utter that word in his presence. Do you wish for the Ever Night to return?"
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[Kayos]

I paused at this question, my gaze lingering over a random book I had not paid much attention to until now.

"T-that is if you know the story," she quickly rephrased, clearing her throat.

My mind had already wandered away. Back to the dark place it loved so much. It was comforting but staying in that place for too long allowed the darkness to consume me. Many times, though out the years I had contemplated staying there. Losing myself in it's endless.

It would certainly be easier as my great-grandfather once did. Something deep inside me craved for that release.

There was only one person who had kept me from drowning peacefully and losing my soul in the shadows.

Mother and her ever-optimistic words.

But as the years drawl by, even her soothing words do not carry as much weight as they used to whilst the darkness grows more alluring by the day.

"Master?"

"I know the story quite well," I replied, taking out the book.

I had not read it for so long, because parts of it I knew were not true.

I may have once believed the history written of the cruelness of Criston, cruel even beyond the natural darkness that the Night Wolf was born with, but as the years dwindle, I know the truth for what it truly was.

He simply gave up. Simply remained in the dark place.

Where there was no feeling, no despair no thoughts that reminded him of loneliness. Why should he be faulted for wishing to remain in a place where there was no torment as compared to reality where nothing but utmost despair rained?

I could feel her eyes study the side of my face as silence fell between us. I let out a loose breath, still despising the feel of that obsidian gaze that seemed to be ever slowly, mastering how to pull back that curtain.

But she was not ready for the truth. She desired the story that was told in songs and legends. That was what she would hear.

"Criston the Cruel," I began flipping through the pages. I reached the dark drawing of my great grandfather handing it over to her.

She quickly wiped her hands taking the book with both hands, eyes slightly wide at the gesture as she cradled it with utmost care. It was an old book after all. One I had not opened in over eight years.

"Was the 6th Night Wolf after Alexander the Prime," I explained, as her large gaze darted across the image. Criston was drawn in shades of black and white, shadows dancing around him, his eyes two embers to which her fingers shakily trailed.

"He was not gifted a mate by Selene as punishment for his cruelty and for forty years he searched Valcane for a maiden that did not exist. " I paused, a dryness in my throat

"For forty years his cruelty grew until it consumed every corner of Valcane in a never-ending night that lasted 15 years. There was no stopping his cruelty, many tried and many failed," I continued flipping the page over to another depiction.

Here the image showed the torment that reigned in the years of the Ever Night. It showed the shadows that roamed freely, slaughtering and killing.

"But i-t says here he was killed," she commented, eyes trailing over the words under the image.