Beloved Beast

Chapter Forty-Four

Death was a formidable foe, demonstrating that even powerful mages, for all the magic in the world, were no exception to its life-taking talents. The living could plead, delay, or veer from its deadly chokehold, but ultimately, Death would collect. It did not bargain or atone for its fatal dealings. It waited for nothing. Youth or ripened age – mortal, or supernatural, Death was an unbiased conductor that orchestrated the end of souls, but when it came for the heart ... it was almost too cruel; an affront to mortality; its wake of grief the price one must pay for choosing to love.

            But Death could not have Elle. Not in this lifetime.

            As Don thundered through the night, his massive horse beating a violent groove through the forest, not once slowing for a respite, he was consumed by a brooding rumination of old and new what-ifs.

            What if he had fought harder? What if he had just told her he loved her? What if Veda had deceived him and had been working with Sera all along? What if he hadn't been too late? What if he could bring Elle back from the dead? What if he couldn't? What if ... what if ...

            The idea that things could have turned out entirely different based upon a what-if was an agony that enhanced his grief. That said grief was an enormous, burning entity of indescribable pain rooted at the center of his core. It was so intense that it transcended his utmost injuries, exceeding every heartache and memory he had ever endured. Paired with the haunting specters of his past, his multitude of mistakes and failures, and the prospect of living life without Elle ... it was more suffering than he could internally bear. There weren't enough words to describe the depths of his sorrow. It was an anguish he could not live with. A fate, barring his scarred visage and insufferable curse, worse than death itself.

            Caged within his arms, bundled tightly in his damp cloak, his fingers stroked her icy cheek reverently.

            Don didn't have the advantage or knowledge of magic, he abhorred it as much as he abhorred physical touch, but he would give anything to feel the gentle touch of her curious fingers once more, to hear her sweet voice, even if it meant availing himself of the very thing he loathed. There was no space in his broken heart to believe otherwise.

            When one pulls a tortured soul from the underworld, they return as ... something darker.

            Veda's statement arose to mind like a warning, reminding Don of the risks when tampering with death, but Elle was nothing like Sera. Wickedness had not inhabited her heart. She had been benevolent to a fault. Wholesome, and unbelievably perfect. He refused to believe that she would be anything other than at peace in the afterlife.

            But her peace was his utter devastation. Was it monstrously selfish of him to want her back? Arguably ...but the heart wants what it wants, and he would decimate mountains to see it done. He would focus all of his energy on restoring Elle to life, no matter how long it took, whatever the cost – if he had to bear more scars or sprout horns – if it meant becoming the quintessential villain, then he would gladly perform as such in the honest light. And when he had exhausted every resource and strategy known to man and otherworldly – when there was nothing left but his restless demons, he would relent to his inner turmoil and move as one.

            It was a decision Don had come to terms with earlier. Death would not be so quick to fetch his soul. His end of eternal suffering was unclear, so why not embrace it? Two decades of rampant fury, immeasurable remorse, and injustice swelled beneath the seams of his scarred flesh. The sole purpose of Sera's curse was looming to fruition and there wasn't a chance in hell that he could survive another four seasons, much less a decade, of this miserable existence and maintain his sanity. Sera's perpetuation of loss and loneliness ensured that. It fed a madness in him that was rapidly gaining momentum, and he saw no other alternative but to accept his beastly moniker.