His Lover, My Mate

Nineteen: Vent

*Rush*

He didn't go in the castle that whole day. Instead, he went out into the training grounds and unwound the strain in his muscles. The pain of the rejection was gone, and he needed to get back on grind. He didn't appreciate how much of his time her little fiasco took, and he would train all day to regain his agility.

He didn't care if the sun was beating down on him. He didn't care if he was growing lethargic from its scorching rays. He didn't even care that it was springtime and the afternoons were long and unbearable. They were good distractions from her. He didn't want to think about Aletha, especially not when harboring any thoughts of her made him physically hurt.

When an already-claimed werewolf was marked by another who was not their true mate, it destroyed the mate bond. Rush never knew how real it was until now. His mind was strained, and it was hard for him to breathe. His muscles were still in agony worse than being stabbed by a blade, because it burned and gnawed at his soul too. He was almost incapable of moving at all, but he forced his muscles to tear and his soul to rise from the torment. His fingers clenched tightly and he could feel his blood struggling to flow against his darkening veins.

This was bad. The bond was so shattered that it was slowly trying to kill him. The veins around his wrists and neck were dark, painful. He would be dead by now if he were mortal.

She must have known it would do this. Everyone did. It was one of the laws of this realm, to never betray your mate, to never let another mark you. It was a dangerous territory to enter. And what was worse was that she hadn't cared at the time. She had been willing when Lucien had marked her. She had felt nothing but lust. She must have known Lucien's mark would make him suffer.

Before Rush could let his mind consume his soul, he stopped himself. He had to vent. He needed to drink blood or kill or just go to sleep. Yes...maybe he could bring Alpha Anya of the Winter Pack and convince her to give him another dose of her blood magic so he could slumber for a very long time. She'd done it multiple times when he had been trapped in his mother's castle. It had saved his soul from breaking even more when his body had been used for endless games of sadistic pleasures.

He didn't sleep at all the entire day, not that he needed sleep. His kind could go on without sleep for years, because their blood intake replenished them with spiritual energy. Sleep was useless, a luxury for those who had extra time in their hands. While it did prolong bloodthirst, most vampires willingly drank blood because of its delicious flavor.

Rush brought his axe down and sliced the block of wood into two. The two halves fell onto the ground, looking lethally clean in their cut. No jagged edges, just one swift motion and they were split.

Sweat beaded his forehead and trailed down the sides of his face and neck. He could feel more sliding down between his shoulder blades. He was breathing roughly, at the edge of losing control. He somehow unknowingly pissed himself off, and no amount of venting it on wooden logs was going to help. And to think this was his best method to relax. He'd taught the Luna of the Death Pack to chop wood as hard as she could to direct her anger elsewhere. For her, it was surviving the Death Alpha and her urge to get revenge on him, but for Rush, this was for coping with the strain in his bond he had with Aletha.

He wasn't angry at her for defying him—he thought every time her eyes sparked, she looked absolutely stunning. Although he didn't like the words that came out of her mouth, he liked her rebellious spirit. This was about betraying him, about going against fate when it was right in front of her, trying to get her to understand that Lucien would never be for her. Rush wanted to demolish her one-way thinking. She'd been nothing but complaining and self-centered. She had to have it her way. She never had the consideration to once see things through his eyes.