Page 77 of Of Night and Blood: Special Edition

He crouched beside me still, moving his other hand to his chest and popping his mouth open.

“I am wounded, Asher. You mock the single most embarrassing moment of my life,” he said, feigning hurt. A devilish glint still lit his eyes, mischief heavy on his face. I flashed him a genuine smile, one filled with joy and humor, the nightmares far away.

His hand dropped, eyes blazing with that same fire. I froze, not understanding what had changed his mood so suddenly. Was it something I did?

“There it is,” he muttered, that same dazed expression still lighting his face. I quirked an eyebrow, unsure of what he meant. “That smile. Your beautiful, wonderous smile which is so rare to see these days. But every time you flash it my way, I swear my heart skips a beat.”

Now it was my turn to sit in stunned silence. I had no idea what to say to that, or how to react. Was there any option that would not hurt him? One that would not hurt me? His constant flirting and sly remarks, the way he managed to brush his fingers against my skin daily, every longing stare my way, they all pained me.

No matter what I did to push him out of my mind and heart, he always found a way to sneak back in, reminding me of the male I had met those many nights ago on a balcony. Back then I had thought of what life would be like with him by my side. Now, he was offering just that, and I refused him. Not simply for the lies or the plotting, but also because choosing him—as he so often begged me to—would be a risk. It would mean giving up on my family and my subjects back home. It would mean submitting to the unknown.

“Can I share something with you, Asher?” he asked, glazing over his comment as if it had never been said.

I quirked a brow, but curiosity left me nodding slightly without thinking. He smiled, a soft, reserved raise of his lips that did not quite signify joy.

“As a youngling, I never felt right here in Eoforhild. The others saw me as the enemy, as a pointy-eared traitor. I was an abomination that should have been dealt with swiftly, not given a title and space in the royal palace. Noe’s father was one of the most adamant to speak against me. When I first met him, and Noe as well, I still had no powers. I recall him telling the king that I was a waste of space, better off executed than named prince.”

Waste. That was one thing I had never been called. To belittle someone in such a way that reduces their life to nothing was foul and evil. Mia and Xavier would have never suggested I had no right to life, as awful as they had been in some ways. My eyes burned at the idea of a young Bellamy, blue eyed and freckled, hearing that spewed his way.

“Little by little, I lost myself throughout the years. I was secluded and ostracized. The king did everything he could to make my life easier, he loved me and taught me and stood by me. Still, the creatures of this realm found ways to make me feel less than. That is the thing about feuds and prejudices, they do not have room for exceptions.”

His words sent chills down my spine, as I too had felt the weight of being different. I too had succumbed to the torment of being feared and hated by your own kind.

Perhaps that was similar to my own prejudice towards the demons. Bellamy’s Trusted were kind and honest, funny and daring—nothing like the horrid beasts we had been taught they were. Bellamy himself, even with the scheming, was no monster. Not the one I thought him to be, at least.

“By the time I had my powers under control, I had long since lost my mind to the hatred. I was not good. I was ruthless and wicked. And I still am, deep down. I buried that darker side, hoping that I would never have to face it all, but it is still there, lying in wait for the day it can break free again.”

That too felt too close to myself for comfort. For I also battled the evil within me. And like Bellamy, I sometimes lost.

“Noe and I became close after her own magic manifested, despite her father’s agenda. When she limped up the steps of the palace decades later, bloody and bruised to a pulp, I lost it. I had called for help, then rode my horse to the edge of Dunamis and portaled to her father’s doorstep.”

He looked at me then, stare intense, as if gauging how I would react to the next part. Though, I knew what he would say. Whatever he saw in my gaze was enough for him to press on.

“I killed him. My hand shot into his chest and I ripped out his heart. But not before telling him that Noe was free. That he would never touch her again. That he would die a pathetic male with no love or success to his name. That he would die the way he deserved, alone. I killed him and I relished in the strength it seemed to give me. Desperation became my friend, retribution my lover. I was obsessed with violence and justice. With righting the wrongs that so many had committed,” he said, his voice a husky growl that made me think he likely still had those urges.

“Not long after that, I developed a reputation. Demons and the creatures of Eoforhild feared me, they cowered in my presence. I was an outsider with more power than any one being should have, and no one was safe from my wrath. Once, when Noe, Henry, and I were out drinking mead and attempting to have a carefree evening, I let my rage get the best of me. A male had reached out and smacked Noe’s behind as she passed him. When she reprimanded him, he threatened her body and life. In my mind, I was right to punish any that I deemed unworthy of existing. So I walked over to him, crafted a blade of black fire, cut his hand off with it, and then I split him from groin to head. It was a brutal death, one that sent others screaming from the tavern.”

I shuddered at the image his story conjured. At the thought of such a deeply rooted love of violence. An addiction to feeling powerful through ending lives. I recalled how nonchalantly Bellamy had said he killed Sterling when I first awoke after my failed wedding. The fury in his face when he killed the two demons who had attacked me. The giddiness within him when we were entering the Forest of Tragedies. A part of the demon prince would always seek out danger, would always revel in death. And a part of me relished in that fact, as if I were pulled to him more for it.

“To this day I have to resist justifying murder for the sake of the greater good. Haven has helped, as did enlisting in our military forces. Adbeel had encouraged me to join. He had said that I was a slave to my anger, that I let it convince me I had the right to be judge, jury, and executioner. When I volunteered myself into our army, I found that I could show everyone who I was and what I was worth better than I could tell them. I quickly moved my way up, and now I am the general. I am the leader of a great force, and I am mostly respected and revered. A stark contrast to what I was,” he said with a humorless chuckle.

Though he fought back that urge for violence, I could still see the shadow of his life haunting him. The guilt eating at him.

“I have nightmares that I will not be able to save those I love. That everything I have built will crash down. That I will once more worship pain as a god and lose myself all over again. That is why I tell you this. I want you to see that you are not alone, Asher,” he said; his story coming to an end.

I pondered for a moment, considering how strangely alike we were. Two sides of the same coin, different, but the same. Still, I could not find words. So instead, I rubbed his back gently, a soothing gesture meant to reassure him.

He looked at me, those icy eyes landing on my own and seeming to seek an answer. Despite knowing he had lied to me and hurt me, I could not help but want to remind him of his worth. For reasons I might never understand, I thought he deserved to feel loved by me, if only for the night.

So I pulled him towards me, bringing his body to my own and allowing him to settle onto my too small cot. As we lay there, nose to nose and chest to chest, both of our bodies warming the other, I felt myself relax.

It was not the heat that brought me comfort, but rather Bellamy himself. His presence.

Perhaps it made me an idiot, maybe even a traitor to my kind, but in that moment, I allowed myself to imagine holding him like this forever. To picture loving him for not this one night, but for all nights.

He had given me a gift of sorts, the kind that could solely be offered by a being who had suffered the same self-hatred that could cause nightmares such as mine. Such as ours.

We were the worst kind of evil. The beautiful kind that inspired hope in others, then ripped it from them and brought only death. The kind of evil that had to fight itself every day.

---