Page 127 of Lord of the Lone Wolf
With a sigh, Kitsuki sealed the last of the correspondence on his desk. He set down his quill and flexed his fingers, working out the stiffness that had settled into his joints. The war was over, and the kingdom’s immediate needs were met. Yet exhaustion clung to him like armor he could not remove.
His dragon stirred within him.We have done our duty. Now, we rest.
The thought of sleep beckoned, but more than that, he craved the solace only Auslin could provide. His body ached too much for passion, but he longed for the simple comfort of holding the man who had become his anchor in a world of endless responsibility.
Kitsuki walked through the darkened corridors of the palace, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors. Maseo’s wounded form had been a constant presence in his mind throughout the day’s administrative duties. Each signature on each documentfelt like a betrayal of urgency, as if he should do something more vital than approving trade agreements and tax assessments. Necromancy ate away at Maseo’s very essence while Kitsuki reviewed grain distribution reports.
The door to their chambers opened. Auslin was already sitting under the covers in bed with a book in his lap, but he gazed at the starlit sky beyond the windows. The moonlight caught the worry lines around his eyes and the tension in his shoulders, revealing his own preoccupation with matters far more pressing than literature.
He looked up as Kitsuki entered. “You look ready to collapse.”
“I feel as though I might,” Kitsuki admitted, removing the formal robes that marked his station. Each piece felt heavier than it should, as if the weight of his crown had somehow transferred to every thread of fabric. The royal blue silk seemed to mock him with its pristine condition, untouched by the blood and fear that had stained the past weeks.
Auslin gestured for Kitsuki to join him. “The kingdom will survive if you rest for a few hours.”
“Will it?” The question escaped before Kitsuki could stop it, revealing more uncertainty than he intended. The crown grew heavier each day, the responsibilities more crushing. He had won the war, but victory felt hollow when purchased at such a cost.
“Of course.” Auslin’s voice carried quiet conviction, the same steadiness that had anchored Kitsuki through countless crises. “You have already given everything you have to give today. Tomorrow, you will do the same. But tonight, you may exist without demands or responsibilities.”
When he finished undressing, he slipped under the covers and sank into the mattress with a sound that bordered on a groan.
Auslin settled against him, warm and solid, his weight a comforting pressure across Kitsuki’s chest. It was what he had needed more than the empty ceremony of court or the cold satisfaction of duty fulfilled. On the war front, he had yearned for the simple intimacy that reminded him he was more than a crown and a throne. Holding Auslin served as an important reminder of what made life worth protecting.
“Better?” Auslin asked, his fingers tracing the shifter markings on Kitsuki’s skin.
The touch sent small shivers of pleasure through him, each caress a reminder of their bond, their connection, their shared history. “Much.” Kitsuki closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink deeper into the mattress. “Every night away from you felt like a lifetime I couldn’t get back.”
“And every moment without you reminded me exactly how much I need you.”
Kitsuki let out a weary sigh. “The war demanded everything from me, and I fear I gave it too much.” His admission cost him, but exhaustion had stripped away his usual defenses.
“What do you mean?”
Kitsuki struggled to articulate the hollowness that had taken root inside him during the campaign. The war had been necessary and justified, but that did not make it any easier to bear. “There were so many casualties, with good people who will not return to their families on both sides. I cannot help but wonder if different choices might have spared them.”
“You can’t save everyone, Kitsuki. Even kings aren’t Powers.”
“Point taken.” Kitsuki shifted to the more important subject. “Were you able to heal Maseo?”
His misery was sharp and sudden. “No, the necromancy stealing his aura and soul is unlike anything I’ve encountered. I feel like I failed him because I couldn’t even heal the Divine wounds. But I’m not giving up yet.”
The news devastated Kitsuki, but he focused on comforting his mate. “You gave him a reason to survive the war.”
“But it’s not enough. The death magic ravaging his body is?—”
Kitsuki interjected, “We will save him. We must.”
Auslin was quiet for a long moment, his fingers still moving against Kitsuki’s skin in soothing circles. The touch was automatic, a comfort he offered without conscious thought, grounding Kitsuki in the present moment. “I want to go to the Divine Realm tomorrow to speak with Liros. If anyone knows how to counteract necromantic damage, it’d be the Knowledge Power, right?”
“That is a wise course of action,” Kitsuki agreed. “I am grateful for your efforts on his behalf.”
“I need to save him. Not because he’s our friend, but because…” He trailed off, struggling for words. The unspoken admission hung between them, heavy with implication and possibility.
“Because losing him would be like losing a piece of our hearts,” Kitsuki finished, voicing their shared sentiment. “When I held him in my tent and thought we might lose him to necromancy, it was the worst kind of agony. My dragon was beside himself at being powerless to protect Maseo and keep him safe.”
They had acknowledged their feelings before the war and discussed the trinity bond with careful curiosity. But the crisis of Maseo’s injuries made their emotional investment undeniable.
“But what if I can’t heal him?” Auslin asked, voicing the fear that haunted them both. “What if the necromancy is too strong and we lose him?”
