The King could sense his wife's anxious movements beside him.
His fingers drummed patiently on the table, head tilted to the side and leaning on the fist which was propped on the table. All was silent and the metallic tang of blood drifted in the air like a lingering afterthought.
He could hear their murmurs.
How could none of them be his mate?
What had happened?
Did they lie?
And their eyes. Even in the darkness of his own vision he could sense their prickling stares, prodding and searching his visage as if the answer might manifest itself if they stared long enough.
He reached for the glass stem and lifted it to his lips.
"Please," waving a gloved hand in an opening manner, he beckoned for his next prey.
"You are killing too many…" the queen's hushed voice brushed aside her nervousness briefly, "they're watching, my King."
His mouth curled in a vague smile. "Are they?"
Good.
Let them watch, he reasoned darkly, let them know the consequences of lying.
He had known the moment they manifested in his dungeon that they were lying for the looks on their faces were far too radiant and joyful. What they described to him, what they saw, was simply a figment of their desires and what they thought he wanted to hear.
They saw nothing but a life beside him.
But his little lamb.
The King's thumb swiped gently at his lower lip catching a bead of wine.
Oh his precious baby lamb with her stammering mouth and beating heart pressing against her delicate chest.
She saw everything.
And it pleased and horrified him all at once. A cauldron of emotions that had his gut twisting and his loins burning. She saw it all and yet kept coming back.
… don't be full of yourself…
The King chuckled lowly and sighed.
Alright, perhaps she did not willfully come into his territory, he used their bond to draw her to him. A test at first, to isolate her until he was sure she saw what he saw.
Darkness. Complete utter black.
It was perfect.
Until it wasn't.
Something forbidden had slipped into the dark and over the past two times he had tried keeping her, the thing had yanked her out. He knew this because he felt the cold lingering afterwards.
Something, or someone had noticed her presence within his deepest chambers.
And it had disrupted them once again.
The King lifted his head and listened in the distant air for movement. Where was she?
He sniffed, and realized her scent was not among the myriads of smells around him. Neither among the servants.
… she's not here… He grew tense at the voice of his beast.
Where is she then?
The King looked inward at himself, relying on the bond to draw her thoughts out and read them… he grew silent, and exhaled a slow steady breath.
Her thoughts were usually anxious-induced since she had been put up as a sacrifice. There were moments when she would grow quiet, which meant that she was either asleep or busy with chores… but most times they were loud, jumbled, pain-induced… the King reached out carefully, sifting through the darkness and following a single thread of white through the darkness until he heard a simple thought echo back.
Run. faster. Faster.
Her voice was an urgent thing pressing her forward. He felt her sharp intake of air and the brief flare of pain in her chest before the thread snapped and he was back at the dinner.
The King rose without preamble, his chair scraping back and turned leaving the guests and queen staring after his retreating figure.
… she won't make it far…
He relied on the vibrations beneath his feet to guide him towards the palace walls where the gate stood tall and unmoving. With a single gesture at the guards, the gate groaned upwards allowing him through.
His strides were long on the ground, eating up space.
The King turned inward once more, seeking her thought out but all he heard was nothing.
He shifted mid stride. The change was swift and jarring enough for him to black out as his beast leaped forth, shards of clothing drifting onto the ground behind him as the blur of darkness leaped for the woods.
He could smell her now.
… Mica… He called and heard the sharp intake of breath. The beast growled deeply, its paws hitting the ground, muscles on its shoulders shifting seamlessly.
… little lamb… turn back… come home…
Run.
That was not her voice.
Get away from him. Run.
The beast faltered in confusion, then understanding began to dawn on him when he realized just which voice was speaking to her. The one that was drawing her further from him in fright and urgency.
Rage spilled from his chest in rolls of red.
… you dare…
He could hear her now, smell her distinctly– the thread of salty sweat in the air and dirt and cinnamon. Beneath it all her small pants and sharp cries as branches cut and scratched at her exposed face and legs.
How did she end up beyond the walls?
He caught a glimpse of her heels through the fog of darkness, darkened with blood. The beast turned the corner sharply, its paws sliding against the ground before careening in her direction.
She was nimble, he would give her that. Ducking and dodging but not fast enough, not cautious enough.
He caught her with ease, slamming into her body midair throwing her hard into the air. While she was still airborne he shifted instantly and reached for her wrist, yanking her into his chest and curling around her as they slammed back onto the ground and rolled a few feet.
The King's heart was pounding not from the chase but the sudden feel of her face in his rough hand. The one which had curled around the back of her head shielding impact had fallen openly to her cheek, the curve of his thumb touching her nose.
For a moment, the dullest fraction of time, he felt the first shape of her face.
And then the heel of her palm connected with his jaw, shoving his face away.