Since River has been old enough to ask, his father has brain-washed into believing that he's unworthy of any sort of love. Especially from his long-awaited, fated mate. He has no future, just an awaited rejection and a continued life of abuse. All t...
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"The quenchless stars,
so eloquently bright,
untroubled sentries of the shadow'y night."
-James Montgomery
Chapter 27
River's POV
I gasped, sitting up with a speed that caused my head to spin. I felt a line of sweat run down my back as the sound of chirping crickets could be heard outside the window. I turned my head towards the window, expecting sunlight but being met with nothing but darkness.
I fell back with a sigh, rolling over until I was met with Alastair's sleeping face. He always appeared so peaceful as he slept, so different in comparison to the scowl-like demeanor he held in front of others. I closed my eyes, hoping to get some shut eye before the sun rose, but my body seemed to want none of it as it perked up like a blooming bud.
Like many of my other nightmares, it was always nothing but flashing images. Recurring images that had nothing to do with one other, just there, side by side, plaguing me like an incurable disease. Some were of dark, hairy creatures chasing me into the night and others of my father's looming face. Hard leather against soft flesh as his boot slammed harshly against my rib cage, spitting onto my broken form while spewing endless streams of profanities.
I wrapped my arms around my chest. It wasn't real and I knew that, but I couldn't help myself as my arms encircled the area as if fearful of the pain from my dreams. It wasn't there, but I couldn't help but check, to make sure.
I sighed, feeling as idiotic as ever for thinking there would be any pain in my ribs. It was a dream, an imagined occurrence, a reminiscing. Though, perhaps reminiscing would be too nice of a word for the past memories I was dreaming of.
My father hadn't beaten me on a daily basis as a kid, rather he was more verbal in his beatings. But once I reached the ripe age of twelve, he'd come to the conclusion that a beating was in order. Perhaps because he thought I could handle it now that I was older. It wasn't a common occurrence, but it would happen from time to time. Whether, I would forget to pick something up from the market or the house wasn't to his standards. He would somehow manage to come up with something if I hadn't been beaten in a period he considered too long.
He's gone now. He can't hurt you anymore.
Though, where he had gone was a mystery to me. Alastair had never told me where he had brought my father after that fateful ceremony and neither Michael nor Isaiah would say a word on the matter. I could complain, exclaim that he didn't trust me enough to tell me, that we shouldn't be keeping secrets from one another, but I would be but a hypocrite, would I not? For I was keeping a secret from him as well.
I should have told him. He was my mate after all, but I was afraid. I had seen enough public hangings to know what happened to those who shifted. It was illegal, an act punishable of death. We were given infusions at a young age to prevent shifting when older, a suppressant of a sort, and I, along with everyone else in the kingdom, had gotten that shot.
