章 21: Prayer
The next few days of travel were little more than prolonged torture for Damien. On the third day of travel, he finally relented to Dezzy's demands and let her carry him on her back, rather than continue to struggle on his own. It was embarrassing, but necessary, because he was growing so weak that his legs would barely hold his own weight. Dezzy, on the other hand, had demonic strength at her disposal, and had no trouble hoisting Damien onto her back. This was clearly less than ideal, as the added weight slowed them down (albeit not as much as Damien would have if he'd kept walking), but he knew it was the only real option they had at this point. He was steadily succumbing to the mate sickness, and it was spiraling even faster than the first time, particularly since he no longer had the comforts of home to bolster him, not the regular treatments from mother to keep his strength up. As the days wore on, he found himself eating less, drinking less, and sleeping more and more. He even nodded off on DezY's back a few times, though he tried to avoid that whenever possible.
Dezzy was clearly worried and upset about the situation, though there was little more she could do for the situation than what she was already doing. She was pushing herself hard, carrying Damien long into the evenings, even as the moon rose and the darkness began to deepen to the point that even Damien with his wolf-eyes could barely make out the path ahead. Even then, Dezzy would keep going until Damien demanded that she rest. That wasn't an easy win, either - it sometimes took a few rounds of convincing before she would agree to stop and rest. He'd found the easiest way to convince her was to ask if he could lay down and get some sleep. Dezzy didn't worry about herself, but she was quick to set up camp when Damien requested it for his own sake.
It was a cheap trick, and Damien felt a bit badly about taking advantage of it, but he also knew that Dezzy wasn't going to worry about herself while she had Damien to fuss over. The least he could to was use that to his advantage. The days dragged on like this, with Dezzy stumbling her way down the winding roads, lugging Damien on her back, her steps trudging heavy with the weight of her worry and Damien's exhaustion.
On the fifth day, though, he could feel a spring in her step, and as he raised his head to look around, his bleary eyes caught sight of a walled fortress surrounded by a lower town area. He blinked at it, and then asked, disbelievingly, "Is… that… the castle?"
"One and the same," Dezzy said, a grin in her voice. She pointed, and Damien blinked in the direction she indicated, forcing his tired eyes to focus. "Over there is the tavern with the good beer," she added.
Damien wasn't sure which building she was pointing to, and he honestly cared very little for beer, good or otherwise. "...that's nice," he finally said, too exhausted to manufacture genuine interest.
"We'll stay in the inn tonight," Dezzy told him, paying his lack of enthusiasm no mind, practically skipping down the road in the direction of the town. "And tomorrow, I'll try and find Grace at the morning market."
Damien frowned, not recognizing the name Grace. He figured there was only one person it could belong to, though. "Is that your thrall friend?" he asked, trying his hardest not to sound as judgemental as he felt. He still didn't like the idea of thralls on principle. Even if he supposed they had no more choice in their attachment to their vampires than he had chosen to imprint on his mate. It still didn't sit right with him.
"Yeah, that's Grace," Dezzy said, a note of fondness entering her tone. "She's great. She'll definitely be able to get you into the castle during the daytime, when none of the vamps are out and about."
Damien nodded slowly. As much as he hated to admit it, the thought of being reunited with the long-faded scent of his mate was more than just appealing - he was desperate, longing for it by now. It sickened him, but he had no way to fight it. The instinctual need to be with his mate was beyond reasoning.
"I know I can't go in there with you," Dezzy said haltingly, her excited steps slowing to a plod, her excitement draining from her almost like a physical presence. "But Grace will carry messages between us, I'm sure."
Damien wanted to ask her whether Grace had actually agreed to such a thing, wanted to shake Dezzy and ask her why she thought she could trust the word of someone under the compulsion of a vampire. But he didn't have the energy to argue, so he just sighed and rested his head on Dezzy's shoulder. "Let's just… take it… one step… at a time," he said, pausing to drag in a haggard breath every few words.
"Right," Dezzy agreed, her energy returning to her as quickly as it had left. "Let's get to the inn and find you a bed!" She shifted from side to side, clearly excited to be so near the town and near their ultimate goal. Damien knew that this journey was wearing on her, though not in the same way it had worn on him.
Damien grunted in approval. "I missed beds," he said, a little wistfully. Sleeping on the cold, hard, ground had reminded him of how domesticated he was for a werewolf. He wasn't used to spending so much time in the forest.
"I missed beer," Dezzy said, shifting her weight and pulling Damien a bit higher on her back. "Here's hoping we both find what we're looking for at the inn!"
Fortunately for both Damien and Dezzy, they did indeed find beds and beer at the inn. Dezzy got Damien settled in one of the beds in the upstairs room they'd haggled for, tugging the blankets up to his chin and tucking the mostly-faded scent-bearing shirt of the vampire under his nose. Once satisfied that Damien was comfortable enough, she fairly flew down the stairs to try the local brew. Damien expected to fall asleep immediately, given how tired he was after such a long journey, but instead, he found himself lying wide awake, staring at the thatched roof overhead. He had no reason for it - every other time, he'd fallen asleep almost immediately. He couldn't see a reason why this night would be any different.
There was a reason why he couldn't sleep, though he didn't understand the source of the discomfort or why it would come to him on that night, of all nights. As he lay there, breathing slowly, he knew, in his bones, that there was something wrong. There rested a heavy weight on his chest, a pressure more terrible than he felt even during his transformations on the night of the full moon. It wasn't exactly like it, though, because the pressure felt inverted. Usually, when he transformed, he felt as though the pressure was building up from the inside of him. But this time, it felt more like the pressure was around him and outside of him, the heavy press on all sides of him viselike. It was a strange sort of agony, and it only worsened as the night grew longer. It grew harder to breathe, every heave of his lungs felt as though he were fighting to breathe from under a heavy slab of granite. Something was wrong.
Then, he felt a pull. It was deep, like a space behind his sternum, deeper even than his heart, and somehow more real than even his physical body. He gasped for air, and clutched at his chest, but the insistent drag at him was buried much deeper than he could reach, even with his nails digging through his shirt, scraping his own chest. He might have screamed, if he'd had the breath for it. Instead, all that escaped was a soft, mewling whimper.
"Please," Damien begged, though he couldn't say whom. Was he calling for his mother? For the pack he had lost? Was he crying to the gods themselves? He wasn't sure any of them were listening for someone so small and weak as he.
The pull threatened to dislodge itself from his chest, and he could feel the threat of a cold, aching hole, and suddenly, without any real logic or reason, he knew exactly where the pull was coming from.
His mate.
Something was wrong, very wrong, with his mate. As much as Damien wanted to gloat at whatever horrible thing must have befallen the vampire to result in such anguish, he could barely think through the pain and the fear that gripped him. He was already so sick, just from being separated from his mate. Would he survive, if his mate died? He wasn't sure, but he feared he already knew the answer, deep down in a part of him that he refused to acknowledge.
And so, even though he hated that vampire, he reached for the place where the pull was strongest. He may have hated his mate, but he didn't necessarily hate the part of him that was soothed by the mate-bond. If settling his bond meant preserving his mate (and by extension, himself), then Damien would try. He just wasn't sure how to do that. He lay on his back, his hands clasped loosely over his chest, and he tried to turn his focus inward, doing his best to ignore the pressure and pain that threatened to overwhelm him.
Damien wasn't one for prayer, mostly because neither mother nor Dezzy had much to do with the immortals. But he knew that his kind had a patron, a goddess who was of the moon, and of bonds. And so, though he barely knew her name, he whispered his first plea.
"Brinn," he whispered, barely enough air in him to form the words, "please. Spare me."
There was something more he should say. Something far more difficult to ask. He felt the words in his heart, though he didn't wish to speak them. He gritted his teeth, refusing to continue his prayer, but the words continued to press at him, eager to come forth, a building pressure in opposition to the external forces he felt weighing against him. He had asked Brinn to spare himself, but part of Damien knew it was not enough to be spared alone, for he was not meant to be alone. He needed to be spared, yes, but so did his mate.
Furious, Damien fought down the words, refusing to speak them, even as they shouted in his mind.
Spare him.
His heart burned. He felt dizzy. The pull in his chest was growing worse, a frayed thread about to snap. He could feel the jagged pieces of himself, barely held together, could feel the way his essence was tied to the magic of the moon. He felt everything, and it was terrible. The words in his mind were relentless.
Spare him.
He could feel his jaw ache from the clenching of his teeth. His shallow breaths puffed in and out of his nose. Bright colored dots danced in his vision. He could barely breathe through the pressure, through the pull.
With a sob, Damien finally relented.
"Spare him," he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. "...spare us."
In the next instant, he felt the pressure build like a wave, cresting over him. Then, it vanished, the pull settling into a soft, gentle tug, like the lap of waves on a shore. He gulped air into starved lungs, and inexplicably, he smelled him.
It was almost as if the vampire had stepped into the room, but try as he might, Damien could summon up none of the usual rage or bitterness that would accompany the wretch's actual presence. This was the bond, he realized, blinking sleepy eyes. Somehow, he'd tapped into the calm that was only granted by the presence of his mate, despite being physically distant from him.
A flare of excitement caught like a flame in his chest, burning bright and steady. If this moment could be repeated, then maybe he wouldn't need to go to live in the vampire's castle after all! Damien smiled at the thought. He felt invigorated and alive after the experience he'd been through, but he remained bone-weary, not only from his journey, but from the strange incident he'd gone through. He supposed it had something to do with his werewolf magic, though as his kind's ability to tap into the magic of the moon and bonds remained a mystery to him, he couldn't fully articulate how this incident was related to magic.
Still, he knew that something had happened, and that it had strengthened his bond with his mate. He didn't want to think about what that meant for his future, or what it meant for the vampire's future, either. He just wanted to sleep. Even though he should have slept fitfully with so many strange new ideas in his head, he had a feeling it would be the best sleep he'd had in a long time.
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