[POV: Solenne]
It was easy to believe the outside world didn't exist for a while.
Solenne remained tucked against Ruvan's side, savoring his heartbeat's steady, grounding thrum. His body was warm, his scent familiar now—ash, pine, fire… and a brewing storm. It was intoxicating.
But peace was always out of Solenne's grasp, no matter where she went.
It began with a sound—a low, grinding noise, like stone dragged across stone. The walls shivered and caused dust to rain down from the ceiling.
Ruvan was on his feet instantly, his warmth vanishing so fast it left her cold in its wake. "Stay back," he ordered sharply.
She barely had time to register what was happening before a section of the far wall split open, ancient seals breaking apart like dry leaves.
From the darkness spilled… creatures.
They weren't wolves—at least, not anymore. Solenne observed them in disgust; twisted, emaciated things with spines that were too long, jaws distended, eyes hollow pits.
Corrupted. Horrifying. Hungry.
⸻
[POV: Ruvan]
The voices slithered into his head as soon as the blood touched the stone.
'Killer.'
'Beast.'
'This is what you are. What you were made for.'
Ruvan felt his world splintering into what felt like thousands of different, twisted perspectives. He ran one of his hands through the long, silvery strands of his hair, and a loud, rumbling laugh bellowed from deep in his chest.
He welcomed it—the madness. It was hard fighting it off constantly… so much harder than he let on, especially when he wasn't with Solenne.
Being overtaken by the sick monsters in his mind felt like catharsis.
He let the godfire surge through his veins, burning away restraint, destroying the thin threads of sanity he'd painstakingly gathered in Solenne's presence.
Rage enveloped him, and he embraced it back.
'Protect her.'
Of all the words bloating his skull, those two were the only ones truly his.
The first creature lunged—and he met it with a snarl, catching its throat mid-leap and driving it into the stone with a brutal crack. Beneath his fingers, he felt its bone split, and relished in the scent of its strange ichor as his claws tore through flesh.
It wasn't enough.
Ruvan ripped it apart with his bare hands, blue and green blood splattering hot against his skin.
'Good,' the demented voices whispered gleefully. 'Tear them down. You are ruin. You are death.'
After witnessing such a brutal display, the other attacking beasts hesitated. They had appeared to be completely mindless before, but their instincts warned them that Ruvan was dangerous.
Ruvan roared, then chuckled madly. Every primal noise he made rattled the walls, thick with insanity and old, festering power.
Another beast lunged. He tore through it in one savage motion, raking claws through corrupted flesh, leaving it shrieking and spasming on the ground.
The third tried to flee.
He muttered, "Coward."
Then, Ruvan pursued it, fast and merciless, slamming it against the cracked stone with enough force to shatter its spine. He finished it without hesitation—strangely-colored blood gushing down his forearms, hot and steaming where it touched his porcelain skin.
⸻
[POV: Solenne]
She couldn't move.
Not because she was afraid of him… but because she had never seen anything like it.
What she witnessed wasn't just violence. It was unmaking. As if death weren't enough, he destroyed them beyond recognition. If she hadn't personally seen him end them, she wouldn't have known the mutilated piles of flesh on the floor used to be cursed lycanthropes.
Even the Citadel itself seemed to recoil from the spilled blood, the runes on the wall flickering, the air humming distantly.
Ruvan fought like a caged beast freshly freed… like a creature born of divine rage. Perhaps he was.
It was terrifying—or, it should have been.
Solenne, against all reason… found herself enraptured.
He was beautiful.
Terrible. Majestic. Tragic.
…Because even in all that fury, every movement and attack was aimed away from her. Every kill was made to keep her safe.
Even when he was drowning in madness, he protected her.
⸻
[POV: Ruvan]
The last creature gurgled on the floor, its broken limbs twitching weakly.
Ruvan towered over it, breathing hard, brows furrowed as the voices clawed at him.
'More,' one hissed.
'More. Tear it apart. Burn it. Let them—let her—see what you really are.'
His hands itched to do it: to rip, destroy, feel the bones snap in his hands, and watch the blood flow in a beautiful river.
For a moment, he almost gave in. Everything in his vision was tinted red, darkness encroaching on the edges of his mind as the madness threatened to take over his body, not just his mind.
Until he heard a whisper.
Not from the voices, not stemming from madness.
'She's okay,' Kairas said softly. His wolf's words were faint, almost entirely overwhelmed by the cacophony, but Ruvan heard them.
Ruvan blinked, chest heaving, and turned around. Solenne was right where he had left her, standing completely still, staring at him with her beautifully inscrutable light eyes.
The voices in his head shrieked—liar liar liar liar—but they couldn't drown out the soft sound of her breathing or the faint, stubborn glow of her presence.
⸻
[POV: Solenne]
Ruvan was drenched in blood. The white of his hair was nearly completely drowned in blue and green. If someone were to glance at him, they might not know he had white hair at all.
His eyes were wild, and his teeth bared in a snarl. He stared at her discerningly, and she saw the unmistakable disorientation behind his gaze—the madness.
Reasonably, she should have run or recoiled, but she didn't move away. Instead, she moved toward him slowly and carefully.
As if she weren't walking toward a monster… but toward someone who needed her.
When she stepped within reach, she paused. When she looked up into his eyes, those mesmerizing pools of gold, she felt his fear. It wasn't fear for himself, but for her.
Solenne took his hand in hers, paying no mind that it was still dripping blood. Solenne pressed her palm to the back of it, gentle and unafraid, and signed:
[Safe.]
The godfire inside him howled for more destruction, but in her touch, there was only silence. Solenne watched as his pupils refocused, returning to normal.
"Safe," he said under his breath. His voice was uncertain and confused as he shook off the rage that had engulfed him. He nodded, reaffirming more to himself, "Right… you're safe... you're safe…"
Solenne's palm lingered against his hand as she felt his skin—warm, alive, still trembling slightly from the frenzy—but steady beneath her fingers now.
He was steady because of her. Her heart thudded against her ribs, wild, human, terrified, and… brave. He needed her.
Someone needed her.
"You aren't scared?" Ruvan asked quietly after a few more beats of silence.
Solenne shook her head emphatically without hesitation. His light eyebrows lifted in surprise at her immediate reaction.
"I guess it's only fair," he said. "I don't care about your curse, and you don't care about mine."
A slight smile found its way to Solenne's lips, and she nodded in agreement. 'I'm not scared of him; he isn't scared of me,' she thought. 'For better or worse.'
Ruvan looked down at her hand, which now had demented lycanthrope blood on it, and frowned. "You're dirty."
Solenne lifted her hand and inspected her palm, then shrugged. It didn't matter to her; she could always wash up again.
"You might not care…" he muttered, his voice low but serious, "but I do. Your hands are too pretty to have blood on them."
Her eyes widened, and she felt a blush creep up her neck.
"I'm the only one allowed to get dirty," Ruvan warned, voice low.
Solenne opened her mouth slightly in surprise, then let out a silent, breathy laugh—but the moment broke like glass.
Ruvan suddenly stiffened. His hand, still wrapped around hers, tightened so much it was almost painful. Solenne's brows knit as she watched his golden eyes cloud, but not with violence this time.
Possessiveness. A hint of fear.
He turned his head sharply, gaze fixed on some unseen point beyond the cracked chamber. She felt his body tense, coiled and ready for a fight she couldn't see.
Under his breath, he spoke, barely audible:
"No," he whispered, voice fraying. "No. She's not yours."