Page 8 of Bound By Blood and Bone

"I'm fine, really. This isn't the first blight that I have dealt with. They aren't as common as they were, but they still occur when ritual is forgotten, and proper precautions are ignored." Atticus decided to leave it there and continued to the bedroom.

"I'll order a protein drink and bring it to you when it arrives," Wyatt said, and his tone left no room for argument on the matter. Atticus did not respond, simply nodded, and continued into the bedroom. He did not close the door since he was just going to lie down for a few hours, and it seemed unnecessary.

He enjoyed Wyatt's aura and drank it in after taking off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt, and stretching out on his back. He stared up at the ceiling and let his thoughts wander. There were those in the Coven who despised him for his magic and his powers, and there were those who feared him for the same reasons. He did not know where Wyatt stood, where his beliefs brought him; did he hate necromancers, was he afraid, or did he simply not care?

Atticus wished he could get a better read on him, but Fate put a buffer between Fated bonds, so he was prevented from getting a look at Wyatt's thoughts and feelings apart from the agitation he seemed to be constantly bearing.

Once again, he pushed the thoughts away; they were starting to interfere with his deliberation on the problem at hand. It was paramount that he dispatch this shadow blight before it had the opportunity to grow further and to harm more life. In the grand scheme of things, his hurt feelings were of no real importance to anyone.

***

Wyatt was desperate to have Atticus eat something. He'd endured hours of walking the town and setting up boundaries and spells, and then being attacked in the cemetery; he needed to eat something. He had to be starving, but he refused; he did it very nicely, but he still refused to eat. The protein drink would help, but Wyatt still believed it to be inadequate for the needs of an ancient necromancer. He asked them to add extra protein powder to the mixture.

When it arrived, he moved directly to the bedroom. Atticus had not closed the door, so he stood at the threshold and stared in at the man lying on his back with his eyes closed. The vision was utterly enthralling, catching him up and making his heart beat rapidly.

His black dress shirt was open at the neck, and his dark burgundy pants fit him like a fucking glove, and he was breathless at the sight of his long black curls fanning out around the pillow; he was stunning. Wyatt wanted him so fucking badly; his hands were sweating, and his body trembled. His beloved lay out like a decadent offering that he would kill to get his hands on.

He took a deep breath, flooding his senses with the smell of his Fated lover, and stepped into the room. Atticus did not stir and did not acknowledge his presence until Wyatt stood beside him at the side of the bed. His green eyes sparkled in the subdued light as they looked up at him.

"Your drink. It is important that you drink something." Wyatt noticed that he'd started looking at him with eyes that got steadily sadder as their time together wore on. Wyatt didn't understand and assumed he was tired, worn out from the events of the day and needed sustenance and rest, but his eyes held more than just fatigue.

The look bothered him in a way he could not quite describe, and the feeling made him anxious and uncertain. Wyatt held out his hand to assist Atticus in sitting up, but he did not take his hand. He pushed up, and then Wyatt moved as Atticus swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He stretched and set his feet flat on the floor before looking once again at Wyatt. "Thank you." He said and reached out to take the tall glass from Wyatt. Their fingers touched lightly, and he watched as Atticus took a long sip from the glass, emptying about a quarter of it. He slowly licked his lips and looked down into the glass, gently swirling the thick contents. He closed his eyes for a moment without moving and took a long, deep breath, slowly releasing it through his nose.

“Are you okay?” Wyatt asked and took a step closer. Atticus did not look up at him this time but rather kept his gaze on the contents in the glass.

"Hemlock has no effect on me, but few are aware of that fact. As an ancient necromancer of the old world, my soul exists within the twilight between life and death; therefore, it takes a lot to kill me. Poison is useless. To kill me, you must use a sword of iron, and you will need to remove my head completely." Atticus sounded disappointed and saddened; his tone was not angry or accusatory, just precise. He didn't look at Wyatt; he carefully set the glass on the end table. "I should leave."

Wyatt couldn't comprehend what he was seeing and hearing. He looked sharply from Atticus to the drinking glass and then back to Atticus. "Poison." He forced the word through his teeth as his heart began to erupt. "There was poison in the glass." He spoke a little louder, his eyes going wild. Atticus looked at him now, and his expression tightened; it was no longer sadness; it was panic.

Wyatt tore out of the room, taking the outer door off its hinges as he blew through it. Atticus was behind him, and he was saying something, but Wyatt was filled with a white-hot fury that nothing but blood and vengeance would appease.

The drink was made in the kitchen, and one of the servers had delivered it to the watchtower room. His vampire speed had him flying into the kitchen within seconds and finding the server who had delivered the toxic drink.

"You tried to kill him! I'm going to kill you!" He shouted, and the room quaked. He grabbed the man by the back of his neck and threw him across the room, smashing him into the wall, destroying the plaster and stone. The vampire struggled to his feet, but Wyatt was already there, grabbing him by his throat and slamming him into the floor.

"Why did you do it? Tell me, or I'll rip your head off, and then I'll kill every member of your family. Answer me, or I'll kill everyone you care about." Several in the kitchen jumped on Wyatt and tried to loosen his grip, but he was raging, and nothing was stopping him. He threw off the man on his back, and he broke both of his arms in the process.

"You have no right to be protecting that abomination; he should not be under our roof. The Necromancer deserves to die. They're nothing but filthy animals." The shout came from a man standing a few feet away, and Wyatt was on him in an instant, beating the piss out of him. The kitchen was a shambles, and the injuries were stacking up.

He took hold of the loudmouth and dragged him over to the sink, plunging his head under the hot, soapy water and holding it there. "Got a loudmouth on you; let's see if you can talk underwater. It is you who deserves to die, you filthy monster." He then rammed his head against the bottom of the deep sink, nearly submerging the entire man.

"Let him up; you'll kill him." A woman yelled out from across the room. Wyatt shot her a stare that had her abandoning her desire to help and instead running from the room. He then pulled the man from the sink, choking and gasping, and threw him at the window, shattering the large picture window over the prep tables.

The server who brought the drink was trying to escape out the door to the kitchen garden when Wyatt hooked him by the ankle and tossed him violently against the wall of ovens. A loud crack reverberated through the room.

It was utter chaos, a complete meltdown, and Wyatt was going to kill someone. He needed to kill; he had to bring retribution; he had to make them pay. There was blood, plenty of blood, and pain, but he needed to give them death. He needed to feel what they received, what they dared to inflict on his most precious.

The loudmouth and the server, he had them both, and they were screaming, and it was glorious. "Who fed him poison?" He yelled and grabbed the bleach off the shelf and began pouring it on the server, opening his mouth and forcing him to drink.

Chef Reid burst into the kitchen, panic and confusion filling the room. His two beloveds, Luke and Riall, the raven brothers, were beside him. Master DuCane rushed in from the other side of the kitchen, but it was Atticus who reached Wyatt first.

"Wyatt, stop." Atticus was behind him, and he laid his hand on Wyatt's shoulder, instantly bringing the man to a standstill. Wyatt felt his touch, and it radiated through him, commanding and controlling. He dropped the bleach but did not release the man, who lay on the floor gasping for breath and screaming in pain.

Everyone came to a sudden stop and stared at the man struggling to bring himself under control and at the man behind him, holding him with one hand on his shoulder, who seemed to hold all the power. The loudmouth tried to slip away, but Master DuCane saw through him instantly and took him by the throat, holding him in place while he surveyed the room. "Wyatt, tell me why you have destroyed Chef Reid's kitchen." The Master spoke to Wyatt as the rest of the room remained suddenly eerily still in the midst of the destruction.

"They tried to kill my beloved. I ordered a drink for him, and they sent me poison." Wyatt reached up and placed his hand over Atticus' hand, desperation bleeding into his touch.