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Islam my fist into the marble wall, the stone yielding to the force. My fist indents the hard surface, sending fragments of stone crashing to the floor, and a fine mist of dust billows up in front of my face. Pulling my fist back, I strike the wall again, barely registering the pain shooting up my arm from the impact.
The skin on my knuckles breaks open, leaving red streaks on the caved-in marble. The only sound in the room is the pattering of blood dripping onto the floor wetly slapping against the hardwood. I look down, scowling at my still-clenched fist as though my breakable skin is at fault for this mess. My tan, calloused skin knits together after a moment, the now drying blood the only sign of the destruction left on my body.
Destruction. That was the problem in and of itself. All I do is destroy, leave carnage in my wake—God of Destruction—my name, and my curse. No matter how many times I’m told how necessary my power is, they don’t see the aftermath. They don’t know the pain, the suffering, the death. The desolation my will brings.
I pick up a slab of the jagged marble, crumbling it between my hands. Needing an outlet for the destructive power building inside me. The stone fractures under my force, spilling to the floor in a cascade of pebbles and dust.
I spin from the wall, unable to stand looking at the rubble another moment. Slamming my hands down onto the desk, I clench the edge of the worn carved wood—fingers compressing the smooth surface, leaving indentations in their wake.
Pulling in a deep breath, I close my eyes. Focusing on calming the destructive energy inside of me. Threatening to be unleashed in a hurricane of power. My chest expands with each breath I take, holding it before releasing it along with the energy. My shoulders round in on each exhale, my chest feeling concave with the release of pressure. A pair of light sea-green eyes filter into my thoughts, rounded in innocent surprise, as she bounces off my chest.
The wood cracks beneath my hands, and I grip the splintered shards, throwing them to the side in frustration.
I shake my head, attempting to disperse the image floating through my mind. I couldn’t think about the way that the light sparkled off her eyes. Couldn’t think about the intense fear I felt as she approached, too consumed in her phone to watch where she was going. The contented smile that played on her lips as she typed out her message. The appreciative groan she let out as she bit into her pastry. The noise sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my cock. I definitely couldn’t let myself think about how far she ventured off her path unknowingly, as though she was drawn right into me. Her body moving her in my direction, desperate to make the connection.
The pull started the moment I saw her, begging me to meet her eyes and solidify the connection between us. I knew I should’ve run at that first sensation, but my body would not yield. My limbs cemented in place, despite my mind screaming at me to flee.
Fear chilled me at that thought, not realizing how powerless I would be to the pull. Unable to move once I saw her changing trajectory. My muscles only allowed me to turn my back at the last moment, hoping she would change her course before she collided with me.
The anger I showed her was not genuinely directed at her. I never believed I would find my mate, my soul is too broken, too fractured to make that connection to another’s. I pound my fist on the desk, a crack spreading from the impact, splitting the wood in two. Yet another thing I’ve destroyed.
Anger still boils inside me. Furious that I was too weak to walk away. That despite me turning, I wished for her to continue towards me. Despising myself for the tiny sliver of hope that sparked within me from the pull. Hope that I don’t deserve—my power too deadly, too devastating. I shudder with the thought, remembering the pain, trauma. Too much blood coats my hands to ever deserve the happiness of a mate.
I hate her for that hope. Knowing in the back of my mind, it’s as much out of her control as it is my own. She is just as powerless to the mate pull as I. It’s easier to direct my anger at her. Simpler to blame her for the connection than deal with the reality.
I can’t let myself feel anything more than anger and resentment towards her. She deserves happiness. Deserves to find someone who isn’t the embodiment of destruction. Deserves someone who’s able to love her without having the stain of others’ blood on their soul.
In my rage, I stomp across the room, pulling the plush leather office chair from the wreckage of the desk. I need to get myself under control, my powers are far too volatile to exert my abilities physically.
I grip the armrests, and lower myself down, closing my eyes, I focus on breathing, on grounding my powers. My mind wanders back to the girl. My abilities felt at ease with her, firmly in my control. I hadn’t needed to wrestle them back when she stood in front of me, despite my anger.
It wouldn’t be so bad to think of her, allowing her to live solely in my mind. I can’t let her get close to me for her sake, but that doesn’t mean I can’t let her presence soothe my soul. I could still see her while keeping her at arm’s length. I let this calm my thoughts, allowing the anger to slip away.
I could be a silent, sometimes surly, shadow in her life. I grit my teeth, hating how weak that makes me feel. I can’t stay away, yet I’m unwilling to let her waste her life with me. Not that she would really want to after how I spoke to her.
The memories fill my mind, and I cringe at how I spoke to her. Knowing my anger was directed at the mate pull and my inability to embrace it. Having her so close, I could reach out and touch her.
The connection teases me, knowing I can’t let myself indulge in the rare binding of our souls. A faint smile tilts my lips at her reaction. Her words were just as biting as mine, not intimidated by me in the least. Her eyes, once rounded in apology, quickly changed. Showing the fire that burned deep inside her.
I push those thoughts away, knowing no good can come from thinking that way. Leaning back in my chair, I scrub a calloused hand over my face. The rough stubble scratching my palm. I grimace at the dry blood still coating my knuckles and lower it to the armrest once more.
I need to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. My powers have me straddling the line between dark and light far too often. I need to keep my wits about me.
I despise the dark side of my power. Hate the destruction even if it brings about positive change. The desired effects are often too far off to truly appreciate them at the moment. I despise the visions at times.
My rare secondary power fuels the destruction. The visions that come to me, showing the future, instructing what events need to happen for change and progression to begin. The prophecies are the only reason I use my power, the only reason I let myself loose upon the realms.
I pop up from my chair and pace, anxious energy rolling off me in waves. I need something to get my mind off today’s turn of events. I dig into my pocket, fingers gripping my phone and dial the first number I see. I continue my pacing, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Max? Is everything alright?” Kyros asks, his voice hitching up in panic. I relax, loosing the breath now that I’m no longer alone with my racing thoughts.
“Yes.” I sigh, not wanting to tell him too much. I can’t let them know I’ve found my mate. They won’t understand why I need to keep my distance. Would encourage me to drop my guard, let her into my world.
“Is it your power?” His voice is tentative, not wanting to irritate me if I’m too close to the edge.
“Yes, I just need a distraction.” My voice comes out in an exhausted huff.
Kyros will be able to focus my energy on something productive. He’s always working on academic projects when not honing his healing powers. Either way, his work will be able to distract me. Allow my mind to focus on something else, anything else.
