Page 1 of Haunted Nightmares
1
Empty Fuck
SIX MONTHS LATER
Nearly fifteen hundred years on earth and not once have I entertained thoughts of leaving this wretched, floating sphere.
I’ve witnessed plagues and disease, seen entire species eradicated and gone extinct. The ebbing and flowing of the economies, cast systems and multiple periods of slavery have been enforced and abolished right before my eyes. I’ve seen kings and religious zealots inflict their power and beliefs, conquering entire nations to convert or kill those they wished to rule, political monsters stepping up to take their place as the world demanded change.
The countless wars, both great and small, I’ve watched play out with body counts higher than any man or immortal can fathom. So much bloodshed and hate, fear and tyranny; I’ve observed the worst sides of human nature come to fruition in each century that passed and whether it was from the shadows while mortals all but destroyed each other, or fromthe battlefield itself once we were thrust before prying eyes, I’ve never once wanted things to be different.
I eagerly participated in any way I could, wreaking havoc and causing mayhem, maiming and killing right along with those who initiated theircause. It wasn’t untilmycause became critical, when it became my sole focus, that my thought process changed, but I still didn’t hesitate to do whatever it took to get what I wanted.
Even as my family, my own flesh and blood ruined itself from the inside out, as my siblings were murdered, as my grandfather and cousin became casualties ofthe greater good,I never once questioned what we were doing. I never questioned whatIwas doing. Nor did I when I murdered my father, tearing his head from his body, my fingers happily ripping that vile bulb from its rotten stem, then silently praying for my mother’s death while chaos rained down around me.
Nothing had me questioning my motives, how I was carrying things out, or if my end game was worth every ounce of pain and suffering I’d caused or bore witness to; I never wondered if I should keep going or give up completely.
Not until I was searching for the remains—anyremains—of my mate.
My fated mate, who unwillingly became both a pawn and a victim of the cold blooded creature I am, the callous and cruel being I embraced over the last nearly fifteen hundred years.
I thought I was impervious to any and all emotion, a sociopath to the highest level until she came into my life, and I should have known—bloody hell, Ididknow—what that meant for both of us.
It meant I would fail her, I would lose her and for the first time in my entire life, I would hate the day I was born more than the vile bitch who brought me into the world I so desperately wish to now leave.
My willful denial and selfish desires, my ignorance driven by arrogance, the cause I blindly believed in and my blatant disregard for life, in general, cost me everything.
They cost me the greatest gift I was ever given, and my precious mate paid the price tenfold.
Zephyr.
Her beautiful name echoes in every cursed beat of my shriveled heart, her sweet voice resounds in my head with every racing thought, her gorgeous face flashes through my mind with each and every undeserving breath that fills my lungs.
Her brutal and unwarranted death is a haunted memory whenever I close my eyes.
I spent well over fourteen hundred years believing I was meant to be alone, not knowing my perfect match existed and was waiting for me. Our relationship and mating were merely seconds in the grand scheme of things, but that was all it took, a simple few seconds for these past six months to become the most horrible and desolate part of my miserable existence.
Every hour of every day is spent mourning her, pining for her, and cursing the Gods of Old for pairing my precious mate with the likes of me.
My days are filled with aimless wandering within the walls of my house, thoughts focused on finding a way to end my life so I may join my gentle breeze in whatever awaits after death, knowing damn well my black-as-soot soul could never end up in the same place her good and pure one did. Knowing my death in hopes of joining her would be an act of betrayal almost as severe as her senseless murder, but they are my obsessive and unrelenting thoughts nonetheless.
At night, it’s much the same.
The scenarios and scenes that plague my mind, the waking nightmare that I can’t—and shouldn’t—escape running wild onmy tattered heart, the only difference how I cope when the sun sets.
Or, how Iattemptto cope.
There is no accepting, no dealing or surviving this type of grief.
There is no possible way of mourning the loss of your fated one, the destruction of everything good and pure in your life, the death of the very heart and soul of you.
You do not adapt, do not cope.
You do not heal or recover.
One simplycontinues.
To exist.
