Page 103 of Plug and Drain

It was rather similar to how Susie’s rejection had taken him. He grappled to identify the exact emotion. It felt like a great loss, and it stung of disappointment.

His pulse quickened and staying still suddenly felt unbearable as the urge to be far from this room hit him.

Susie’s pack had witnessed when she rejected him, but he was not embarrassed. Rather, he was regretful and ashamed…

Of so many things.

There were countless opportunities that had preceded today where he could have acted differently…which might have caused Susie to look upon him differently. His heart clenched as he remembered the look of pity on her face as she regarded him with gentle, green-flecked eyes.

Lightning awakened Arken, and he startled into motion, grabbing the desks for support as he lurched down the aisle and exited the classroom. He half-ran down the corridor, knowing running was no use as horror bubbled up to the surface. When he reached an archway leading to a larger hall, he seized the vertical supports, his breathing fast and shallow as his tight lungs strained for air.

It took several moments longer than it should have to compose himself. To bottle the emotions and store them away so they were not apparent in his every step.

He was in danger.

But he was not here.

Somewhere else, another place, another time.

Red torchlight flashed in his vision, shrouded by darkness.

So much darkness.

And the feeling of complete helplessness, which opened like a void in his chest, hungrily trying to draw him in. Sweet, happy memories of his family and loved ones lying in crumpled tatters in his mind. The dark memory swallowed them up.

He could taste it. Smell it.

Metallic, like blood. He was in Wintermaw Keep, a place that had taught him to fear the scent of blood just as much as he craved it.

Death. Torture.

Henrikk had given him a second chance. Arken had felt pleasure, and it was abhorrent, but he’d reached completion anyway.

He felt the cold uneven press of a flagstone floor as he lay on his back, staring up at a curtain of long dark hair.

His ragged panting. The living nightmare of what he was doing to Clara.

Endless hopelessness as the pleasure of his orgasm faded. Pleasure, regret. Pleasure, regret. An unlikely combination that left him retching in the aftermath.

The full reality of his sins sunk into his soul as his seed bled into her.

It wasn’t his fault, but it was. It was.

The smell of vomit as he tried to comprehend what he’d done.

The echo of Henrikk’s self-assured laughter from the direction of the throne.

Arken jerked his head to the side, trying to push the memories back, but he only succeeded in gliding over them, landing on one several days later.

He was perched on the roof of a castle turret, staring down at the ground far, far below. The ruffle of wind in his hair as he steeled himself for the fall. It was not courage that he’d needed in order to jump. He’d simply needed to be completely sure that there was nothing left to ground him in this world.

To this day, Arken was unsure if he would have jumped.

Nathaniel had stopped him. “I need you alive.”

Arken hadn’t wanted to live. But…

Finally…