His Forsaken Luna-Chapter 150: Deyanira (2)

Deyanira’s hand squeezed more, cutting off my air supply completely. Her face hardened more, those red lips turned down as rage and fear transpired in those bottomless pits of eyes. Fear?!

Then the world blurred around us; the icy wind tore my clothes as the earth grew closer at rapid speed, and branches started to whip past my face, leaving cuts across my cheeks, one just under my eye. None of them touched Deyanira like an invisible shield bounced them right off. She threw me into a tree, the air knocking out of my lungs as my back slammed into the tree trunk.

My body slid to the ground. My pain ricochetted through the bond, and a ferocious howl erupted in the distance.

’Where are you?’ Eryx demanded. His voice was quieter as if the distance was pulling it away.

I stared around, dazed, still trying to catch my breath and push past the pain radiating down my spine. My wolf’s eyes gleamed back at Deyanira, who landed gracefully across from me, sauntering across the clearing with ease and studying her sharp nails before resting those venomous eyes on me.

’Forest... Close to palace...’ My voice wheezed back even in the mind link.

I felt a growl and a warm slither down the bond, going to my back where the pain was sharpest. I could feel his determination and movement to get to me urgently.

"You want to know something?" Deyanira sighed dramatically as she flicked her hair out of her face from the wind whooshing across the clearing.

I was still panting. My wolf growled back in response, but she didn’t come forth to attack the witch. I could feel her focus elsewhere.

"What...?" I breathed hard, glaring at her.

Deyanira stopped before me, her heel pressing on my boot. "This all started because of your ancestors," she scoffed. "They couldn’t accept their fate under the faes’ rule. Then, they became greedy. You share some of her looks—Queen Frida."

Queen Frida? That was centuries ago! How old is Deyanira? I look her over. Deyanira looked immaculate, older in terms of a woman in two and forty at least, but she was always so disgustingly beautiful. A dark rose with thorns. Now I wonder if this was what she truly looked like.

Deyanira looked down her nose at me, her fingers gripping my cheeks, nails digging in again as her gaze took me in. "She couldn’t handle that I was his mate. I was... Her husband’s mate," she continued, her lips twisting.

My breath halted at her words. What?

"When I was cast aside... I declared my vengeance on her children, her children’s children... until fate weaves her web and has other ideas.." Deyanira mused. "They will never find peace, I told her."

"You did... all of this over some... petty revenge?" I hiss. "You did all of that," a growl enters my voice as I lean towards her, eyes glimmering brightly. "To my mother, my father and brother because of an unfortunate mateship centuries ago?"

Deyanira chuckled, her lips tugging up in delighted humour. "Oh no, my silly little Idalia. I butchered Frida and then let my mate live with the agony of losing his wife." She rolled her eyes and chuckled again. There was no spark or emotion in those eyes as she spoke about murdering my ancestor.

It made my stomach coil and my body grow cold. Deyanira was the assassin in the history books. Queen Frida died because she was this witch’s mate’s wife. I don’t know how it would feel to be in that position but I don’t think I’m capable of such a horrific act.

"So why declare-"

"Because they decided to wipe out the witches. " Deyanira interrupted. "They knew how powerful I was-"

"Not powerful enough to save your own kind, though, huh?" I retorted, unable to stop myself, then grimaced as her nails pierced my cheeks again. But the sharp pain in my back reduced as I felt something click back into place.

Breathing was bearable now. I spat some blood to the side. My strength was returning, and a dull throbbing started to pound in the back of my head.

"You still didn’t tell me. Why did you take Alaric in as your son?" I growled. "You made my life a misery because I look like Frida?"

I’ve seen some old portraits of Frida. We looked nothing alike. Perhaps it was the similar colour eyes? But all the royals of Ice and Claws had striking blue eyes. Mine more so clear than even Alaric’s.

Deyanira tutted and leaned back, looking me over like I was still nothing more than dirt. "No. A weak little thing like you was prophesied to be my downfall." She laughed, tilting her head back and wiping a tear from her eye. "You?"

If I wasn’t so offended, I’d laugh with her. Not.

"I can see the Gods and Fate were wrong... But then... you just wouldn’t die. No matter what. Then... you found your mate. That vile, barbaric-"

My hand shot out before I could stop it. My eyes flashed brightly, and a growl ripped from my lips as I glared at her. "Say what you want about me. Don’t ever insult my mate." My claws ripped through her windpipe then.

Deyanira gurgled, eyes wide as my hands continued to close. Her wrist flicked, and I was thrown into another tree. I pushed up from the ground, coughing, my hair over one side messily as I glared at Deyanira. The witch stood tall, holding her throat and laughing.

She let the blood drip to the ground and muttered something, an enchantment. Runes appeared around her in the ground, her blood spreading into the runes from where it dripped from her neck. A rush of power rippled through the clearing, and her hand pulled away. The wound was sealed up, completely gone, like I had never even touched her.

The bloody runes sizzled, and black smoke rose from the ground, the blood drying into charcoal.

Deyanira chuckled. "You have to do a lot better than that, my dear." She looked me over again as I stumbled to my feet. "Pathetic little princess. You are not my downfall."