Chapter 28 SIX YEARS LATER

Chapter 28 SIX YEARS LATER
GALLAHAN’S POV
Willa looked the same, and yet she didn’t.
Her eyes stared blankly at me, and somehow, despite my fading memory of her, I knew I got the wrong shade of green.
The woman I painted looked just like her, and yet I was certain it wasn’t her. She wasn’t the Willa I had met all those years ago.
Or was she?
I couldn’t be too sure anymore. My memory of Willa was slowly slipping into the farthest, darkest and unreachable crevice of my mind. And much to my growing frustration, it was getting worse with every day that flowed by.
It started more or less five years ago, and I had simply brushed it off. But if I had known it would get this bad, I would’ve asked Zuleika or Maliya to preserve each and every frame of my memory of Willa. From the moment I first laid eyes on her in the Ferndell Forest, and up until the last moment I had with her on my bed before she ran away. 
Now, I couldn’t even remember the right shade of green in her eyes. Was it pale? Was it deep and luscious? Or was it vibrant and clear? All I knew now was how enchanting that particular shade of green was.
“Fuck… 
Infuriated beyond belief, I threw the wooden palette in my hand, and the impact as it hit the flagstone flooring reduced it to cracked pieces and splinters.
“Get yourself together, Gallahan.”
The familiar voice of Dad had me correcting my posture in an instant. I drew an even breath before daring to turn around and face him.
“Dad.”
“How was your search? I have heard you have changed tactics.”
“Yes. We have scourged every inch of the continent, and yet, there isn’t a single lead. Not even the Alfieros had slipped a sliver of a clue about where she is. They are acting as if…”
My throat grew tight, and I had to clear my throat before I could continue to say, “It’s as if… It’s as if she doesn’t exist anymore. But with my fading memory of her and the fact that she is untraceable, both Zuleika and Maliya believe a strong Know-Me-Not spell was used to hide her. And that is on top of the possible protective spells to ward off unwanted guests.”
Dad hummed, finally walking into the room that I had transformed into a painting studio four years ago, when I decided to start learning how to paint.
His eyes, bluish gray like mine, swept all over the multiple portraits of Willa that were scattered here and there. Some, those I was quite unsure of, were on the floor, leaning against the wall. There were others that were carelessly left as a disorganized heap on the long table. There were a few unfinished ones left on my spare easels. A few paintings, the ones I personally liked, were hung neatly and high on the walls.
He hummed in appreciation at a particular piece, where Willa was eating a pint of ice cream on the bed. Her hair was slightly messy, and the sheets mirrored the same state. And yet, there was something homey and warm about the image.
“The affection bleeds through the stroke of this painting, son.”
I made a noncommittal grunt, crouching down to pick up the broken pieces of my palette.
“So what are your plans now? I heard from Zuleika that you need my assistance.”
I nodded. “I need the whole list of Ascension Rites scheduled for this year. I need all the details you could provide me. Time, place, the participants… Everything.”
For a long, tense moment, Dad didn’t say anything. I didn’t either, opting to wait for him to react.
I got back on my feet and disposed of my unusable palette in the bin. Then I puttered around my studio, letting the silence hang and stretch thickly between me and Dad.
It was only after I had finished cleaning my paint brushes that Dad finally found his voice.
“You believe you have a pup with her?”
My eyes fluttered close as I took a long inhale. It was only when I finished letting out a loud exhalation that I opened them again. My hands picked up one of my palette knives and began cleaning the flat surface with more fervor than necessary.
“I do, and I have my reasons,” I finally answered.
“Han.”
My father’s voice had taken on a steely tone, and I could feel the intensity of his unhappy gaze on my back. 
“Han, this has to stop at some point.”
“Dad, please. Just drop it.”
“It isn’t healthy. Six years have gone by.”
“I know, Dad.”
At that moment, I had half a mind to wonder how many times I'd had the same conversation with him over the last few years.
“Then give up, son. Sometimes, perseverance to continue is not the bravest thing a man can do. Sometimes, it is the most foolish.”
I dropped my palette knife, letting it clang on the table. “Will you stop, then? If Mom is still alive, and she goes missing, would you dare give up the search?”
Dad sounded equally tired and angry as he rebuked me, saying, “Do not bring your mother into this, Han.”
I deigned to finally look at him as I replied, “Just answer me, Dad.”
For a short while, I believed we were in a stalemate. But he pressed two fingers to his temple, as if he was having a headache over our conversation, and murmured, “That is different, and you know it.”
Petulant and utterly stubborn, I said, “No, I don’t.”
“You are being obtuse and ridiculously difficult. But fine!” Dad exclaimed, lifting his arms in defeat before harshly dropping them back to his sides. “You want to hear it? Then let me tell you the biggest difference between your mother and your darling fated mate. Your Mom would’ve wanted to be found. Your Willa clearly doesn’t.”
The answer stung me more than I would ever admit. Words hadn’t cut me this deeply in a long while, but maybe this was the slap I needed to wake me up from the foolish yearning I had allowed myself to drown in.
But Mom would’ve wanted me to continue. I knew she would’ve. Because it was her who told me stories of fated mates and how beautiful they were. Because it was her who promised that somehow, someway, someday, I would find mine, because I was worthy of one.
So was I not worthy of it?
Fucking hell.
Here I was, a fucking twenty-eight-year-old man, pathetically having a crisis over my own self-worth. Fucking great. Maybe Dad really had a point.
“Fuck,” I whispered, resting a hand on the table and leaning my weight heavily on it.
The agony that was wreaking havoc in my chest must have been apparent on my face, because suddenly, Dad was beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Alright. Here is a compromise. I will give you what you have asked, but promise me that once you are through attending every Ascension Rite in search of your fated mate and a sire that might not even exist, you will finally cease this madness. Promise me, Han.”
When I didn’t respond, his grip on my shoulder tightened even more. “Promise me.”
I swallowed thickly and rasped out, “Fine. I promise.”
A satisfied look graced Dad’s face as he freed me from his grip. “Good. Now, blow off some steam. Some of your devoted members of your army have brought in some creature hunters who had poached a couple of defenseless munchkins.”
The need to hurt, so I could forget my own pain roared to life, and I was suddenly brimming with energy and life.
Great. Perfect, even.
This was just what I needed.
“Where are they?”
“Dungeons,” Dad answered simply.
I grinned.
“Knock yourself out.”
“Oh, I will.”
But as I said so, I was fighting hard with my imagination, which was traitorously coming up with images of a red-haired woman with green eyes, looking at me with disappointment.