33 - It's her?

**Ravok**

My eyes were fixed on the ceiling, my hands folded under my head, and my legs crossed. It's been a month, and I still haven't felt the pull from the mate bond.

“Where are you?” I thought out loud.

Could I have mistaken it? Nah! It had been there when I first arrived—familiar and undeniable. My heart had raced, a feeling I hadn’t experienced in years. Fate, in its twisted sense of humor, seemed to be giving me a second chance. But now, the pull had vanished, leaving an eerie void in its wake.

I clenched my jaw as Zorya’s—my first mate—face flashed unbidden in my mind. Unlike other times, her face was filled with life. It was actually another colour from blue. 

She was perfect for me, in every way. Mischievous and sexy, just the way I liked my women, and with the heart of a kind demon. As I always told her, “if there was any such thing.”

Saying I missed her was an understatement. I craved her everyday, and I had nightmares that haunted me. Every time I saw another person grow a family with their fates, it reminded me of what I'd lost, and overtime, I became a bitter man. 

I hated being bitter. Because she hated it.

My thoughts went to the first time I saw her, and felt the mate mate pull. We both looked at each other at the same time. The slow and seductive curve of her lips when she took me in filled my mind’s eye, and before I could stop it, her face turned sad, and slowly started to lose colour.

I tried to push the memory aside, to focus on anything else, but the image came rushing back. Her cold, lifeless features when I found her haunted me, like a ghost refusing to be laid to rest.

Her death was my curse, and as cliche as it sounded, it felt like my second chance mate was my cure.

I hadn't thought of her, or had the dreams that usually robbed me of sleep since I felt the pull from around the mountain. It was faint. But I was sure I felt it.

I was beginning to forget her. I felt pathetic as I remembered the promise I made to her when I laid her to rest. 

I will avenge you, My love. Even if it's the last thing I do. He may be stronger than me, but there's nobody stronger than a determined and grieving mate.

But now I left the promise I heartily made simply because I felt a whisper of joy again. The guilt ate me up from the inside, slow and painful.

How could I even consider another mate when I had failed her so completely? The pull of this new bond made me feel like a traitor. How dare I think of another when I hadn’t avenged her death?

The room felt stifling. I couldn’t stay here, drowning in my thoughts. I threw on a top and stormed out, heading toward the training grounds. The cool evening air blew at my face, causing my hair to blow back a little. I was beginning to rethink not putting my hair in a man bun.

The wind was a little strong today. It bit at my skin, but it did little to soothe the tempest within me.

The dummies stood in neat rows, still, as if they were awaiting punishment. 

Grabbing one of the wooden swords from the rack, I squared my shoulders and launched into a series of strikes, each one harder than the last. 

That didn't really do it for me, so I dropped the sword. It felt to the sound with a clatter, and I kicked it aside as I assumed position. The sound of my fists connecting with the wooden frame echoed in the empty space, a rhythm of anger and despair.

I hated these training grounds.

They held too many memories—her laughter as she dodged my strikes, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief when she landed a blow. It was my second favourite thing to see apart from the whole of her. 

Then we would collapse on the ground afterward, breathless and grinning like fools.

Now, those memories were like shards of glass, cutting deeper with each passing moment.

“I love you, silly.” Her voice filled my head, but the only thing I could see was her lifeless body on the ground, in the pool of her own blood. Her eyes were gouged out. 

I was too late. 

She needed me, and I wasn't there.

I struck the dummy again, hard enough to hear the wood crack. My breathing was ragged, my fists aching, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

This was supposed to be a mission of vengeance. But here I was, training the cure Drakar’s curse, and looking for Zorya’s replacement instead of plotting the destruction of the one who took her from me.

I was torn between the thought of feeling true love again, and staying devoted to her. To her, and my child that was growing inside of her.

I growled, frustration boiling over, and drove my fist into the dummy’s head. The wooden piece shattered, falling to the ground with a dull thud.

And then I felt it—the pull.

It wasn’t strong, but it was there, tugging at my very soul. My heart raced, and I turned, scanning the training grounds.

“Woah... Are you okay? What the heck!?”

Her voice cut through the silence, light and incredulous.

I froze, my body stiffening as I turned toward the source.

Lysandra stood there, her arms crossed, her hair blowing as the wind swirled around us. Her expression was a mix of concern and amusement as she glanced between me and the ruined dummy.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. The pull I’d felt earlier surged to life, stronger than before. 

It was her? She was my mate? What the fuck!?

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. My chest tightened, a confusing mix of emotions crashing over me.

Lysandra tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “Are you going to say something, or should I assume the dummy offended you in some unspeakable way?”