Chapter 15: Road To Oblivion
Alpha Darren's Pov
The morning felt cold and harsh even with the heat of the sun. The atmosphere generic even though filled with warmth. The clouds in the sky appearing grey even with their clearly visible white. As Alpha Darren now only saw everything before him with a deepening bleak myopia…
His heart was troubled and his mind unsteady. He felt ashamed within himself even though proud he had saved his pack. He had protected his people from slaughter. He had helped them survive the ambush Alpha Marcus had brought down upon their unsuspecting heads.
Yet his mind was unerved at how he had done it…
By being a coward too afraid to face the threat head on, and sacrificing a woman that was innocent—Even though he never loved her, irrespective of the fact he never cared for her—he still felt embarrassed that he had done so.
His mind was now unable to be at rest. Yet he couldn't do anything about it. It was already too late. To him, Freya was surely already dead—most likely killed and thrown in a pile of bodies…
As Alpha Darren knew too well of the sick games his counterpart Marcus loved to play with those who were beneath him as slaves.
He sighed now as he sat alone in his chambers. Sheila beside him on the bed sleeping peacefully after a night of romp in celebration of driving out the invaders. Herself not concerned at all about the method used, or the evil sacrifice that had been made.
He ran his hands across his face, feeling mentally dented. Now ashamed of still having the balls to go ahead and have a night with the same strange woman—who simply coveted the title of his destined mate. After casting his pearl to the swine.
He felt downtrodden and hurt inside. Even though his pride and ego kept acknowledging his actions as noble and kingly. He felt despondent, even though his mind massaged his hubris and Sheila had praised him for his decision. The Elders too had told him to overlook the parley he made. And to not worry about the consequences, as what he did brought nothing but peace.
They reminded him how many people were saved after he gave up his Luna. How many women and children were released from their slave carriages the moment they took Freya away from him. That they had dropped every other thing they had upsurged as they had gotten her, and spared every life that could've been grievingly taken.
‘But why’ Darren thought.
Why would they suddenly free all of the captives? Hundreds and hundreds of people that could've been trained as slaves and soldiers to add to any army? For just one person?
‘Who is she?’ he frowned to himself. ‘And why was she so important?’...
A question he didn't have the answer to, but still sought to find. The thought that had been boggling him and prevented his sleep. The contemplation that had worried his consciousness and had made him hop out of bed hours ago, darting frantically around his room with hands behind his back, thinking…
He knew she was his destined mate but he had rejected her. And now guilt washed over him, in the form of a voice ringing in his ears, telling him he had made a foolish decision. And a decision that stood irreparable.
He groaned out of his chair now and got up annoyed. Frustrated and pissed at himself. He walked past a full length mirror and paused, despising his reflection in it. Then pushed on past the master bedroom, and into his office space.
His hair was rough and he didn't care to settle it. His eyes were tired and soggy but he didn't care to rub them or run a splash of water over them. He simply trudged through one room and into the other, his feet filled with pins and needles even though sitting shakily in flip flops. His body covered in a bath robe even though he hadn't showered since the sun rose.
He walked over to his table, slumping inside his chair, and his hands pushed over a pile of pinned papers and other formal paraphernalia. He picked up a photo of himself and Sheila that sat at the head of the table and grimaced at it. Then sent it flying to the nearest wall, cracking the frame in a million pieces.
There was an open window that sat in a forlorn corner. And the curtains draped beside it were unruched; leaving it bending and swaying in the slow wind that jostled outside. Moving in tandem with Darren's suddenly slow spirit.
He laid back in his chair with his brows furrowed. His face holding a stern look of unreadable pending emotions. He sat like a drunk, but felt like a fool. His hands by his side on the chairs arm rests, reminding him of his throne that sat higher up in the castle, and directly above his head.
But it's frame wielding a deeper sense of humility…
His heart sat beside him heavy with an intangible weight, and his fingers stayed finicky and restless as they tapped and drummed on the surface of his thoughts.
His mind had suddenly become a vehicle…
And one that drove him insane…
He was in his feelings. And for the first time he didn't understand them. As he couldn't put them out and clear before him and define precisely his current state.
He was alone and sought counsel, but from whom? He was confused and sought clarity, but through which fog? He was in a storm and sought safe passing, but wondered how he could ever, in a boat halfway capsizing?
His head fell back on his seat and he released a stressful sigh. He ran his hands across his face again, but now rubbing his eyes. Yawning and scratching his head.
He was tired but even moreso, lost…
As his mind was a vehicle…
And now it was driving down the road to oblivion.