CHAPTER 437: THE PATH TO WAITING

DAEMON’S POV

Even though the war lasted only for hours, the shadows it cast lasted for a much longer time, and dealing with them kept Daemon busy which was supposed to be good for forgetting a certain silver-white haired woman.

But it wasn’t really. And the earlier he realized that there was never going to be a second of the day when he didn’t think about her in one way or the other, the better it would be for him.

At the very least, he was thankful for the pile of work he had. While they weren’t enough to make him forget her, they were still enormous enough to push thoughts of her to the rear.

So he turned to a work slave. Persuing through documents upon documents hour after hour. Giving orders of who to execute and who to not nonstop, and then when the thick of night dawned and silence wanted to grip him and hold him hostage, he would visit his underground prim soon and face his two new favourite playthings. Rowan and his Master.

For every time he missed Zina, they felt a commensurate pain. And for every time he longed for her presence, they felt the poison of his claws, digging into their flesh and he ripped them one by one and piece. Just enough for them to bleed out and wish for death yet never quite reach the river that would take them across the underworld. Although it was quite unfortunate that Master didn’t have so much flesh for him to toy with simce he was less than half-man frankly speaking.

So Daemon had to get really creative. It would be nothing short of partiality to have Master suffer less than Rowan did. When it came to meting justice after all, he could be considered an expert in the art himself.

As the darkness of night descended, his mask would slip, revealing the depths of his torment. His obsession with Zina consumed him, and the torture he inflicted upon Rowan and his Master became an outlet for his frustration. The screams that echoed through the underground prison were a grim reminder of the horrors that he was in fact capable of. That beneath the man that paraded himself as a king was a monster finally unleashed against the world.

With each passing day, his determination to unite the North grew stronger. He began to secretly gather his most trusted allies, whispering words of rebellion in their ears and fueling their ambition. He was going to destroy the alliance of the Five High Ranking Packs that remained, and he would have so much fun doing so.

The other regional Alphas, oblivious to the threat that was unfolding, continued to squabble among themselves, unaware of the storm that was brewing.

His plan was took a most righteous shape, and he reveled in the chaos that would soon ensue. The North would be the NorthSteed’a alone, United as one pack, and those who dared to stand in his way would suffer the same fate as Rowan and his Master. Only with the United Northern Pack, his vision for the next five years, would they be able to withstand whatever sort of monstrosity that might rise in the future again.

This round had thought him a bitter lesson. Most of the regional Alphas were late in dispatching their Epsilons, an act that would have been disastrous if the war really pushed on. Which was why he made the hard decision; if he was going to lead them after all, as Alpha King, then he would get better at his job.

It was not going to be an easy path. But it was one which he was determined to take. For himself, for Zina, and for the North.

So he did have a lot occupying him. Just the notion of uniting the North under one pack was enough to keep him awake for hundreds of nights to come, yet as each night wore on, the silence was broken only by the sound of dripping water and the soft whimpering of his prisoners.

His thoughts would occasionally drift back to Zina, and the familiar ache in his chest returned. He gritted his teeth, pushing the memories away, and focused on the task at hand. The game of power was about to begin, and he was more than ready to make his move. He had a nation to build; he could not waste that time pining over a woman who was mourning her mother. That would be disappointing Zina more than anything.

Yaren, Marcus, Zelkov, Cassian and Fionna bore almost the same brunt as he did. They toiled late nights as well, exchanging not more than a few words with him because at that point, it had become rather popular opinion that he was in a perpetual dark mood.

But one of those night, Yaren stayed back. Something the other man never did. In fact, the both of them were yet to have a proper discussion.

"You must miss her terribly," Yaren commented after standing hours in his office without saying a word as though he was afraid to break the silence, "the way you have been ever since you came back, I have never seen you like this."

The corners of his lips twisted into a dispassionate smile. "I do miss her. Makes me wonder what I would have been like if she really died."

Yaren nodded. "You’re right. For that, I am grateful she is still alive, brother. If anything happened to her, and something happened to you, something might have happened to me as well."

He chuckled, making a show of looking through a document, even though in reality, he was not really making sense of the words that jumbled up together like a hot mess.

"I am beginning to find the affection you have for me problematic, brother. I will find you a wife if you don’t find one for yourself."

Yaren stood straighter like an a soldier about to charge into battle. "I will always serve you." He gritted, "It’s my job and duty."

Daemon looked him over. On a second note, this brother of his barely looked at women. And if he kept trudging him along like this, he might never marry. He appreciated Yaren’s loyalty more than anything, he was a brother really rare to have, but if he intended to have more ’Yarens’ down the line, then he would have to marry for the law of procreation to do the rest.

He tsked, shaking his head slowly. "I guess I must really find you that wife then."