Unwanted Mate Of The Lycan Kings (by jessica hall) novel Chapter 117

~Regan~

The fury that consumes me is a storm unleashed within the confined space of my once meticulously maintained bedroom. My hands become vessels of rage, hurling an ornate crystal decanter against the wall, the sound of shattering glass is as clashing as my emotions.

Zirah is gone.

She left me, and went with my brother Zeke, no less. It's an unfathomable amount of emotion; she left with the one that hurt her most, knowing this gnaws at my heart like a ravenous beast. She’d rather be with a man who tortured her than be with one that would kill for her.

Caught up in the whirlwind of my anger, I don't notice the door opening. Glancing up, it's my uncle. James appears like a ghost in the midst of my torment, as he usually does, but we've never really got along. He is harmless, just likes to add his two cents worth, and is over-opinionated when it comes to my affairs.

As he surveys the destruction. His face is blank, and emotionless, his eyes are dull, his brow heavy, and his jaw clenched. He steps into the room, turning toward my direction when he doesn't find me, his lips part, slighting this side of the room is even destroyed worse than that of the rest of the room. His gaze scans the wreckage of my room, before they land on me, slumped on the floor, a half-empty bottle of aged whiskey clenched in my shaking hand. His voice is a calm contrast to the turmoil raging within me.

He watches me, a look of reproach on his face, I should be ashamed of myself, yet I'm not. I'm too hurt, too angry to care. He stops in front of me, his feet crunching in the shattered glass. He sits on the edge of my bed, clad in a simple white shirt, a faded brown cardigan, and a pair of black trousers. Dark brown hair graying at the temples, under his eyes are lines, the exhaustion of a life lived, and the stress of the recent events shows on his face.

My Uncle utters a deep sigh, before his brows furrow, and he takes in my appearance. "Are you over your tantrum?" He asks, his words dangling in the room like bait, my eyes lift, and I glare up at him. I respond the only way I know how right now, the guttural growl rumbling from deep within my chest as I fight to stay in this form. My fingers grip the glass tightly as I take another swig.

"She hates me?" My words come out as a statement, not a question.

The deep pain that lies beneath it all scorches my fragile heart, like a hot iron to my chest. Yet I can also feel it. Death. It's coming, that burning sensation, the only thing keeping me from focusing on the decaying feeling of death that stems from her rejection.

James starts to speak, but my anger rears its ugly head again. "Don't! This is your fault," I accuse, my words a jagged knife. "You were the one who suggested she go to each of our kingdoms. She rejected me because of you!" The words hang heavily in the room, a tangible personification of my rage. Uncle James says nothing, but he didn't have to. I could see the guilt in his eyes.

The tense atmosphere in the room shifts, an unsettling quietness settling between us. He slowly rises from my bed, his gaze locked on mine as he steps closer towards me. "You are angry," he begins softly, despite the soft tone of his voice it does nothing to soothe the rage inside me. "You must remember you are not the only one cursed, so is she.” His hand lightly rests upon my shoulder, a gesture of comfort combined with understanding. "She has to choose not who she loves, but who can be redeemed, think about that, Regan. What would be the consequence of choosing wrong?"

I take a deep breath, leaning my head back against the wall before responding, trying to contain my anger as best as possible while still voicing my anger at him. "I know," I mutter quietly, releasing a heavy sigh afterward as I tip the bottle to my lips again.

"Do you, though?" He asks quietly, and I growl. "Well, I am assuming if we die for our sins, she dies for her choices too," I snarl angrily. "But it still hurts," I whisper, almost heavy-hearted. Tears brim in my eyes, I haven't cried this much since watching my mother die, yet here they are once again threatening to spill over if I allow them too.

James nods knowingly before withdrawing his hand from my shoulder and stepping away from me. We both sit in silence for what feels like hours before he finally speaks again, this time his words are coated in understanding even though they might have seemed harsh on the surface.

"What's done is done, no point dwelling on it, you have only a couple of days to redeem yourself, so there is no point moping about it," he tells me.

His words bring a flood of emotions—anger, hurt, betrayal and loneliness—all washing over me like an intense wave of sadness that threatens to consume me whole.