All Hail the Shifter King
Title: Lords of Kensington, Part 20
Word Count: 1716
Warning: self-injury
“I must admit,” Atticus said as he poured a mug of tea, turned, and passed it to Katrina. “I’ve never met anybody who was actually angry at me for saving their life.”
“It’s not that I’m angry,” she said, gratefully accepting the steaming beverage and settling back in her chair. “It’s more like I’m frustrated.”
“With me.”
“Not really with you, just with the situation.” She managed a weak smile. “This wasn’t what I was expecting when I decided to visit my parents.”
“I can assure you, none of us ever expected Kaius,” he told her. “He’s been a continuous thorn in our side.” He tapped his fingers on his mug, watching her. “Is that why you wanted to talk to me? To know more about this situation?”
“You’re a mind reader, too, are you?” she asked with a wry smile. It made him chuckle - his smile, and his laughter, seemed almost alien on his still face.
“You’re a scientist. I expected vagaries wouldn’t keep you satisfied forever.” He tilted his leather chair back, the padded headrest tapping against the tall glass cabinet behind him, the spacious interior filled with mounted musical instruments - a cherry-red violin, a near-black cello, a pair of crossed, gleaming silver flutes. “Is this because you’re eager to get your hands dirty?”
“How do you mean?”
“Anya tells me that you’re fairly skillful when it comes to dispatching kin. Or, at least, your companion seems to think so.” He laced his hands together. “Why is that?”
“There was an incident in Rion Fell,” she said, trying to sound dismissive. “It was nothing.”
“I doubt that.” He fixed her in an unwavering stare. “Tell me. Please.”
She didn’t want to - in fact, she had no interest in sharing anything of herself with the arrogant sekai patriarch - but she found herself suddenly explaining that entire night, the panicked run through the night bazaar and the confrontation with Terren’s men, the terror of fleeing into the forest with Merrick at her heels. She stared at her hands as she spoke, imagining the blood and bits of rust-colored fur tangled in her fingers, the weight of that gold coin, his pleas for mercy.
Every word left her feeling more and more exposed, but rather than vulnerable she felt almost exhilarated. She’d never spoken of what happened that night to anybody - not to Ryder, not to Eli or Rebekah, and outside of her three friends there was nobody who would understand. In a way, the more she told Atticus the more it made those moments real, the garish and bold horrors she’d experienced that she’d, in turn, stifled, because her friends had been just as traumatized and in no mood to discuss it afterward.
Atticus watched her with a sympathetic intensity, analyzing her every word but not interrupting, not even to voice a quick agreement or a hum of consideration. That, too, was odd to her - she was so used to Eli’s tendency to change the topic to happier things, or Rebekah's multitasking, or Ryder’s constant indifference or, worse, his insistence that they were “just moments” and didn’t matter in the long run. How long had it been since someone had actually listened to her - and not just listened, but followed every word, studied every sentence?
When she finished speaking, nearly forty minutes later, she felt both exhausted and elated, giddy with finally giving voice to memories that had been unmentionable. Atticus gave her a respectful handful of silent minutes, watching her, before he finally said, “You’ve never spoken about this before.”
“That obvious?” she asked with a nervous laugh.
“That obvious.”
“It’s not something you can just tell people about,” she said, almost defensively. “Nobody that was there wanted to talk about what happened and the only real friend I had who would have understood…” She trailed off, her voice pinching in her throat. “We had a falling out,” she said finally.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and genuinely sounded like he was. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“You’re my psychiatrist now?” She made it sound teasing and entirely nonchalant - or thought she did, rather - but she couldn’t deny a tiny spark of hope at the thought.
“I would like to say that I’m more of a listening ear. Perhaps a friend?”
“I wasn’t aware you considered us friends,” she said, shocked - Atticus, however, winced as if she’d stung him. “You just… don’t seem the type to make friends with humans.”
“I was human, once, you know,” he said. “It’s not so foreign a concept to me.” He drained his mug of tea and set it down on the desk, neatly arranging it in the saucer. “I find you interesting, Miss Shan. I don’t believe I can be faulted that.” She watched him a moment, studying him, and then nodded slightly.
“For what it’s worth, I find you interesting, too,” she replied. “You seem… very different from most kin.” He tilted his head to one side, regarding her curiously.
“In what sense?” he asked.
“I guess because you do seem so human.”
It made him smile - not the fleeting grin that accompanied his occasional laughs but a wide, beautiful smile that was so honest it momentarily took her breath away. He’d been an attractive man before but something about his smile made him momentarily stunning.
“I’m glad to know it’s still not beyond me, then,” he said, sounding pleased, and leaned across the desk to take her empty mug. “Now,” he said, refilling it with the sweet berry tea. “Tell me about this friend who dared break your sweet mortal heart.”
***
The evening air was heavy with a wet chill and the promise of snow when Ryder slipped around the back of the house and walked the winding cobblestone path that twisted through the gardens. Even covered in snow the landscaping of the estate grounds was magnificent, with tiered gardens and reaching willows, tiny ponds ringed by ornate benches and low stone walls separating the gardens from what he could only guess were pastures. And like the estate, the gardens were aged and yet painfully perfect, the stone walls crumbling but not a single piece of loose stone jutting up from the snow, the outbuildings enveloped in the skeletons of creeping vines but each arm carefully tied back and contained in anticipation of the spring growing season. Having spent his entire life in the wilds, it amused him to see anybody trying to exert so much control over nature, even if they were succeeding for the time being.
Benjamin had explained on the drive over that Atticus had bought the estate almost one hundred years prior, and over time the local sekai who were closest to him, who had pledged themselves to him, came to live there as well. At any point there were up to twenty people living in the enormous house, which was designed to accommodate twice that, and when they were home they functioned much like a family - cooking together, playing games and spending time together, and generally living with the comfort and familiarity of people who had spent decades in each other's company. So naturally, it annoyed him after an hour.
The lights that ringed the long patio and the short trails to the gazebos didn't reach far into the property, and lit up a cigarette as he passed into the shadows, taking a deep breath of the cold air that made his lungs sting. He wouldn't be able to stay out for long, especially not without a jacket - he'd been so eager to leave that he'd just walked out with his long-sleeved t-shirt on - but anything that got him away from Mackenzie and Azrin chasing each other like giggling children through the hallways was better than nothing.
By the time he finished his cigarette the path had taken him to the pasture wall - he flicked the butt into the snow, braced a hand on the waist-high wall, and jumped over it. His boots crunched loudly on the snow as he landed and he paused a moment, listening and watching the treeline. The stillness was also unnerving - how did people live here, he wondered, without the sounds of nature around them? It felt like the world had simply died while he was indoors.
When he was certain nothing was lurking in the trees he slipped his gloves off and tossed them onto the wall, then hooked his necklace and pulled that off as well. The sharp ridges of the cracks in the coin's surface bit into his fingers as he set it down on the wall.
"You're looking a little rough," he said to it as he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. The small folding knife he pulled from his pocket felt pathetic in his hand - he rolled it in his fingers, staring down at his exposed forearm, then glanced at the coin again. "Let's see if you're actually good for something."
The blade was sharp, at least - it sank effortlessly into the tender skin beneath the crook of his elbow. He held it there a moment, and beside him the coin turned a rusty red as the snow around it began to hiss and melt, pouring off the wall and onto the ground at his feet. He watched it curiously as he dragged the knife slowly toward his wrist, opening a two inch, three inch, four inch trench in his skin, watching the blood well up and stream over the sides of his arm, pattering into the snow. The cracks in the coin's surface lit up like molten metal, a deep red-black that made the air ripple with searing heat, and with an ear-splitting snap like a gunshot the stone beneath the coin split down the middle - he took a step back as half of it tumbled to the ground, the coin sinking into the snow beside it.
He stared down at it, pulling the knife from his arm and folding it closed, blood dripping off his skin, and a wry smile touched his lips as he leaned over and picked up the necklace by the strap, dangling the pulsing, red-hot coin in front of his face.
"Alright," he said softly. "Now we're getting somewhere."
Word Count: 1716
Warning: self-injury
“I must admit,” Atticus said as he poured a mug of tea, turned, and passed it to Katrina. “I’ve never met anybody who was actually angry at me for saving their life.”
“It’s not that I’m angry,” she said, gratefully accepting the steaming beverage and settling back in her chair. “It’s more like I’m frustrated.”
“With me.”
“Not really with you, just with the situation.” She managed a weak smile. “This wasn’t what I was expecting when I decided to visit my parents.”
“I can assure you, none of us ever expected Kaius,” he told her. “He’s been a continuous thorn in our side.” He tapped his fingers on his mug, watching her. “Is that why you wanted to talk to me? To know more about this situation?”
“You’re a mind reader, too, are you?” she asked with a wry smile. It made him chuckle - his smile, and his laughter, seemed almost alien on his still face.
“You’re a scientist. I expected vagaries wouldn’t keep you satisfied forever.” He tilted his leather chair back, the padded headrest tapping against the tall glass cabinet behind him, the spacious interior filled with mounted musical instruments - a cherry-red violin, a near-black cello, a pair of crossed, gleaming silver flutes. “Is this because you’re eager to get your hands dirty?”
“How do you mean?”
“Anya tells me that you’re fairly skillful when it comes to dispatching kin. Or, at least, your companion seems to think so.” He laced his hands together. “Why is that?”
“There was an incident in Rion Fell,” she said, trying to sound dismissive. “It was nothing.”
“I doubt that.” He fixed her in an unwavering stare. “Tell me. Please.”
She didn’t want to - in fact, she had no interest in sharing anything of herself with the arrogant sekai patriarch - but she found herself suddenly explaining that entire night, the panicked run through the night bazaar and the confrontation with Terren’s men, the terror of fleeing into the forest with Merrick at her heels. She stared at her hands as she spoke, imagining the blood and bits of rust-colored fur tangled in her fingers, the weight of that gold coin, his pleas for mercy.
Every word left her feeling more and more exposed, but rather than vulnerable she felt almost exhilarated. She’d never spoken of what happened that night to anybody - not to Ryder, not to Eli or Rebekah, and outside of her three friends there was nobody who would understand. In a way, the more she told Atticus the more it made those moments real, the garish and bold horrors she’d experienced that she’d, in turn, stifled, because her friends had been just as traumatized and in no mood to discuss it afterward.
Atticus watched her with a sympathetic intensity, analyzing her every word but not interrupting, not even to voice a quick agreement or a hum of consideration. That, too, was odd to her - she was so used to Eli’s tendency to change the topic to happier things, or Rebekah's multitasking, or Ryder’s constant indifference or, worse, his insistence that they were “just moments” and didn’t matter in the long run. How long had it been since someone had actually listened to her - and not just listened, but followed every word, studied every sentence?
When she finished speaking, nearly forty minutes later, she felt both exhausted and elated, giddy with finally giving voice to memories that had been unmentionable. Atticus gave her a respectful handful of silent minutes, watching her, before he finally said, “You’ve never spoken about this before.”
“That obvious?” she asked with a nervous laugh.
“That obvious.”
“It’s not something you can just tell people about,” she said, almost defensively. “Nobody that was there wanted to talk about what happened and the only real friend I had who would have understood…” She trailed off, her voice pinching in her throat. “We had a falling out,” she said finally.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and genuinely sounded like he was. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“You’re my psychiatrist now?” She made it sound teasing and entirely nonchalant - or thought she did, rather - but she couldn’t deny a tiny spark of hope at the thought.
“I would like to say that I’m more of a listening ear. Perhaps a friend?”
“I wasn’t aware you considered us friends,” she said, shocked - Atticus, however, winced as if she’d stung him. “You just… don’t seem the type to make friends with humans.”
“I was human, once, you know,” he said. “It’s not so foreign a concept to me.” He drained his mug of tea and set it down on the desk, neatly arranging it in the saucer. “I find you interesting, Miss Shan. I don’t believe I can be faulted that.” She watched him a moment, studying him, and then nodded slightly.
“For what it’s worth, I find you interesting, too,” she replied. “You seem… very different from most kin.” He tilted his head to one side, regarding her curiously.
“In what sense?” he asked.
“I guess because you do seem so human.”
It made him smile - not the fleeting grin that accompanied his occasional laughs but a wide, beautiful smile that was so honest it momentarily took her breath away. He’d been an attractive man before but something about his smile made him momentarily stunning.
“I’m glad to know it’s still not beyond me, then,” he said, sounding pleased, and leaned across the desk to take her empty mug. “Now,” he said, refilling it with the sweet berry tea. “Tell me about this friend who dared break your sweet mortal heart.”
***
The evening air was heavy with a wet chill and the promise of snow when Ryder slipped around the back of the house and walked the winding cobblestone path that twisted through the gardens. Even covered in snow the landscaping of the estate grounds was magnificent, with tiered gardens and reaching willows, tiny ponds ringed by ornate benches and low stone walls separating the gardens from what he could only guess were pastures. And like the estate, the gardens were aged and yet painfully perfect, the stone walls crumbling but not a single piece of loose stone jutting up from the snow, the outbuildings enveloped in the skeletons of creeping vines but each arm carefully tied back and contained in anticipation of the spring growing season. Having spent his entire life in the wilds, it amused him to see anybody trying to exert so much control over nature, even if they were succeeding for the time being.
Benjamin had explained on the drive over that Atticus had bought the estate almost one hundred years prior, and over time the local sekai who were closest to him, who had pledged themselves to him, came to live there as well. At any point there were up to twenty people living in the enormous house, which was designed to accommodate twice that, and when they were home they functioned much like a family - cooking together, playing games and spending time together, and generally living with the comfort and familiarity of people who had spent decades in each other's company. So naturally, it annoyed him after an hour.
The lights that ringed the long patio and the short trails to the gazebos didn't reach far into the property, and lit up a cigarette as he passed into the shadows, taking a deep breath of the cold air that made his lungs sting. He wouldn't be able to stay out for long, especially not without a jacket - he'd been so eager to leave that he'd just walked out with his long-sleeved t-shirt on - but anything that got him away from Mackenzie and Azrin chasing each other like giggling children through the hallways was better than nothing.
By the time he finished his cigarette the path had taken him to the pasture wall - he flicked the butt into the snow, braced a hand on the waist-high wall, and jumped over it. His boots crunched loudly on the snow as he landed and he paused a moment, listening and watching the treeline. The stillness was also unnerving - how did people live here, he wondered, without the sounds of nature around them? It felt like the world had simply died while he was indoors.
When he was certain nothing was lurking in the trees he slipped his gloves off and tossed them onto the wall, then hooked his necklace and pulled that off as well. The sharp ridges of the cracks in the coin's surface bit into his fingers as he set it down on the wall.
"You're looking a little rough," he said to it as he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. The small folding knife he pulled from his pocket felt pathetic in his hand - he rolled it in his fingers, staring down at his exposed forearm, then glanced at the coin again. "Let's see if you're actually good for something."
The blade was sharp, at least - it sank effortlessly into the tender skin beneath the crook of his elbow. He held it there a moment, and beside him the coin turned a rusty red as the snow around it began to hiss and melt, pouring off the wall and onto the ground at his feet. He watched it curiously as he dragged the knife slowly toward his wrist, opening a two inch, three inch, four inch trench in his skin, watching the blood well up and stream over the sides of his arm, pattering into the snow. The cracks in the coin's surface lit up like molten metal, a deep red-black that made the air ripple with searing heat, and with an ear-splitting snap like a gunshot the stone beneath the coin split down the middle - he took a step back as half of it tumbled to the ground, the coin sinking into the snow beside it.
He stared down at it, pulling the knife from his arm and folding it closed, blood dripping off his skin, and a wry smile touched his lips as he leaned over and picked up the necklace by the strap, dangling the pulsing, red-hot coin in front of his face.
"Alright," he said softly. "Now we're getting somewhere."