Csat up, his nightmare having dragged him from sleep. He couldn’t get the image of blood-soaked hands out of his head. His nightmares were becoming more vivid, and each emotion stayed long after he woke.
“Seraphim,“ he muttered as he threw back the duvet and stood. He raked a hand through his hair, crossed the room, and poured himself a bourbon from the wet bar. He eyed the wine bottles in the mini wine fridge, and his insides soured. The word poison echoed in his mind, and without thinking, he pulled the fridge out of its cubby and placed it in the hallway.
This happened sometimes after his nightmares. Something that never bothered him before made him uncomfortable for no reason, and he was unable to be in its presence. Releasing a frustrated breath, he padded to the bathroom and splashed water on his face.
He knew they were only dreams, but the anxiety, and sometimes fear, he felt was real. This time it was an all-consuming rage he couldn’t shake, and he wanted nothing more than to shatter everything in sight.
But the worst part of his nightmares was the feeling of suffocation; the same suffocation he experienced when in the presence of a black soul.
Flashbacks to his childhood made his hands tremble, and he gripped the sides of the sink until his knuckles turned white. As a child, he was sensitive to black souls, more so than some Fey. No Royal other than the Scales of Justice could see or sense souls, but for some reason, he could. Especially the soul of his sibling, whose secret he kept, never wanting to out them to their parents.
Royals weren’t supposed to have black souls, and he used to think he was crazy. He wasn’t, and not telling his mother was a weight he would carry for the rest of his long, miserable life.
Gazing at his reflection, he huffed out a laugh. If only people knew the evil Umbra King was shaken to his core by a few bad dreams.
