Pure Requiem - Aja James Page 0,14

to call you Binu? Would you prefer a different name? What’s your real name anyway? I don’t think you ever said.”

I continue to stare at Ishtar, my eyes silently asking what I cannot.

Did she ever name me? What is my name?

Her face blanches at the unspoken question, her long, dark eyelashes fluttering down.

They are wet with tears.

My heart twists in my chest again at the sight of my mother’s tears. I can’t stand it. I’d cut off my own arm to stop it.

“My name is Erebu,” I croak, saying the first thing that pops into my head.

“You can call me Ere.”

Chapter Four: Under My Scars

*TAL*

I stand before the floor-to-ceiling windows that take up two adjacent walls of the living space Ishtar and I share in the Shield. Even though I cannot see, I can still feel the gentle warmth of light and the soothing coolness of night.

As I understand it, Sophia repurposed what was supposed to be her throne room or atrium into a private apartment for my Mate and me. She claimed that, firstly, she didn’t need the ostentation of a formal gathering place; she could simply use one of the many common areas or “conference rooms.”

And secondly, that she wanted me to breathe in the light and soak in the darkness. To feed all of my other senses to compensate for the one I lack. In addition, there are private spiral stairs within our apartment that lead to a secluded rooftop garden. Ishtar assures me that it is beautiful by sight, and I know for a fact that it smells and feels beautiful as well.

I am humbled by the care and consideration the Royal Zodiac has given me and my Mate. They truly have become our extended family, not just comrades in arms. Even so, I fear I do not always adequately express my appreciation and gratitude. I am not talkative by nature, and the last four millennia of captivity and isolation have taken their toll.

That, and the torture.

I will never be “normal.” Even if all of my physical scars miraculously disappeared, it is the twisted, jagged, fractured mess beneath that will never heal. Not in a few months, years, or another four millennia. I know this definitively.

But that does not mean I won’t live. I will do so as a different male. Just because I’m broken, it does not mean I’m not strong. I am stronger because of my brokenness, like metal melted, reshaped and hammered in the forge. I will become stronger still with my Mate and our family at our side.

I breathe deeply as the sun sets and the freshness of night blankets this bustling, restless city.

It feels better to be alive, though not yet “good.”

After eating a light supper, clearing the dishes and spending some time listening to one of the audio books Sophia set up for me on the “iPad,” I head to the rainforest shower and strip down to the skin.

Though I know I am standing in front of a wall of mirrors, I cannot see my reflection. I do not know what I look like, and I avoid touching my body to feel it out because the bumps and indentations of my scars remind me of how I got them.

That said, I have no issues cutting into my own flesh. When pain accompanies touch rather than gentleness, I accept the contact better. I still crave it at times, because it’s what I’ve lived with for almost the entirety of my existence. But I have not self-harmed since coming to the Shield. Since Ishtar and I…reunited in the ways of Mates.

I pass my hand roughly over my short hair, like metallic wires rather than the silk of healthy hair, cut close to the scalp.

I used to have long, bright gold hair. Ishtar compared it to rays of sunlight. She liked to braid it, sift through it, wind it around her fingers and pull on it to bring my face closer to hers…for a kiss. To taste my smile, or to share her own with me. To nuzzle my jaw and throat and breathe in my scent… There were too few opportunities for these small pleasures, for we had very little time together before we were forced apart.

I remember and treasure each and every moment.

The first present she gave me, in fact, was a turquoise ribbon for my hair that matched the color of my eyes. But the joy of that gift came with the torment of her enslavement of me, as decreed