Fear.
Hadrius knew that word well for it had always been something that creatures would live, swallow, breathe from one of his glances alone.
Fear.
He had cast it in people’s hearts, as a hot iron blade branded skin, so the warlord marked his presence with it. Scarcely had he ever felt such an emotion, and the mere thought of it felt foreign, distant- almost nonexistent.
He thought he would never have to feel such a way again.
But here. Now. Staring at his human, poised at the table with her fingertip sliced clean- the warlord finally feels the unfamiliar emotion surge through his veins like ice cold fire.
“Human-” Hadrius’ voice cracks, like chords tearing. His throat constricts with sound. There is blood. Bright blood spilling like a secret on the table, trickling down the cupboard
