Chapter 6: Of ruptures and separations (1)

Chapter 6: of ruptures and separations (2)

"I know she is here. You can't stop me from seeing her. "

Sascha buried her head under the pillow in a vain attempt to block out voices from outside. Her body was aching in places she didn't want to think about and sated in ways she didn't want to think about either.

"Lower your voice, brat." The sound of Sheamus's angry voice came to him muffled, but still pristine clarity. The Old Man had never liked her ex-husband and she had never had reason to hide it. "Don't forget who you are talking to."

His temples throbbed painfully and an annoying pang settled behind his closed eyelids.

"Sascha." The fucking traitor of his ex screamed, completely ignoring the Old Man's warning. "I know you are here, Sascha. Get the hell out of it, woman. "

She wasn't surprised when the muffled sound of a body hitting something reached her. Sascha sighed in resignation. Unhappy and in pain, she dragged her body out of the warm comfort of the bed and staggered to the door. She hadn't taken two steps when her stomach twisted in annoyance and an unpleasant sensation crept up her throat.

What the hell?

She gritted her teeth and, yanking the door open with a violent yank, Sascha ran, rushing into the bathroom, taking the two men by surprise and interrupting the dispute. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Old Man release her grip on James and walk away from her. She arrived just in time to spit her stomach into the cast iron basin of the bathroom.

She heard the murmur of exalted voices in an argument. She ignored them, shuddering hard, her body jerking with retching, choking on the unpleasant taste of bile creeping up her throat.

She was slightly aware of the old man's clumsy and kind hands, holding her tousled hair and patting her back. By the time the paroxysm of gagging ended, she was pale and sweaty.

"Better?" A cold, damp cloth wiped her face and neck.

-Thanks-. She took the cloth from the Old Man's hands and wiped her mouth with it. Eating at dawn must have made me sick.

That, or the monster had infected her with some virus, could monsters even contract diseases? The thought of her didn't make her happy, so she intelligently pushed it out of her mind. She had enough trouble on her hands to also consider the possibility of having contracted some magical disease.

The old man rose to his feet and with an arm around hers, slim shoulders helped her stand on her trembling legs.

"What about James?" She asked, sensing the silence on the other side.

Sheamus made a contemptuous face.

"He's gone," she replied sourly. As soon as he saw you get sick she ran away like the damn useless that she is. However, I wouldn't be surprised to see him return later.

"He'll be back," she agreed.

Four hours later her prediction came true with scrupulous accuracy.

Sascha was sitting at her desk in her back room. Her busy hands and she focused her mind on hers as she sorted out medicinal plants and the rare magical sprouts in the store's stock. Before her arrival, the Apothecary's inventory was a mess, the Old Man had neither the time nor the desire to keep the store's resources properly organized.

That was one of his first tasks, as well as learning the names, uses, and appearance of each medicinal herb in general. Now the cabinets in the warehouse were properly labeled, the plants arranged according to their taxonomic categories.

He stuffed a couple of basil leaves into a felt bag. The bag-like everything they used to store - had a preservation sigil woven into its surface. He tightened the cord and activated the stealth, fueling the artificial magic core the size of a grain of rice with his mana. Within three days it would be necessary to replenish the nucleus, but for now, he would keep the plant fresh and preserved inside.

He made a new entry in the Control book and took the next group to rank.

Then the apothecary's bell rang.

"I'm coming, wait for a second, please." She raised her voice, knowing she would be heard. She hurriedly moved the chair and jumped on her feet, the world chose that precise moment to lean dangerously and the brief breakfast that she had that morning wanted to go out again. Surprised, she held the edges of the bureau firmly until the feeling of vertigo and nausea subsided, which was not long in coming.

With a slight frown, she walked to the store, did she get a magical bug herself? Damn monster. Sascha cursed the wolf on her head and once she started she couldn't stop, even so, when she came out of her face did not reveal her internal turmoil.

That changed when she saw the person standing in the center of the store. Tall, with broad, robust shoulders, a narrow waist, slim hips, and long legs, James was a vigorous, masculine-looking man. He wore his dark blonde hair short and neatly combed. That morning she was wearing a white shirt inside well-cut dark pants and a pair of freshly polished leather boots - it was evident that not a single day of her damn life had spent work - the man's brown eyes fell on her and a possessive feeling shone on them.

She sighed inwardly and tightened her grip on her emotions. Showtime had come.

"Congratulations." He told her even before he managed to get close to her.

"Congratulations?" James's face creased in confusion. Joy twisting her lips, dying instantly. The man stopped before continuing. "I do not understand. Instead, why didn't you tell me you'd be staying for work last night? I couldn't sleep a sick eye for concern. "

Concern?

Sascha remembered clearly how the bastard of her ex-husband must have spent the night. A bitter laugh tried to escape her from her chest, forcefully pushing her down. She would not give him the satisfaction. He would never know how much she had hurt to find him in their bed with her lover.

"For the baby." She replied, choosing to ignore any thoughts about James's famous concern. It was either that or lose control and Sascha did not think to lose control.

Just as James expected he froze, his eyes wide like a deer caught by a hunter. A bitter taste filled Sascha's palate, apparently a small part of her had hoped, she had wished she hadn't been betrayed like that too.

How stupid. He made fun of herself.

"I can explain it." The bloody traitor begged him interrupting Sascha's thoughts.

"Sure you can, but you know what? I don't want to know, "Sascha said coldly. "Go, just go."

James walked in her direction. "Please love. You have to listen to me. "

However, Sascha refused again.

"I didn't have a choice, love." James pleaded with him. Sascha denied again, the image of him fucking her lover in the same bed they shared firmly etched on her retinas. "I am the head of the clan, you know my obligations ..."

"Shut up, James." Sascha covered her ears. She didn't want to hear. She didn't want to hear.

"I love you, Sascha, but I still have to give the family an heir." She froze.

Inheritor. Sascha hated that damn word with the passion of new hells. It was thanks to her that damn word that they had taken her from the Temple when she was just twelve years old. The Cornfield family were the most powerful in the village and as such, she had coveted it, or should I say they coveted power running through their veins? they had wanted an heir with powerful mana running through their veins. This was the only reason why they married their beloved next clan head to a familyless girl from the Temple. However, things did not turn out as they expected and Sascha had paid for the broken dishes.

"You shut up." She yelled at him, momentarily losing control of her. Her voice breaking out like a whip and startling them both because Sascha never had outbursts, she never lost control or raised her voice.

A silence laden with tension and heaviness fell on them. The seconds stretched like molasses until Sascha broke the silence.

"How much?" against her better judgment she asked him. Damn her inquisitive nature. She hated many things in this life, yet she hated nothing more than not knowing.

"As that?" James raised his head.

"How long have you been screwing around with Brigette?"

The traitor was silent. Her voice was reluctant when she answered. "Since Victor's death."

Eight damn months? She would have laughed if she could.