Page 11 of Broken Bonds

But the very idea is ridiculous..

I’ve alreadyhada mate. She was cruel and bloodthirsty and I hated her as deeply as I needed her. Despite the fact that we couldn’t have been worse for each other, fate and its twisted sense of humor decreed that we belonged together. For phoenixes, the mating bond is something that we simply cannot fight. It overrides our reason and pushes us into pairings, whether we feel anything for our partner or not. It’s a soul-deep instinct, perhaps born from the need for survival, perhaps born from our animalistic natures that we can never fully suppress.

My suspicions are that the mating bond is somehow created from the energy that phoenixes are able to take in and use to rejuvenate and revitalize their bodies. It’s almost a survival instinct, which seems to be what much of that energy is dedicated toward. The continued population of the species and all that. Whatever the reason behind the mating bond, the common lore has always been that you are only granted one mate in your lifetime, though this is admittedly more legend than fact. My mate was a phoenix, a warlord of sorts, who died during a period of massive bloodshed that decimated the supernatural population over four-hundred years ago. Losing her was bittersweet, to say the least. I was happy to be rid of her and her monstrous ways, but I knew I would spend the rest of my years haunted by her memory and loss.

Which is why I sought to break the bond. The idea that she could have any hold over me, even in death, was maddening.

I walk to the other side of my lab to a large safe I have tucked away in the corner. Quickly unlocking it, I reached inside and pull out a tray holding twelve vials. Each of the vials is filled with a reddish liquid that looks kind of like liquid fire.

Turning, I carry the tray to the worktable and set it down. Sitting on my stool, I pick up one of the vials and remove the topper to sniff at the opening. I grimace. The liquids odor is bitter and pungent, like smoke mixed with rotting fruit. Replacing the topper, I put the vial back in its holder on the tray and stare at them for a long time.

Before I discovered anything else about my kind, I managed to develop this. This potion is my answer to the mating bond. Or, rather, it’s the hammer with which I can smash it.

I’ve never been able to fully test it, as my mate was dead long before I developed it. However, I’m pretty confident it works. I drank it years ago, hoping it would help rid me of the memories and lingering, complicated emotions I associated with my mate. To my relief, it did seem to do the trick in that regard, at least. I stopped thinking about her when I didn’t choose to, I stopped dreaming about her, and most of all, I stopped wanting her.

That wanting had always been the worst part. As much as I’d hated her, the physical pull had been inescapable, and even centuries after her death, every sexual relationship had been tainted by her constant presence in my mind.

Now, though, I’m finally free of her…which apparently has left room available in my head for Samantha to occupy.

I shake my head and push the very notion that she could possibly be my mate aside. It’s ridiculous, really. More likely, it’s just my natural reaction to being around a woman for the first time in months. Any hot-blooded male, regardless of species, would react to Samantha in a similar way. She’s beautiful and wildly-intelligent. She’s even funny, and rather considerate. If I wasn’t such a disaster of an individual when it came to romantic relationships, in no small part because of the trauma caused by my mate, I would actually think about pursuing her.

But I am a disaster, and I’m not interested in letting myself get close to another being in that same way. A purely sexual relationship is out of the question as well. If that went badly, which such arrangements usually do in my experience, it would be a painfully awkward few months stuck together in the middle of nowhere.

I reach out and skim my finger along one of the vials. Maybe I should drink another one…just in case. The very last thing in the world I want is another bonded mate. If there’s even the smallest chance that Samantha and I are somehow fated…

I shake my head. No, I’m being ridiculous. She can’t be my mate, and besides, I don’t know what the effects might be of taking the potion twice. I’ve never had reason to test that out. Plus, this is only the first version of the potion. I created it with the intention of completely severing the bond, which appeared to work between me and my former mate, though I suspect the fact that we didn’t love each other at all made that much easier. There’s no guarantee the same thing would happen between two mates who actually care for each other. That’s what I’m trying to figure out next – how to control the bond in various ways rather than break it completely, so that those who genuinely care for each other aren’t left wondering if it’s only instinct pushing them together. Unless I’m absolutely sure I need it, I shouldn’t risk the potential ramifications unnecessarily.

Sighing, I pick the tray back up and return it to the safe. Setting the vials inside, I shut the door and engage the lock.

I won’t do anything with those now. I won’t risk anything unless I absolutely have to.

In the meantime, I’ll simply try harder to avoid Samantha and purge her from my thoughts. Turning from the safe, I move back to my work table and drag my microscope over to me, having every intention of drowning myself in my work so I don’t have any room left in my head for her.

Samantha

The words on the screen before me are running together, and I can’t seem to focus on what I’m trying to read. With a huff of frustration, I push my laptop away and sit back on my stool. I’ve been trying to throw myself into my work as a sort of distraction, but it’s not proving as successful of a strategy as I’d hope it would be.

No matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about Dr. Pyrrhos.

The man is proving much harder of a riddle to solve than I’d first assumed he’d be. I’ve started to feel my hopes of befriending him dwindling, but I’m not ready to give up yet. When it became obvious that he was avoiding me shortly after I’d arrived, I’d gave him space and tried to be respectful in the hopes that he would see that I wasn’t annoying or overbearing, and might feel more inclined to connect.

It’s become very obvious that that might not be the most effective approach with this man. He reminds me a little of the kittens I’d used to find on my grandparents’ farm growing up. They were always a little wild, but I was always determined to tame them and earn their trust. I’d sit outside with them for hours at a time so they’d grow used to me, and I give them little treats and bowls of milk so that they knew I meant them no harm.

Maybe I need to take the same approach with Dr. Pyrrhos? Gentle patience…and food.

My eyes widen as an idea pops into my head.

One thing I’ve noticed about Dr. Pyrrhos is he does not eat very consistently, nor is he the healthiest eater. It’s usually when he’s really caught up in his lab on his work, at least I assume so, that’ll he’ll barely eat anything. If he does, it’s something quick that he can either eat cold or heat up in a microwave.

I bet he’d appreciate a full meal once in a while.

Glancing toward the lab’s digital wall clock, I see that it’s just about lunch time, and so I decide to put my new idea to the test. Abandoning my work for the time being, I make my way out of the lab. I pause when I cross the threshold and stare across the hall toward Dr. Pyrrhos’ lab. His door is shut, as it always is, but I can hear a soft din of activity on the other side.

You have to admire the man’s work-ethic, though I’m starting to think it borderlines on obsessive.

I force my gaze away from his door and continue on through the facility to the kitchen. Stopping in the middle of the room, I brainstorm what I could make. Unfortunately, most of our food that’s not in a can or fresh from the greenhouse is frozen, and there’s really no time to properly thaw anything. I remember, though, that we have some tomatoes from the greenhouse we just picked, as well as bread and those slices of American cheese that’ll likely survive the apocalypse.

A nice bowl of tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich is pinnacle comfort food. I grin, thinking how perfect it is. I set to work, quickly throwing together the soup. Once it’s simmering on the small stove, I butter the bread and grab the cheese, putting together a couple sandwiches to throw in the skillet I have heating with oil.

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