Mordred.
Mordred made sure the kids were asleep, then 'ported to a place he knew. Where no one was around. Where there would be nothing except trees, stones and animals to hear him scream.
He couldn't stand this. He was losing himself. He was dying from the inside out.
He raised his head to the night sky, stars wheeling slowly over head as the crisp bite of winter nipped at his face and hands. He opened his mouth and screamed.
A wail of unending loss and pain echoed out into the woods, abruptly silencing anything that lived in it. Mordred screamed until he ran out of breath and dropped to his knees, throat raw and dry. He coughed, feeling the burn.
He hung his head and cried, the great shoulder wrenching dry aching sobs of a man who never cried. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn't forget her. He couldn't live without her. And it looked like she could leave him. She already had, except she hadn't said so yet.
He toyed briefly with the idea of leaving the New York house and taking the twins. Just dispearring. But what if she came back? No, he couldn't do it.
God, this was worse then what Leila did. Because it was really happening. Vortigern was busy with his vampire, and while Mordred knew if he really wanted his twin there, he would be there no questions asked. He couldn't stand to see their happiness when he was dying.
Mordred lifted his head and screamed his torment into the uncaring skies.
A moment, and a uluating howl covered the sound of the man's scream as the wolf mourned his mate.
Face and hands scratched and bloody, Mordred came back to himself, standing in a forest clearing. He blinked his eyes and rubbed a red stained hand over his face, smearing the blood around further. A body lay in the clearing, he couldn't even tell what it had been. It had been mauled beyond recognition, blood staining the snow into black drifts. Mordred shook his head, recovering himself, then 'ported home.