A section to comment on the Awakening series. You may find polls here, secrets answered, character bios–I’m not sure exactly yet. Please, if you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them!
ENJOY! <3
THE PARANORMAL ACADEMY FOR TROUBLED BOYS #1 (ORIGINAL VERSION)
Just dodging jail, dragon shifter Wylie ends up in the Academy, an institution for out of control paranormals. He falls for a sexy, troubled sorcerer whose magical infliction makes him too deadly to touch. Convincing Dorian to be his might just get them all killed.
X 101,000+ wrds, paranormal, dragon shifter, sorcery, first time, NA. Published: April 1, 2016
A BLACKMAILING STEPBROTHER ROMANCE
PC Version ♥♥♥ Mobile Version ♥♥♥ Audio Version
Jayce has been doing everything to get his now official younger brother settled in to his new home, all while fighting some very unbrotherly feelings for the angry, isolated brat. After things get weird, Declan decides to turn the tables, blackmailing his older brother into greater heights of depravity. Can Jayce keep from getting sucked into Declan’s twisted games?
XX56,000+ wrds, contemporary, stepbrother psi, new adult, blackmail. Published: January 23, 2016
AN INTENSE PARANORMAL SHORT FICTION
A sexy thank you for joining the Newsletter. <3
This is a rather intense, dripping wet, XX–XXX rated MM fic featuring a naïve main character, his manipulative best friend, a very sexually aggressive incubus that finds his victims through the Internet, and his big monster cock covered in ridges. Like many of my erotic stories, it features dubcon and is intended for 18+ readers.
NEW ADULT PARANORMAL MM ACTION ADVENTURE ROMANCE WITH SHIFTERS, SORCERERS, WEREWOLVES, DEMONS AND GANGSTERSWylie's bio & reference last updated 1/27/20A section in progress where you can find character bios, fun facts, reference for magic, tech, and lore of the PATB world, quizzes and Q&As. Will be added to as the series is written.
NEW ADULT PARANORMAL MM EPIC FANTASY ROMANCE WITH FAE, GODS, AND ANGSTScene #25 last updated 2/16/19
Everything found here will have been funded by supporters on Patreon. This includes the Demon Bonded serial where you can get updates before it publishes.
Demon Bonded: Coven Saga ep 12: Scene 2 last updated 8/10/20
This is an experiment with Patreon to find a way around the rabid censorship and discrimination of certain erotic subject matter. I’ve had books banned without explanation or direct proof of Content Guidelines being broken while straight books with the same ‘taboo’ content is allowed to sell on Amazon and other platforms. This shame based censorship not only tries to suppress the creation of certain books, but also punishes authors, and sometimes readers who seek to read these subjects. I’m calling bullshit on these discriminatory practices, and I’m looking to find a way to fund taboo reads outside of mainstream platforms.
If you’re interested in supporting me and the Demon Bonded serial, please donated to my Patreon. Thank you!
REMOVED BECAUSE JK ROWLING IS A HATEFUL TRANSPHOBE
So… I thought I could compromise with these Harry Potter fanfics. They were supposed to be fun, but they can’t be anymore. They can’t be anything more but a show of support of hate.
I think I was naive when it started, hopeful it was another out of touch celebrity who was bumbling through a complex topic. You know how those billionaires get, just saying things without research, thinking they must be right because their echo chamber insists they’re right. Don’t we all just hate to point out to the powerful how they’re abusing their power — surely it’s a mistake, surely they don’t mean it that way? Surely conflict avoidance is the answer, and the monster they have become will go away if we don’t acknowledge it? Just hide under the covers and Voldemort will go away.
JK Rowling has created an army of transphobes. She is the leader of a hate movement. She is emboldened as companies continue to profit off of her intellectual property and enrich her. She is not going away.
I first truly realized this shopping around the holiday season after I was starting to feel better, only to stop in front of a display with Potter merch and feel the sickening twist in my stomach as I watched people browse the contents. Were they fans before JK Rowling went full out TERF? Or were they “new” fans, people who bought the merch because they wanted an easily recognized symbol of hate to display but they could play dumb if anyone called them out on it? Was the store itself even safe when everyone knew JK Rowling was spreading misinformation and lies that were leading to violence against transgendered people? Did it matter anymore when anything connected to JK Rowling was a symbol of hate?
I can’t claim this is the first time I had to let go of an author, but it was never to this extreme. I didn’t really get into Orson Scott Card until right before he revealed his bigotry against LGBTQs. I never wrote fanfiction for his characters. Instead, as an adult, I was able to look at his work and see his struggle, see in his books how he was losing to the twisted memes his religious community instilled in him until he couldn’t see beyond it. But I also acknowledged that he was an adult making choices, choices that were spreading hate and bigotry against a marginalized community, and I, as an adult, had to make a choice in response.
It was a learning experience for me. I didn’t want to learn from what was happening to JK Rowling, which is why I fought it as long as I could. I wanted to stay a child and play make-believe.
It doesn’t matter what I want it to be; JK Rowling is a celebrated transphobe in 2023. She is making money off her intellectual properties to fund the hateful bigotry she puts out into the world. And her transphobic followers use her work to fund her hate, and they use her work to terrorize transgender people. It doesn’t matter the intentions of when those books were first written. It doesn’t matter the intentions of the fans who are not transphobes, who just want to be entertained by a story of an orphan boy who discovered he was “special”, deserving. Harry Potter and all other works created by JK Rowling and her other pen names fund hate.
The nazi symbol once represented peace until Hitler got a hold of it. It doesn’t mean it’s no longer only the nazi symbol of hate today. Things change, and I’m not so stuck in my ways that I’m going to pretend that it doesn’t demand I change as well.
There are better stories out there. There are far better writers out there. And the ultimate majority don’t have their works symbolize hate. I’m letting go of Harry Potter because I don’t support hate, and there is no compromising with a transphobe. JK Rowling is an adult making adult choices. Choices to say and do things things that exclude and outright harm transgendered people. She is not intellectually impaired. The color of her skin, perceived sex, and the gender she identifies with does not provide a justification for what she’s doing. She is not a victim, but a protected harasser who self justifies by hiding behind a story of victimhood to prevent facing the repercussions of her actions. Her class — her billionaire status — does not mean she is magically smarter and more correct than anyone else. She is capable enough to write a story, one that understands what is good and what was bad. She is not ignorant to these things. She is making a choice to target, harass, and create an atmosphere of violence against one of the most marginalized, at risk communities in the history of humanity. And she does it while claiming she cares about women, just so long as woman is defined by her limited, bigoted viewpoint.
JK Rowling doesn’t care about women. She doesn’t even know what a woman is.
For those who looked to Harry Potter as a hero, as someone you wanted to be when you grew up, to be such a hero you need to fight against the evil JK Rowling is spreading in the world. The hardest thing children must do when they grow is to become individuals separate from their parents’ and society’s antiquated and biased views, but it is the only way to bring needed change in a broken world.
JK Rowling doesn’t know what it’s like to be an orphan, to be an outsider to the accepted class — that’s the irony I have always felt when I see so many of these 2 dimensional stories of child abandonment when I grew up in foster care and was later adopted. It’s a trope; few writers understand how complex abandonment is. How complex and devastating growing up on the outside of society is, having to negotiate with a world that will never fully see you as belonging just because you don’t have parents.
And if you think that sort of discrimination doesn’t exist, you have never lived it. Humanity doesn’t need a good reason to trigger their xenophobia; just like some see a spot on an apple and assume it’s bad, some see a child without parents and assume the same. Some see a presentation of a gender role that doesn’t match their expectation and are triggered. A tic of a hand or a stutter and some people are triggered. Some see tattoos or a style of clothing and are triggered because they don’t feel surrounded by the familiar, and therefore justify lashing out. Humanity is innately broken, and it is up to us to fight the rationalization of xenophobia if we ever want a better world.
And beware those who are already safe, are already protected by the world we are in, because as much as they might say they want “better”, human nature promises they will fight equality if it feels like they lose their privilege. We are flawed, a mashup of what evolution spat out of a species that conquered a globe and claimed ownership while causing mass extinction. Within us is understanding, but not without these deeply rooted instincts to hoard, to control and kill what we can’t control. And we’ll say it’s to be safe, to be organized and to have things make sense. But it’s because we are cowards who don’t want to be uncomfortable in an uncertain world.
When JK Rowling wrote a book about fighting against a system of injustice, she wrote a single villain and his henchpeople to defeat, instead of demanding change of an unequal system, because she has never lived being in a marginalized community. Instead she writes what she knows, protected, superior in her community, with special powers to control and harm others, in a secret world in the shadows where normal humans will never hold these special people accountable, only ever be victims. She doesn’t have the experience — the basic human empathy — to write a true hero of the people, never mind to be one, because she is too insulated by her class. She can’t even see the darkness in her own cowardly self.
And those who support her hate — for the fame, for the memes, because they like to hate and to feel sheltered by a righteous fandom that will protect them from the repercussions — they are very content to never grow as well. A society perpetuating the weakest of human character, insulating from change, attacking anyone who would demand they grow up and be better. That’s what the Harry Potter fandom has become. Pretending otherwise is just a fantasy. All you have to do is go online and see how this fandom harasses and attacks anyone who stands up against their bigotry.
This is who they are now. This is who JK Rowling is, and this is her fandom, comprised of tranphobes and bullies.
Yeah, it’s a shitty feeling being asked to grow up, to be a better version of yourself. Especially when most of the Harry Potter fans are of an older generation who is so certain they are grown. A generation catered to with all the toys, nostalgia, and petty, pretty little things consumerism can spoil them with. I’m of a generation so defined by marketing that we can’t even get a new movie out that isn’t full of some 40 something’s childhood fantasy to be a superhero.
Do you even understand how infantalizing that is? How pathetic that we are stuck playing childhood games pretending we have no power because these companies control us best this way? The world doesn’t ask us to be better because there are entire economies thriving on keeping us childlike and docile. So when a villain shows up — when someone in the real world is causing real, actual harm — it becomes about how to keep having the toys and childhood fantasies we love instead of telling that person to fuck off and stop causing harm. It becomes a negotiation of how to compromise with violence and bigotry, and I’m done playing this sick game.
Fuck off, JK Rowling. You don’t understand the bullshit you’re claiming to be science because you’re not a scientist. You aren’t qualified to talk on the human experiences you talk about because you have not experienced them. You don’t have the life experience to know anything about complex social situations because you never face the consequences of complex social situation, but instead fuck off to whatever castle you’re living in at the moment and have brunch with leaders of hate groups while you let your fans bully and harass anyone who calls you out. Your input is not wanted in regards to transgenderism. You are an outsider here, thinking you’re an insider because that’s the privilege you have lived your entire life with as a wealthy, white, cis AFAB, and no, that will never change. You don’t get to be the center of this conversation, no matter how much you think you should because “special”. The transgender community is not here to coddle you the way everyone else does. We don’t negotiate with terrorists, not even the ones holding our childhoods’ hostage. Fuck off; humanity has some growing to do.
CHECK OUT OLD AND NEW COVERS BY SADIE, COMMISSION WORK, AND SNAG MOBILE AND PC WALLPAPERS
READ THE FIRST SCENES FREE!
A BLOG OF PROBLEMS BEING SOLVED AS I STARTED WRITING EROTICA
JUST A LITTLE HELLO <3
IF YOU FEEL LIKE CONTRIBUTING TO MY PATREON TIP JAR, HERE’S THE LINK
Well, it’s Monday. My first Monday since mostly completing the website theme. Officially my first Monday of getting back to real writing. There are some things I need to figure out, those things to be planned today, actually. I thought since I wrote that big thing yesterday about what I do/did to stay on track for writing and running this business, it would be a good time to actually, you know, share a bit of it. And then do it.
The nice thing about doing a little blog about getting back into writing is that it has me writing right after getting up and having breakfast. It has me thinking about writing even if I’m not chapters into writing a novel. It reminds me that writing is easy, just so long as I get out of my own way.
A big part of starting to write again is this struggle of choosing where to actually start. There are a lot of stories waiting to be updated, and some still require a lot of reference notes and reading to even remotely get to that place. And those big stories, they’re valuable. Valuable income wise, but also valuable sentimentally wise. Aka, I care about them too much to fuck them up, and there’s a danger in that kind of thinking. But for now, I’m going to find the gentle path and fuck up a different story first XD, just to get used to these doubts and insecurities so I can push them away for the bigger stories.
Getting back to writing is a grand experiment in a lot of ways as I push my brain to be more than its limits currently are. And I know it could reach that place once, but after the months of my hyper-sensitized trigeminal nerve screaming at me and my pituitary unable to demand the required cortisol, my brain changed. So I’m building the support structure I think I need before starting, hoping it will evolve to what I need once writing as my brain changes. And that’s kind of exciting.
I’m an adventurer of thought, if not anything else. I love to see what the human mind can do. As much as teachers had claimed the calculator would make us lazy, it made me push to be more efficient to understand how I needed to think, and then use the calculator to support and bring accuracy to the problem solving I was doing with math. Creating tools to support basic human deficits is damn exciting because it allows us to be more. But only if we, as individuals want to grow instead of stagnate.
Anyways…
Every Monday is my “maintenance” day. It’s the first day of my official work week after a weekend focusing on family time, household errands, and personal hobbies.
Giving myself the weekend was something new for me to make sure my entire life wasn’t about work, but also required because of the unavoidable distraction my loved ones pose. Oh, I fought it for as long as I could. Only to realize I was perpetuating some self destructive ableism on myself by failing to rationalize rest. I do that; I will logic self destructive behavior and call it productive, and I know I’m not unique in that department. We’re all going to drop dead one day, and no, I don’t want to have prioritized work over living. I’m not apologizing for that.
Taking the weekends was to help my mindset, to accept that I was going to be distracted, and that instead of feeling frustrated with it, it was a sign I shouldn’t be working during that time anyways. Because I would work all the time. Once my brain gets into the ruts of a behavior, it stays there. It found the shape, the pattern of thought to work forever, and I can be a total grumpy fuck if not careful. Weekends are set aside to ensure that I’m a decent human being who rests, who spends quality time with family, and has other shit going on than staring at a screen all day.
It also means it’s a time that I’m not putting all the household stuff first, just finding a way to fill the rest time with a different work. That’s for Monday.
Maintenance Mondays exist to get me back into the mindset of doing after the weekends of playing. I deal with the emails that weren’t required to be dealt with immediately while running the laundry. I figure out medical shit and appointments, bills, important household stuff that has to be addressed. I tidy up the kitchen and bedroom/office. I plan and make meals for the week, or make sure I’ve got easy make options so I’m not starving my brain during work hours. I plan my week of writing, the goals I want to hit, the time I’m willing to spend (because I always go over, not under, and time is everything.) I then plan my allergy shots and errands around that time frame.
This week I have to plan more website updates alongside writing. Because of the eye situation, I have to figure out just how much screen time is going to result in a migraine and plan around that. Using Word is hurting my eyes, and Word is how I make those PDFs. I was able to get Scrivener to a beautiful layout for writing, nice soothing colors and perfect font size. It doesn’t hurt as much, and I wish I could get Word to the same place, but it’s time. It’s a trade-off of pain where to invest in solving a problem while it causes a problem could steal away days of my ability to write. So that is my big thing to plan this week.
Because Monday is the day I manage my life and business, and plan the week, it’s also the day I have to guard as fiercely as possible. It sets me up for the week, and if some random doctor’s appointment or someone home sick interrupts this day, I will either push it to Tuesday, or the worst case scenario is I lose the week, lose the rhythm, the thread, and wing it hoping the energy I spend actually leads to something productive. Never good with ADHD.
The biggest importance of Maintenance Monday is that it acknowledges that working from home is a fucking problem that has a million distractions that need to be addressed before work can get done. I can’t have laundry waiting for me when I’m working; I’m going to do the laundry because when I’m home, my priorities are with my immediate space. I can’t have a messy room because visual disorder hurts my eyes and no, I can’t afford an office. Walking into the kitchen to make a quick meal before getting back to writing can mean being completely interrupted by cleaning a messy kitchen and then forgetting what I was doing, losing the thought pattern of writing.
Just like with human distractions, where I have no ability to compromise once they’re in my space, it’s the same with disorganization and mess. I won’t win. My focus will go to the immediate problem that needs solving so that I’m then allowed to get back to work — and know, I don’t want to work. Not really. So every distraction from work means the very real possibility of not working. On Monday I solve those biggest issues, and every evening before bed I will do a quick tidy up to solve them again (because I live with slobs and cats). Anything less is setting myself up for failure.
Mondays are also the day I get to put some time into the big organization projects that need doing, but are dangerous to touch on a work day. Because if I get in the habit of trying to tackle the intense clutterfuck thing that happened after 10 years of being ill, moving, and two different episodes of mold taking over this place, suddenly my week could be about doing that. Because it IS important. And my brain prioritizes my immediate space instinctively because, hey, years of allergies has turned this into trauma. I have to not trigger that instinct.
I have a lot of big projects waiting. The one I’m doing today is getting the rest of the holiday decorations taken down. I was holding off, hoping that we could do it as a family, but yeah, it never happened. I put them up alone as well, because I can self motivate and others can’t. I suppose at the heart of it, because I care and they don’t. We have a garage full of things that were supposed to be taken to goodwill when we first moved in here, but it never happened. A basement full of moldy storage that was supposed to be dumped when the black mold hit the house, and it sat there when the white mold hit, and is still there.
Being sick has been difficult when I’m the only one who cleans. Running a business when an entire dirty house has been dumped into my lap as people walk in and out throwing their shit down anywhere they want in shared spaces and thinking they’re not responsible… it’s impossible, really. I don’t get to leave the house to work like other people do. The eye sight issue has made that pretty impossible, and my work environment outside of my clean space is far from ideal. And at the end of the day, it doesn’t get to matter. What I prioritize is my choice, and I’m not obligated to solve other people to be allowed to live my life.
I solved my room before getting myself back into the routine of writing. I painted, got fresh storage in here, and decluttered. The important thing was to have visual balance, soothing colors, and lighting that wouldn’t contribute to eye strain. I fostered a space to love, to feel calm in so that when I go to create, it’s easy and familiar. Any project can be swiftly boxed up and tucked out of space to make room for writing or to give me a distraction free view. I don’t have to worry about cats knocking things down when there’s nothing to knock over.
If I had decided not to do it all in one go, Mondays would have been the day to work on it, doing a piece at a time. Monday lets me take care of some of these big things a bit without turning it into a daily work day thing. My work week is for the 4 days that follow Monday.
I write 4 days a week. I work a 5 day week. Do I still find myself working on the weekends? Sure. I’m only mortal (for someone who keeps saying work sucks, it’s really hard to pull me away.) But these 4 days are the days I count. The days that matter. The days I set aside to do the work with writing sprints and editing sprints (oh yes, you read that right. Editing sprints, because I have no fucks left to give.) 2 of these days also require the huge distraction of leaving the house to interact with beings who are not cats long enough to get my allergy shots.
Leaving the house for anything is about the biggest distraction I can think of from doing work (even worse than having people in the house cuz sometimes they’re actually quiet), so this is no small feat.
Leaving the space of work is like leaving the world behind. I am defined by my environment. I don’t know why; I could romanticize it or what not, but it’s the reality I deal with. It’s great when I need to escape a mood, but it has the same effect when it comes to losing the brain shape I need to focus on work.
I become an artist outside the house, falling in love with the landscape, or the go getter who is getting errands done, or the drop in who randomly says hi to their partner at work (because being home alone sucks.) And it shouldn’t be such a big deal. Being spontaneous and fun shouldn’t ruin an entire day of work. But it does for me.
My brain takes a certain amount of energy and time to twist into the right shape (this is a metaphor, peeps, just saying. My alien traits have not evolved this far, thank you). I need structure, and I need consistency, because being spontaneous doesn’t mean spontaneously writing 5000 words on a different story. It means deciding to paint my ceiling, or rearrange the pantry, or clean out the garage and sort what’s going to goodwill.
There is so much waiting to get done, and the more my physical health and energy return, the more this body of mine wants to fuck off and do all the things, all at once, to an amazingly belligerent degree when external resistance is felt. I get angry when something hurts or I feel tired — how dare anything hold me back after years of chronic fatigue and adrenal insufficiency! XD And that anger is also a wonderful excuse to keep me from getting my work done.
Anger is great for ADHD when you don’t have motivation. Unfortunately, it can be hard to direct. I’ve been feeling a lot of anger in regards to the anti-trans bullshit happening lately. The normalization of it. The consumer market exploiting it. I’ve been fucking pissed, and I’ve used that to show up every day and remind people I’m still here. That I’m not letting them push me out of my life just because they’re that fucking selfish they want transpeople to disappear because we don’t fit their concept of what’s allowed to exist. Fuck that.
I don’t recommend having your motivation be in defiance of an external factor, not really. Because you don’t get to control that. You can start relying on getting great reviews or feedback or even anger — I have found some amazing inspiration from some rather outraged reviews. XD But when it’s silent and it’s just you and your thoughts, you have to be ready to self motivate. Every time.
I think this is one of the hardest things for self published writers to really understand. That when they put a work out into the world and no one says a word back, this is going to define them. What their brain generates in the silence is going to decide if they keep pushing forward, or if they give up. That what their brain generates can change at any damn moment so that if they were being their own cheerleader, suddenly they can be their worst enemy and not be prepared for it.
It sucks. It’s absolutely normal and it sucks.
We are our greatest enemy. The brain is the most dangerous weapon, sharp teeth once tearing into thought now turned inward, tearing into the ego, the dreams, the motivation and leaving everything bloody. We’ve evolved to feel this as social beings. Shame is part of our biological makeup, but just like stress gets triggered from nonsensical things in the modern world, so does shame.
There is nothing domesticated about the human psyche. If you think you have trained yours to be gentle and loving, that you will never be tested, it’ll be a lot harder to push back when those biological factors activate and turn on you.
Because it will. Vulnerability is in all of us, and from that vulnerability springs our greatest warriors. Warriors who turn on ourselves to logic out of the pain — to just stop doing the things that bring the vulnerability, like putting yourself and your work out there. Your greatest lessons will be learned when the brain comes in to fill in the silence when you were expecting social validation. In the same way I have a day to plan on how to keep my shit together through the week, you need a plan for how to keep it together during those moments. I have one.
If you’re doing this, if you’re real about this, you will be seeking those moments. You will be seeking to grow as you seek that pain and tell it to fuck off. But you have to be honest with yourself that the vulnerability is there. That the pain hurts. That you have to feel it to deal with it and overcome it. Like any muscle, one can get stronger dealing with this stuff, but it’s going to be the worst pain in the beginning every damn time, and there isn’t a shortcut.
Writing isn’t hard. Showing up is where the majority of people fail. And you will find system after system telling people you just have to write 100 words a day, or sit down for an hour a day, or sacrifice a main character to the writing muses on a full moon, etc, etc. And yeah, maybe they’ll get a story out of it… but then what? What do they do with it? Does it ever even meet another set of eyeballs?
If you’re not showing up, there’s a reason not being addressed. Like my reason of working for a living sucks and I don’t like being home alone all day. And if you don’t acknowledge it and do the work to accept and deal with it, those reasons will always decide for you.
The will is an extension of the subconscious; if your subconscious has decided something, it’s decided. It will be your default until you deal with that shit. And every time you feel resistance to dealing with that shit, you’re being given a path of where to go: into the resistance. If you’re not seeking that pain and facing the things holding you back, you’re not really doing this.
There’s a reason so many entrepreneurs are sociopaths, and 1 in 5 business leaders are psychopaths. They don’t have to do this work to get to where they are. The psychological wiring just isn’t there to battle. Everyone else does, and it defines if they’re going to make it or not.
Congrats for not being a sociopath. Here’s some pain to guide you forward.
Dragon Shifting 101: Alpha Tendencies
The Paranormal Academy For Troubled Boys
$2.99
A gang initiation gone wrong.
Wylie’s demon arms have totally screwed him. He just wanted a chance—cash for college, a career. No one is going to hire a freak like him. But a deserted lab designed to cage werewolves? Anti paranormal tech with magical defenses? A gun? None of it should have been there.
If he were human, the cops wouldn’t want to throw him in prison without a trial. If he were human, sorcerers wouldn’t have come to kill him. But Wylie isn’t human, and the hunters will do everything to possess his dragon power.
Overnight, Wylie goes from teenage f-up to endangered species. One place can save him—the Academy—but only if he can win over their representative. Theodore Howld has a beast inside him full of deadly allure and bloodlust, bringing hunters to their knees to destroy them. He’s the perfect sorcerer, the perfect assassin, the perfect protector… but he might just be the worst person. Wylie’s life is in his hands; will Theodore crush him or save him?
80,500+ wrds, Published Jan 11, 2020.
Heat level: XX
Wylie’s fingers itched to turn into claws. He was ready to maul someone for a cigarette. His first burglary was off to a shit start, and given how their luck was going, they’d all be dead or in prison before the night was out.
They were a small crew—four in total—but the van felt filled to the brim with potential disaster. Wylie was in the back with his boyfriend, Beck, while the other two guys sat up front. Wylie was hunched on top of the wheel well, which gave him a clear view of the windshield and the gate blocking their way. His head brushed the roof and his back was cold against the wall, but he refused to move unless absolutely necessary. Every scrape of his sneakers on the grit covered metal floor made his teeth buzz and body tense.
What the fuck was taking so long? He wanted out of this damn tin can. Hell, he just wanted out: out of this night, out of this initiation, out of this stupid ass plan. The only thing keeping him from snapping was the cloak of darkness in the back. It was easier to keep it together when no one could see how close he was to losing his shit.
“Damn it. No,” Adam hissed from the passenger-side seat in front of Wylie. The teen clattered away on his mini keyboard while glaring at the small, burning screen in front of him. The self-proclaimed hacker was so short his head barely cleared the back of the seat, and the caustic, nervous tune he was humming did nothing to disguise his growing panic.
Wylie took a calming breath and tried to block out the electric scent of fear filling the confined space. The little tech-wiz was taking too long. Adam reeked of anxiety and showed no sign he was even close to breaking through the security system. For all they knew, the kid had turned chickenshit and was hoping to wait out the clock.
Ten minutes. Wylie’s eyes darted to the display on the dashboard when it flashed. Twelve minutes. The air grew heated the longer each second ticked and nothing changed. Wylie could smell the lingering scents of oil and stale blood beneath the annoying, fang twitching flood of testosterone in the enclosed space. Diego was flipping. Their asshole leader for the night hadn’t said a word since they parked, but Wylie’s nose revealed the rage building in the silent gangster.
This was a bad idea. A monumentally dumb fuck idea. He seriously should have taken that last smoke before they left.
“Is this happening?” Beck asked. A warm hand grasped his arm, and Wylie held still when his boyfriend pressed his chest up against his shoulder. Hair tickled his nose when Beck leaned across his chest and peered at the clock on the dash. “Shit, our timetable is going out the fucking window.”
Beck turned toward him but failed to find Wylie in the absolute black of the back of the van. The darkness didn’t stop Wylie’s supernatural vision. His pupils expanded, and shapes and colors began to appear out of the darkness. He focused on Beck and his gaze traced his boyfriend’s familiar, handsome features and slipped down to the smooth line of his throat.
This was a mistake. Beck was too idealistic, too sweet for this gang bullshit. He had never spent a day out on his own and didn’t know shit about the real world.
Wylie bent forward and brushed his lips to Beck’s ear. “We can still back out. No one needs to know we came out here.”
Beck shuddered, but it was only from the heat of Wylie’s breath on his skin. He turned his head and their noses bumped. It was surreal, and Wylie felt half a predator as he watched Beck’s useless human eyes blink in the dark. Beck fumbled and his palm found Wylie’s neck and moved up to his face. He rubbed along the peach fuzz of Wylie’s crew cut and inched forward, their mouths pressing close so they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Don’t be dumb, baby.” Beck’s lips teased over Wylie’s, and his fingers tugged at the strands of his blond hair. “This is our ticket out of all the bullshit. Once we make this score, we’re in and everything is going to change.”
“B, getting into the gang is only going to lead to more…” Wylie trailed off when an angry growl tore from the driver’s seat.
“Come on, you little fuck. Hurry up!” Diego slammed his fist on the dashboard, and everyone jumped.
Adam’s incessant humming silenced with his yelp, as did the keyboard clicking. He tried to steady his shaking hands beneath his armpits. Adam’s voice was timid and faint once he finally spoke. “I’m almost—”
“I thought you were a genius? This was going to take five minutes, tops,” Diego snarled accusingly. The seat squeaked when Diego turned and towered over Adam’s diminutive form. “Hurry the fuck up, you little shit! Or I’m dumping you in a dark alley full of flesh-eating freaks like the guy in the back. Crack the gate!”
Wylie gritted his teeth. He wasn’t a freak, and he sure as fuck wasn’t a cannibal.
“It’s not the same system Roth gave me the plans for,” Adam whispered from where he was cowering. “There’s another element I’ve never seen before. I’ve almost hacked it.” His narrow shoulders scrunched as he bent over his small computer and avoided Diego’s glare. His lips pursed tight, Adam ducked beneath his mouse brown hair and refocused on the screen.
“Hey, freak, you paying attention back there?” Diego threw his heavily tattooed arm over the seat and turned his aggressive stare to the back of the van.
“Yeah,” Wylie said through gritted teeth.
Diego’s hard, black eyes tried to find him in the dark. The gangster was as mean as a junkyard dog and twice as foul. Wylie might have been the only one in the crew who could transform, but Diego was all human and still managed to be as despicable as it got. Everything about the situation was setting Wylie on edge. It started all the way back when Diego showed up half an hour late to the heist and labeled him a freak. After an hour trapped in a van with the bad-tempered asshole, he was ready to smash the gangster’s face in.
Diego’s expression was brutal as he glanced at Adam a moment, then to the back of the van. “You’re going to break us through the gate if the kid fucks this up, freak. You might also need to beat the shit out of the little bitch if it turns out he’s screwing us over.”
“Yeah, none of that’s happening,” Wylie said with far less emotion than he felt. “Unless the alarms are down, we’re not leaving this van. We signed up for a robbery, not a fucking suicide mission.”
“You little shit!” Diego’s tanned features flushed red, and his chest puffed like a jacked up frog about to explode. His hand gripped the top of the dividing seat and the vinyl creaked in his powerful grip.
Wylie silently unwound from Beck and nudged him to the other side of his muscular form. He didn’t trust Diego not to lose his shit and start punching. Being saddled with three nervous, untested teenagers for a gang initiation probably wasn’t Diego’s high point of the night, either. It didn’t mean Wylie was about to throw his life away over the gangster’s explosive temper. He’d rather fuck it up in the driveway before they committed a crime, than have it turn to shit when they were balls deep in the mansion.
“Listen here, you fucking freakshow.” Diego stabbed a finger in Wylie’s direction, but had enough self-control to stop there. He wasn’t angry enough to reach into the dark and risk losing an arm. “If you don’t want to end up dead tonight, you do as I fucking say. That goes for all of you. This isn’t some pussy high school playtime, and I’m not going back to prison over you dumb fuck kids. If any of you—”
There was a loud rattle of metal, and Diego whirled in his seat to peer through the windshield. Adam beamed when the wrought iron gate blocking the driveway shuddered and glided open on motorized tracks.
“Halle-fucking-lujah,” Diego growled in relief and jammed the key forward in the ignition. The van sputtered, then roared to life. Diego showed thin restraint as he put the vehicle in gear, hit the gas, and they sped through the gate opening.
Wylie took a steadying breath as his gut clenched. There was no backing out. Whatever happened, they were in it now.
“We’re in,” Beck gasped in excitement. He fell against Wylie’s chest and peered ahead through the windshield. The sprawling mansion came into view, and Beck’s breath heated his cheek when he sought out his mouth. If Wylie’s response was more tepid than usual, Beck didn’t mention it.
“This is it, baby. This is our fucking future,” Beck whispered between quick, hungry kisses. “We’re finally going to be free.”
Wylie quickly sealed their lips together to silence Beck’s optimistic words. Running with Roth’s gang wasn’t going to be freedom the way his idealistic boyfriend envisioned. It was just another bunch of fucked up, hypocritical adults who used kids while calling it family. Doing illegal shit didn’t make it any better than all the other bullshit families Wylie had been through. It would be money, though, serious money that could buy him the future his fucked up arms stole.
Beck’s hand drifted down, and Wylie jolted when fingers fumbled for his zipper. “B,” he groaned, trying to keep from responding. He pulled Beck’s arm up and shot his boyfriend a smoldering look he couldn’t see in the dark. “Quit being a pervy kink. Focus.”
Beck rolled his eyes, and with a wicked grin, threw himself into Wylie’s lap. He wrapped around his boyfriend’s muscular form and kissed roughly up Wylie’s neck and jaw. “Don’t be that way, baby. We’re going to finally fuck tonight. We’re going to ace this shit, and you’re going to come over to my place and fuck me with your studly arms out.”
Beck rocked his hips against him seductively, and Wylie growled when his erection ground against his. Damn it, his dick dragged him into all kinds of trouble when it involved a tight piece of ass like Beck.
“B, you gotta take this seriously.” Wylie peeked an eye to the front of the van as Beck’s lips slid a hot path along his throat. “You know my arms are dangerous. With one wrong move, my scales could slice the flesh from your bones.”
“I don’t care. Your arms are crazy hot, and we’re totally doing it,” Beck whispered breathlessly. “Tomorrow morning, I’m telling my parents to go fuck themselves. No more evangelical school, no more sick fuck Reverend Clark, and no more pretending I hate dick. You’re going to move out of that shitty detention house where they treat you like a monster, and life is going to be fucking perfect.” Beck’s lips found Wylie’s in the dark and crushed him in a desperate kiss.
Beck was fucked up, and Wylie wasn’t complaining. He wrapped his arms tight around Beck’s narrow hips, squeezed his ass hard, and pulled him up into a deep kiss. Sneakers scraped the metal floor when Beck straddled his thighs, and his palms slid hot paths over Wylie’s chest and back.
“Damn it, Wy, you get me so fucking hot.” Beck shifted his hips, groaning into Wylie’s open mouth when his dick ground against his hard abs. “Tell me you want me…”
“B.” Wylie broke from the kiss and grabbed the hand trying to get under his sweatshirt and into his pants. He pulled Beck tight against him and pressed his mouth to his ear. “Promise me you’ll watch your back tonight. If you get even a whiff of the cops, you run.”
Beck stilled, glanced toward the front of the van, and turned back to whisper against Wylie’s cheek. “Dude, I’m the freaking lookout. I can’t run.”
He was so fucking naive. “B, you don’t owe these crazy fucks any—” Wylie fell silent as the darkness flashed and light dazzled his night vision. He hissed and covered his face with his arms. “Shit.”
Wylie stayed hunched until the blinding pain throbbing behind his eyes began to fade. An outdoor lamp illuminated the driveway where the van rolled to a stop in front of a large, multi-car garage. Diego cut the engine and silence descended. Wylie squinted up to the front once his eyes adjusted, and met Diego’s dark glare.
Wylie bristled and pushed back from Beck. He didn’t like Diego, he didn’t trust him, and he sure as fuck didn’t want his eyes on him when he was sucking face with his boyfriend.
Diego didn’t say anything as he watched Beck try to arrange his shirt to hide his obvious hard on. Beck was wearing skinny, black skater jeans that left nothing to the imagination as he tried to pull his already too tight shirt down his front. It merely lifted the fabric up his back, revealing the top of his ass where his jeans hung low on his hips. The gangster’s dark stare drifted down Beck’s body in a way that had Wylie growling in warning. Diego shrugged and pulled a packet from his pocket and jammed a piece of gum into his mouth. Wylie gritted his teeth when he realized it was nicotine gum. The fucker.
“Alright, kiddies,” Diego drawled. His gaze moved from Adam’s pale, anxious face, to Beck’s excited smile, to Wylie’s defensive glare. “Remember, the owner flew south to some fucking island, and we’re the professionals called in to check on a busted pipe. Easy.”
Wylie pursed his lips. They didn’t have a toolbox or even a sign on the side of the rusted-out van painted in matte black finish. They looked like three wannabe thug teenagers and a career criminal, not plumbers.
Diego didn’t seem concerned about the logistics of his plan as he pointed his finger at Beck. “B, you’re on lookout. I want you at the door with your ear on the scanner for signs of the cops. No matter what we’re lugging, you don’t leave that post until it’s time to go. As for you, you stupid shit.” He grabbed Adam roughly by the head and shoved him toward the door. “Get your scrawny ass out. We need someone to tag the stuff worth grabbing. Don’t fuck it up.”
Adam scrambled to keep his computer from falling while wrenching away from Diego’s touch. He didn’t dare look up as he shouldered the door open and slid down the seat until his sneakers reached the pavement.
Diego’s dark eyes burned with hostility when he turned to Wylie, who hadn’t moved yet. “Freakshow, you’re with me. Alright, you stupid fucks, let’s rob this shit.”
***
The night air outside was cooler than when they left the city, and held the distinct bite of autumn. Wylie lingered at the open back of the van to get used to the smells and sounds of the area. They had parked in a spot sheltered from view, where large willow trees and gardens of sculpted bushes blocked them from being seen by anyone on the road. Lights were on outside the mansion, and the trees cast long, black shadows in all directions.
Diego didn’t want them wearing masks, said it would ruin the illusion of being plumbers, but Wylie wasn’t sweating it. Adam had taken the surveillance system down before he cracked the gate, and the kid was confident it worked. And really, it wasn’t like anyone actually cared they were there.
Wylie’s pale blue eyes narrowed as he peered at the surrounding manors and mansions on the other side of the gate. The neighborhood was unnaturally silent compared to the city, but that was the rich for you. They went to bed on time, didn’t look out windows, didn’t think anything could touch them. They were the kind of people who kept all the lights on and thought that was enough to keep thieves away.
Wylie scoffed under his breath. When you had enough money to keep the monsters out, anyone could be dumb enough to sleep at night.
Wylie braced himself as he headed to the front of the van where the others had gathered. This was money, real money. A future. He was an eighteen-year-old freak who was never going to have a shot at a job with his fucked up arms. He needed to get this initiation right and prove to Roth he was useful, even if it meant stealing and thuggin for a living. Shit, he had to be good for something.
“How’s it look?” Beck asked as he came up beside him.
“It’s all quiet.” Wylie’s gaze drifted to his boyfriend and the excited flush to his cheeks. He gripped Beck’s shoulder and leaned down to whisper. “Don’t forget what I said. If things go wrong, you run.”
Beck’s smile was guarded when he pulled away. Wylie could tell from the sparkle in his eyes that he was loving every moment of the heist so far. Beck wasn’t fearless, but he got off on adrenaline, and it made him reckless. Wylie had his own ass to worry about, though, and he took a slow breath as he eyed the door he was there to break through.
There was only one entrance on this side of the mansion, a small, black door in the side of the wall, like an afterthought for servants who ended up on the wrong end of the building. The place was weird looking compared to any house Wylie had been in before. The downstairs looked like it was buried underground, the wall either built into the side of a mountain or someone had dumped dirt over it once the building was complete. A hill reached up on both sides of the flat, white expanse, and above was a glittering, beautiful house that looked like it sprouted organically from the gardens around it.
Wylie hesitated when he saw Adam hovering in front of the door, the kid hunched over a keypad to the right.
“Let’s go,” Diego hissed. He grabbed the black gate protecting the door after the keypad flashed and dimmed. Adam took a shaking step back when Diego swung the gate open wide. “Freak, we’re losing minutes,” Diego called impatiently. The gangster was too loud. Wylie looked around, but the yard they were in was so large, it could have been the size of a mall. No one was going to hear them out there.
“You can do this, yeah?” Beck took Wylie’s black sweatshirt when he shrugged out of it. “I mean, it’s just a door. You can cut that.”
Wylie smiled grimly. “Yeah. Easy.” Out of all the uncertainties the night presented, his abilities didn’t factor in.
Wylie raised his muscular arms and focused on his hands. As he concentrated, the pale pigment began to darken and his skin hardened. Starting at his fingers, black scales erupted from his flesh in a bloodless rush and moved up his forearms. Wylie hissed sharply and took a step from Beck, who was edging over to watch. His scales grew longer and pointed out from his arms at jagged angles. They were beautiful, like a dark, ruffled bird, but each oil slick blade had a razor-sharp edge. If not careful, his scales would ruthlessly slice through whatever they touched, be it metal or flesh.
Wylie had no clue what the hell he was. A paranormal, definitely. A shifter, probably, but his demon arms didn’t look like any animal out there. Most days he felt like a monster, but tonight he might actually be useful.
Wylie held his arms up over his head and let Beck tie his sweatshirt around his waist so it wouldn’t get shredded. “For good luck,” Beck whispered and leaned close to peck a kiss to his lips. Wylie had no defense against the wicked hand that suddenly reached between them and cupped his dick. “In less than an hour, I’m going to be deep throating this huge cock of yours while we’re surrounded by a pile of money. This is the ultimate score, baby. Everything changes tonight.”
Wylie didn’t argue as Beck’s lips heated along his cheek and he squeezed him through his jeans, his breath stuck in his chest. He was too aware of how easily his scales could slice Beck’s flesh to be able to enjoy the moment. Yeah, there was no way they’d be fucking with his arms out. No matter how sexy Beck looked when he grinned up at him like that.
“Freak!” Diego snapped, his patience running out as Beck continued to press kisses to Wylie’s tense jaw.
“I’ll be right back,” Wylie said once Beck stepped away, his eyes sliding down his boyfriend’s tight form flushed with arousal. “Try not to start without me,” Wylie added, only half teasing when Beck reached down to adjust his pants that were caught too tight around his erection. It didn’t seem to matter what the fuck they were doing, Beck was always ready to get off whenever they were together.
“All the more reason to hurry.” Beck’s smirk was shameless as Wylie turned away.
Adam gasped and threw himself back when Wylie stalked toward him. His eyes were wide as he stared at Wylie’s jagged scaled arms like he was a bloodthirsty demon there to murder him. “I got… I got the…” Adam flustered. Wylie stepped right past him, his gaze glued on Diego, whose expression was twisted with undisguised malice.
“Hustle the fuck up, freakshow.” Diego pointed to the door just in case he was too retarded to figure out why he was there. Wylie’s nostrils flared as he watched Diego chew his gum. The no smoking policy was total bullshit. If they could grab DNA off a cigarette, the cops could do the same for a piece of gum.
“Alarm dead?” Wylie grunted as he looked at the back door. The keypad no longer glowed with light, and the protective grate was pushed to the side to keep it from locking. Even at a distance, he could feel a strange sensation, like cold electricity was lingering in the metal of the grate.
“Of course it’s fucking dead,” Diego snapped. “Open the shit up and shut your freak mouth.”
Wylie ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, his fangs itching to bite the aggressive fucker on the face. Money, he reminded himself. He needed the fucking money more than he needed stupid drama.
The door was black walnut with a gleaming finish varnished to perfection. It was misleading, made to look like every other pretty door on the rich houses in the area. The difference was that on this house, the wood was hiding a solid steel security door beneath.
Wylie drew a long, black talon down between the seam of the door and reinforced metal molding. He found the bolts, four in all, and scratched the surface to mark their placement. “Stand back.” He shot a glare over his shoulder when he found Diego hovering. “Unless you’re looking to eat metal.”
Diego grunted defiantly, but moved a few steps away. Wylie didn’t care if the guy ended up with an elbow in the face just so long as he had enough space to work. He ran his palm along where the door met the molding over the alignment of bolts, and braced his other hand to help muffle what he was about to do.
His first slam was experimental to give him an idea of what kind of force he needed. The door yielded beneath his palm, and the solid bolts were a soft bulge in the covering wood. Wylie abruptly clawed down the surface and scraped the glued on wood away to get a better look.
“Seriously?” Wylie muttered when he saw how close together the bolts were. Too easy. The pieces of metal couldn’t be more than three inches into the reinforced molding.
Wylie sank claws into the door with his braced hand, pulled his right back, and punched forward with an open palm. The metal buckled from the blow, and there was a shearing sound under the loud slam. Wylie kept pushing forward, and the door bent and warped from the molding around his hand. With a final slam, the mechanism holding the bolts tore through the other side of the door and clattered to the floor.
“Fuck, yeah.” A smug smile split Wylie’s face, and he turned the broken handle to loud protests from the metal, wrenching forward. Wylie pushed the door open wide with a flourish and waved the scowling Diego in. His gaze fell to Adam, whose chest was heaving and face pale as he stared at Wylie’s impossibly strong arms.
“Hurry the fuck up, you little bitch,” Diego snapped when he saw Adam frozen in fear. Adam jolted, and his eyes flew to Wylie’s face. Without a word, he scurried past and darted inside the dark room after Diego.
Wylie shook his head, his expression grim. He had only met Adam once before, and he reeked of so much fear it was hard to understand what the hell he was doing running with Roth. Maybe Adam was one of those types who didn’t want to be afraid anymore. Wylie sure as fuck didn’t have that problem. He stopped being afraid once he realized no matter how many foster families treated him like shit, he could still survive on his own. Even if he didn’t get into the gang tonight, Wylie knew he’d be fine.
“Baby, you got this,” Beck said excitedly as he stepped up beside Wylie, careful to avoid his scales. “Fuck college; you could be robbing banks! You’re made for this.”
Wylie pasted on a smile he didn’t feel. “Yeah, sure.” His boyfriend wanted him to be a career criminal. Great.
Lights flickered on inside, and Wylie eyed the gaping door where the other two had disappeared. Adam’s fear scent made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, and Wylie suppressed an annoyed sigh. None of this felt right. Adam was too waif-limbed to carry shit and too skittish to trust not to bolt if things got tough. Beck was at least a sweet talker. If some nosy biddy stuck her head over the fence, Beck could come up with a lie and a smile on his pretty face in a second flat.
It didn’t matter, not really. Beck shouldn’t have been there. Neither teen had the judgment or nerves suited to rob the place, and Wylie was left wondering once again why they brought four guys for this job.
He was in it now. Breaking and entering, trespassing, burglary, and damage to private property. Shit, Beck might have a point about this being a career.
Wylie squared his shoulders and stalked toward the door. “Watch your ass, B.”
“Yours and mine both, babe,” Beck replied with a wink as he whirled and sauntered back to the van.
Wylie paused as he stepped inside. He was expecting a great room, something relaxed with a television and couch. What he found was a space clinical and cold in both style and temperature, one with a purpose he couldn’t quite place. The floor was a hard tile, and the walls stripped of any personal touches or embellishments. It was a flat, white room all around, and Wylie’s ice blue eyes narrowed on the strange, bulky machinery made of glittering chrome and sleek plastic. The advanced looking equipment dotted the large space in an obvious grid pattern.
It could have been storage or even a weird art installation. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.
“Start tagging anything that looks worthwhile,” Diego ordered Adam, who was trembling where he stood.
The air was stale and void of natural scents, which only made Adam’s fear scent all the more intense. Wylie’s gaze darted to the wall of electronics, paused on a dividing curtain of plastic to the right, and landed on Adam’s diminutive form and hunched shoulders. Wylie didn’t know shit about tech outside of email and phone calls, but there was a lot of big equipment. If he judged by Adam’s expression, none of this was the run of the mill stuff you’d find in just any rich fuck’s house.
“This is military grade,” Adam whispered as he hovered next to a metal contraption that looked heavy enough to crush him. The machine he was fiddling with flickered and buzzed, and a thin light glowed between metal plates, producing a laser. Wylie’s scales puffed up as a chill zapped down his spine. The sooner they got out of there, the better.
“The door!” Diego snarled to Adam and pointed to a large, open doorway that led to the rest of the downstairs. “We’ve got one more keypad to get through to get into the upstairs house.”
“R-Right!” Adam flinched at Diego’s aggressive tone and nodded rapidly. Clutching his laptop to his chest, he quickly scurried in the direction of the hall.
“I thought you said the security was all down?” Wylie asked suspiciously.
“Subsystems. Simple shit,” Diego grunted. “Come on, freak. The safe is upstairs.”
Wylie followed after Diego’s retreating back with his lips pursed tight. No one had mentioned anything about keypads and internal locks. Had Adam been briefed on things the rest of them hadn’t?
Wylie wasn’t sure if he had good reason to feel paranoid or if the downstairs was just creeping him out. The place felt like an underground laboratory, and it got worse as he followed Diego down the unadorned hallway tiled in white.
Lights connected to motion sensors clicked on as they passed. On either side of the hallway were floor to ceiling windows that looked into large rooms. Inside were desks and more equipment, the spaces filled with the shiny, chrome stuff. But the instruments didn’t look like displays here; they were being used for something. Well, had been used, at least.
Everything was covered in plastic drop cloths to keep dust from getting into whatever was hidden underneath. Wylie wasn’t particularly interested in learning just what was under the plastic. What he could see was creepy enough, from empty vats and cages large enough to fit people, to examination rooms that looked both high tech and intimidating. Through one set of windows was a room that looked so dungeon like, Wylie stopped to peer silently for a long minute.
There were metal restraints, a metal cage that fit across an entire wall, and a metal grid on every surface. On the back wall was a large image of the inside of a human mouth. Except it wasn’t a human mouth, not a proper one. There were two rows of razor-sharp teeth belonging to a fully infected werewolf.
‘Howlers…’
“Shit.” Wylie’s scales ruffled, and he blinked rapidly as a strange wave of dizziness hit him. He turned from the image of the werewolf and forged ahead. He didn’t look into the rooms after that. He didn’t want to see any of it, didn’t want to know. The stuff looked like it was sitting there, untouched for years, and that was consolation enough.
“Figure out what’s important, and we’ll be down to move what you can’t lift.” Up ahead, Diego shoved Adam back the way they just came. “Don’t fuck it up.”
Wylie could see the fear in Adam’s eyes as the teen came his way. Adam stayed close to the side of the hall to avoid getting too close as he passed by him, his only acknowledgment that he was there. Wylie shook his head grimly and forged forward.
Too young. They were all too fucking young for this shit.
“Stairs,” Diego grunted and pulled open the door he was standing next to. Wylie saw the dead keypad on the wall and the metal grate that was once blocking the door now hooked to the side. It looked just like the metal used for the werewolf cage.
“What is this place?” Wylie asked as he entered the stairwell made of concrete steps that led up.
“None of your fucking business,” Diego snapped. “Less talking, more paying the fuck attention, freakshow.”
Wylie gritted his teeth and stomped up the stairs after Diego. He slowed once they reached the upstairs door and waited for Diego to open it, the gangster taking care to push another black metal grate aside before stepping through.
Wylie held his breath when he stepped out into the upstairs mansion. The lights were dim, but his eyes caught every detail as he looked around. Everything was different compared to the sterile lab area they left downstairs, and it felt like he was stepping out into another world.
The stairway door was tucked in a corner that opened out into a hallway, and directly to his left was a large, gleaming kitchen with expansive counter tops and state of the art equipment. Wylie fleetingly remembered what he last ate that day. It had been a bag of potato chips Beck grabbed him from his house. Before then, a piece of bread smeared with butter and nothing else. Wylie had never seen a kitchen so large before, and he had to force his feet from wandering in search for food. He was sure whatever was in the giant, stainless steel fridge was of a better caliber than anything that was back at his detention house.
Wylie followed Diego down the unfamiliar hall, his gaze darting to every shadowed room and new luxury. At the corner, he found a giant family room with a television big enough to hide inside. He passed a decadent dining room, the walls dripping in luscious drapes, the space filled with gleaming wooden furniture carved with elegant curves and whorls. Chandeliers dazzled above their heads in the low lighting, glowing with a faint magic that turned the crystals into prisms lit from within.
Diego didn’t seem interested in any of the opulence as he stalked through the long maze of hallways with complete confidence. It made Wylie wonder if the gang had gotten the house plans in advance, or if maybe Diego had been there before. It was hard to believe someone as coarse and crude as Diego had convinced a maid to let him see the place, but the gangster moved like he knew exactly where he was going, and didn’t bother to turn on the lights even in the dark hallways. Wylie admitted a mild appreciation that Diego wasn’t bumbling around like an idiot. He could put up with the asshole just so long as he didn’t get them thrown into jail.
The hallway suddenly branched out in four directions, and Wylie stopped short, his mouth agape as he turned and took it all in.
On one side was a curved music room with no doorways to block the sight of the ornate instruments. Gilded and ancient looking, each musical instrument was meticulously preserved and cared for, arranged to be seen more than played. Behind the wall where a harp arched like a giant platinum swan, floor to ceiling windows looked out onto the courtyard. Through the glass was a tall gate blocking the courtyard in, one that ran above like a cage so that nothing human sized could get out.
Wylie turned slowly, barely seeing the dual sweeping staircases that led to the second floor of the grand foyer. He zeroed in on the dark door on the other side of the foyer as his stomach bubbled with nerves. He had severely underestimated the security. The little door downstairs with the wimpy bolts he punched through was nothing compared to the mammoth door and extensive security that encased the front entrance of the mansion. Even from the distance, he could see electricity arcing from the metal door to a switch connected to a generator below.
Wylie started putting it all together: the lack of windows, the metal gates on every door, around the courtyard and the lawn, and now the only other door he’d found literally made out of anti-paranormal technology. The mansion hadn’t just been designed to cage werewolves downstairs; it was made to keep them out of the building.
It was a level of wealth he couldn’t fathom, and Wylie looked around the foyer like a starstruck tourist. What it would cost to power the gate, the doors, the fences… It was the kind of thing only cities could afford, yet here it was in a house built for one family.
Wylie tilted his head back and peered at the ceiling that arched above with geometric patterns carved in relief on the white surface. The marble tile below reflected the shapes in its sleek, shiny surface. All around him from the walls, to the statues, to the paintings, and lighting spoke of a luxury he had only ever glimpsed in the pages of magazines or flashes on television. He had thought it had to be an illusion, just media magic—or even plain old magic—but somehow there were people who actually lived like this.
“Freak!” Diego snapped his fingers sharply. “Pay the fuck attention!”
Wylie blinked and lowered his gaze, his expression impassive as he stared back at Diego’s scowling face. If the fucker whistled at him like a dog, Wylie wasn’t sure just what he’d do, but he doubted anyone would blame him.
Wylie turned his feet in Diego’s direction and returned to the path, this time with his senses expanded to take everything in. Diego’s voice was a low, angry rant far ahead of him. “…saddled with a bunch of snot-nosed, piss for brains, fucktard kids.” Wylie tuned it out, more interested in the many extravagances and flashes of treasure found everywhere he looked. In the study, a grandfather clock ticked from its tall, cherry wood case. It had a mother of pearl face that gleamed in the luminous tint of magic from the pillar lamps. Everything in the mansion felt larger than life, created to impress instead of just exist.
Warning prickled through him as he passed the study, and Wylie stopped short. He tilted his head, and his scales ruffled and nostrils flared as he attempted to sense it out. Wylie breathed in deep and turned his head when he caught the scent of flowers. Down a connecting hall was a sleek, mahogany table with a vase sitting in the center. Wylie’s scales ruffled again, and without a word, he turned to investigate.
They were daffodils mixed with small, white daisies in a classic vase. The flowers were fresh, free of droopage or spots of brown on the perfect petals, and Wylie’s stomach churned with the realization.
Diego glanced behind him and snarled when he discovered Wylie wasn’t following. When he caught sight of him, he stomped over to where Wylie was glaring at the flowers. “What the fuck are you doing?” Diego demanded.
“Fresh flowers,” Wylie said through clenched teeth. He rolled his eyes when Diego inhaled, moments from flipping out at him for wasting time. “They’re not even wilted,” Wylie stressed as he plucked one of the petals free with his dark claws. “Who the hell puts flowers out in an empty house?”
Diego’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward to briefly sniff the flowers to see if they were real. He straightened, and with a shrug, waved to the elegant hallways. “Look at this fucking place. Do you really think someone this rich does normal shit? Maybe the fucking maid puts them out to look nice in case they get robbed. Stop thinking and hurry the fuck up.”
“This is totally fucked,” Wylie muttered under his breath as Diego stalk back to the main hall.
The downstairs was full of military tech and werewolf cages, the outside gate had a code they barely got through, and the place was designed to withstand a siege of howlers. Who the fuck knew what else they might have missed? It was the middle of the night and whoever might be there—maid, butler, guest—could be in bed in one of the many rooms in the giant mansion. Wylie had no issue with stealing shit from someone who had more than enough, but he drew the line at terrorizing people.
“Psst!” Diego turned and waved his hand in an exaggerated motion to get him the fuck over there.
“Damn it. Fucking damn it,” Wylie growled under his breath and forced his reluctant feet forward. His scales were twitching so much, it felt like a bug was digging beneath his skin as he followed after Diego.
For all he knew, the fucking rich put flowers out every damn day even when no one was home. Rich people were fucking crazy. Money lifted them beyond reality the same way drugs did for a strung out crackwhore. Whoever lived there had rooms for their stuff, not for people. It’s not like he had found any photos in the giant place or anything. Who the hell was he to say what went on in the minds of the ultra-rich?
Wylie kept close this time as Diego led them surefooted down a branching corridor. He wanted this heist over with already so he could get the fuck out. They followed around a curved wall and passed an elaborate gym with equipment that looked too expensive to belong in anyone’s house. There was nothing normal about the mansion, and Wylie felt more and more out of place when they passed a library inside a study large enough to be a house all by itself.
The wealth was no longer impressive. Every new thing just reminded him of the anti-paranormal tech on the doors and windows. He might not know what his demon arms were, but Wylie was well aware they marked him as a paranormal. This was not a place he was supposed to be.
Wylie’s unease grew with every tap of prison tattooed fingers to the doors as they passed. Diego finally stopped at a dark wooden door where dim light greeted through a narrow gap.
“The office,” Diego announced when Wylie met him at the doorway. “There are jewels and bonds in here, plus some cash.” He pulled a black rectangle from inside his leather coat and unfolded it into a large canvas duffel bag. “The safe is on the far wall past the windows and desk. A bunch of books open up like a door.”
Diego glared into Wylie’s eyes as he placed the strap of the bag into his smooth palm, careful to avoid his talons. “Empty the shit and meet me down the hall. The clock is running down, so don’t fuck around. Don’t touch anything that’s not in that safe, and don’t run off. Just empty it and meet me five doors that way, left side.”
Wylie nodded and tried not to wonder what Diego was going for alone. If the asshole was stealing shit without Roth knowing, he sure as hell didn’t want to be the guy to snitch. Wylie knew why he was there: to follow orders so he could get in with Roth. If Diego wanted to screw himself with the boss, that was his death wish.
Wylie kept his mouth shut and waited for Diego to disappear down the hall before he pushed the office door open. He paused on the threshold and his gaze darted around the lush, sophisticated study. The room brimmed with expensive sculptures and artwork from all over the world. A single table lamp shone a warm glow from a solid wood desk in the middle of the room. It illuminated the warm brown tones of leather furniture and deep red walls. Wylie glared at his ratty sneakers, half afraid to step on the rich oriental rug and dirty it.
The room could have been two with the way bookcases dominated the far side of the space. The wealth was overwhelming, and all Wylie could think about were the shitholes he spent most of his time in. Each room of the mansion felt like new worlds, and this one was no different. Wylie pursed his lips and slipped through the door, careful to tread as lightly as possible on the rug.
Wylie grew tense with each wrong step. He didn’t belong here. He had spent years in foster care, living in houses where he wasn’t welcome, borrowing what was lent and rarely given. This time he was in a house to steal, not borrow. No one had invited him in; he had broken through the door. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. As much as he tried to brush it off, Wylie’s chest was tight as he walked the length of the room.
Scents tickled at his nose, and Wylie did his best to ignore the signs of recent life around him. The stale scent of human flesh was on the air. An older male… cigar smoker… “The butler,” Wylie whispered and took brisk steps to the bookcase on the far wall. Whoever left those flowers probably checked the rooms during the day to dust or some shit. He wasn’t sure exactly what it took to keep a mansion this size clean, but staff probably came by daily.
The false wall of books was easy to find. The hinges hadn’t been hidden, and although the books were real, they were placed as if in afterthought over the swinging door. Wylie’s pierced eyebrow raised at the ridiculousness of it all. The house screamed money, and anyone looking would know the place was full of cash. The owner must have really thought no one would ever get through the door.
Wylie clicked a claw into the wooden groove and nudged the false door open. The bookcase swung wide, and he eyed the matte black safe critically. It was more a vault than what he expected to find. Encased in cement, the safe was almost as tall as him. In the center was a dial waiting for a combination, and beneath that, a handle. Wylie considered the metal contraption in silence for long moments.
The downstairs door had taught him a lot for his first break in, and he didn’t bother trying to finesse this time. He punched his scaled fist into the safe door and ground his knuckles in hard until the metal ripped. He slammed his other hand down just as hard and slipped his claws between the jagged edges of torn metal. Wylie gripped tight and grinned as he curled and bent the thick, heavy door down. Even though it was made of steel, the door twisted like a thin tin cover of spam beneath his palms.
Shit, he really was made for this.
The darkness within the vault hid nothing from Wylie’s night vision. He couldn’t say what bonds were exactly, but he guessed the large, colorful pieces of paper kept in neat piles on the top shelf were them. There were flat boxes on the shelf beneath he figured must be the jewelry Diego mentioned. All the other shelves held cash separated into bundles and kept in tidy piles. It was the most money he’d ever seen in his life, and Wylie didn’t have to count it to know it was an absolute fortune.
Wylie wrenched the door with a final motion until the opening was as low as his knees, then he reached in to sweep the lowest shelf into the duffel. The scales on his wrist caught and tore right through a metal shelf and shredded half a bundle of cash.
“Fuck!” Wylie froze as ripped twenty-dollar bills fluttered down to his sneakers. Any sudden movement could end with all the money shredded. On the best of days, his palms were the only safe part of his hands when his scales were out. When he was shaking, his demon arms became even more of a hazard—not that he would admit to the adrenaline coursing through him.
Wylie took a steadying breath and glared down at his hands. His scales ruffled but refused to retract. “Come on, you fuckers,” he demanded in a harsh whisper. Everything about his arms pissed him off, including how temperamental they were. He was pretty sure the demonic things hated him back just as much, seeing as they made his life hell. “The claws, then,” Wylie pleaded and wiggled his fingers. “I need a damn hand!” His scales refused to relent, and Wylie growled in frustration. He peered into the paper treasure pile waiting in the safe as his mind raced.
Fear was starting to itch up his spine. Wylie couldn’t actually remember the last time he had let his arms out this long. Usually it was short stuff, quick moments where he would break something that needed breaking, or threaten someone who was giving him shit. He always shifted back right after, afraid of what might happen. His demon arms never felt like they were a part of him, but more that someone else was in there, controlling the terrifying things…
‘Hurry…’
Wylie grimaced as darkness throbbed for a moment behind his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. There was no fucking time.
“Fuck it.” Wylie gave up on his hands, and his eyes lit on a thick, hardcover encyclopedia on the bookcase shelves. It didn’t matter if his claws shredded the book just so long as they didn’t touch the money. Wylie pulled the encyclopedia down and used a sweeping motion to clear half of the first shelf into the duffel bag. “Yes. Fucking winning,” he cheered triumphantly.
He held the bag gingerly by the strap with his knee raised to brace the bottom. With the book, Wylie knocked the rest of the contents from the shelf into the waiting bag. Things went faster after that, and it was difficult to truly understand the stacks of money sailing past him.
Seriously, rich people were fucking crazy. Who needed this much cash at home? If they put their money in a bank, no one would be walking into their house to steal their shit. But then, what the fuck did he know? Wylie snorted under his breath as one of the flat boxes knocked open and a glittering necklace tumbled out, only to be covered by a half dozen bundles of cash. Maybe the thousands flipping past his view were the same as spare change in the couch for normal people? Giant mansions, giant tech, giant amounts of dough: the rich were too fucking large to comprehend.
It was a good thing Beck was stuck playing lookout; he would have been writhing in the vault like it was an orgy. Beck had big dreams he was looking to buy if he could only get enough cash. Wylie tried to understand it, but he stopped dreaming a long time ago. There was no point. Freaks didn’t get to reach their dreams. No, they were stuck doing the grunt work behind the scenes while ambitious crooks like Roth were safe at home making a fortune.
The seams of the bag were stretching by the time the safe was empty. Wylie tossed the now shredded hardcover book aside and flexed his shoulders to coax his scales further up his arms. His demon arms had weird limitations he didn’t fully understand. His muscles and bones changed to beyond human, but only where the scales reached. It didn’t matter how killer his arms were if he couldn’t lug the weight of a bag full of twenties.
Wylie held still as his biceps bulged and more scales erupted through his flesh. The edges of his tank top shredded from the sharp scales. Sight, sound, and scent flooded him all at once when Wylie’s senses responded to the transformation, and a vibrant rush of information greeted him with his next breath.
Yeah, there had been a man in the office recently. Very recent. Wylie could smell the molecules of sweat in the air. He carried the bag one handed and wandered to a stand of glittering liquor bottles where a discarded glass of brandy rested. He sniffed and picked up the sour hint of clinging saliva and bacteria off the rim. If it was the butler, he sure as fuck wasn’t afraid to leave his booze stealing ways out for all to see…
Wylie didn’t need his scales to twitch this time as his heart pounded with understanding. He smelled someone.
He had slammed through that downstairs door, and the sound of shearing metal when he tore through the safe wasn’t fucking quiet. Fuck. They could have already called the cops. Wylie grimaced as a snarl tore from his throat. Fucking whore, the cops could already be on their way! What if they missed something? There had been codes on the inside—what if Adam missed something? The cops could be sneaking up the driveway even now!
Wylie didn’t bother to count the doors as he booked it from the office and dashed into the hall. He followed Diego’s scent down the hallway while he swallowed down his anxiety. There was no watch his scales wouldn’t destroy, but he knew they couldn’t have been in the house for more than ten minutes. Wylie winced when he thought about how long it took to get through the downstairs with all the weird labs. Shit, it might have been fifteen. Even twenty minutes—the hallways were so damn long in the place. Fuck, they needed to fucking fly.
“Diego!” Wylie palmed the door handle to the room the gangster had disappeared into and used his knee to push it open. He stopped short with a sharp inhale when scent and sight revealed an absolute shit storm.
Beverly was silent through the drive home and Evan was grateful for it. She had taken one look at him, turned the car on and just driven away. He wasn’t sure if it was because of Gilda or how he looked but he wasn’t going to ask to find out. His mind was a mess. He felt like he’d been turned upside down and the feeling was only growing worse the closer he got to what right side up had once been.
Evan couldn’t help but think just how easy it would be to step through a portal or cast a teleportation spell now that he had actually experienced the mirror portal at the Hierarchy. It would have been an instant instead of the hours driving. His world could open up so far beyond Beverly’s house and Stephan’s grasp.
Beverly really was a strange sorceress in a lot of ways. It wasn’t that she didn’t have access to all this magic. She had used it when she was younger. Not just when she had fought to protect the Arc Fault, but also before. She had been raised to be a magic user among family that had taken things like portals for granted. He couldn’t help wondering why it had all gone crazy for his cousin.
Sure, Beverly could say things like how a portal could be hijacked, but couldn’t a car be hijacked as well? Wasn’t it just as easy to cast a spell on a moving vehicle full of unsuspecting occupants as it was to target the interspace travel involved in moving through a portal? She didn’t have any magic on the SUV to protect them from such an assault; Beverly tended to avoid magic at all fronts, even the kind that could protect her.
Evan stared out into the dark as they pulled into their neighborhood. Beverly stopped at the corner, putting the car into park without a word. He pulled his attention from the window when he realized there was nothing to see, meeting the woman’s eyes through the rearview mirror as she peered at him. She looked tense, her gaze sharp, and Evan braced himself for what undoubtedly would be something about the woman’s boyfriend.
“Stephan knows,” Beverly said curtly, not bothering to elaborate.
“Right.”
“He’s had one of his moods.”
Evan nodded, his muscles growing tense even as he told himself to remain unaffected. “So?” He asked, his voice coming out too sharp. Beverly ignored his tone, her eyes continuing to pierce into his.
“He won’t let me clean it up,” the woman said blandly. “He said he’ll be home to ‘educate’ you. I wanted you to be prepared.”
Closing his eyes and exhaling slowly, Evan gave another nod. “Right.”
“Try to keep things quiet, Evanel. Edward has final exams to study for. I don’t want the house upset.” Beverly put the car back into drive, the black SUV gliding forward. Evan kept his mouth shut, stuffing his retort down so deep he couldn’t even fathom the words he wanted to say. His eyes caught on something white as the car pulled into the driveway, the headlights illuminating a mess strewn across the lawn.
It was his clothing and things from his room. His bureau was shattered, drawers pulled free and crushed in the dirt. The books he could see were torn in two, pages ripped out and fluttering in the light breeze outside.
No, Stephan had not taken the news well.
Beverly turned the car off, staring out the windshield at the mess as the headlights faded. “If you learned to repair things with magic…”
Evan blocked his cousin out, glaring Beverly’s way until she fell silent. She unbuckled her seatbelt and he followed suit at a slower pace.
If she hadn’t hooked up with a psycho, he wouldn’t need magic. He wouldn’t need to protect himself—He wouldn’t fucking need anything. She was just going to bliss out again, probably the second she got into the house. Fuck, she was probably already halfway there in her mind already.
Beverly could tell him a million way that magic could sneak its way in and fuck their lives but apparently it could never happen through the mind and emotion altering potions she downed like water. No, Beverly being poisoned to death never seemed to cross her mind even though the woman had grown shakier and more weak every time she drank the numbing shit.
He stepped out of the SUV, looking at the house he had lived in for years. It looked tired, as tired as Beverly and just as shaken, the beige paint peeling, shingles off the roof lost and unmissed. The driveway was full of cracks, weeds quick to come in and fill the gaps. The hedges were overgrown but maybe that was a gift to the neighbors down the street that never talked to the family. Sometimes Edward got a hello but never Evan. Edward was going to grow up to be a sorcerer while Evan had just been the weird science geek without any parents.
As he stared down at one of his torn textbooks, he couldn’t help thinking his previous principles had been proven. What use was anything beyond cold, hard facts? What use was this seething pit of emotion in his stomach? It wasn’t real. None of it was real. The soil was real he was standing on, the granite underneath. Metal and minerals were real. Atoms, protons, electrons. The cycle of the water that rained down and seeped deep into the ground. These things were real, not the pain trying to pry into his heart. Not the fantasy of waving your hand and having all your problems just disappear. What a joke magic made of the world.
He left his robe in the car, not seeing the point in ruining it as well as he bent to clean. Beverly left him to it but he didn’t miss her presence. His heart winced and then hardened with every article of clothing he pulled from the damp grass and mud, each ruined book, destroyed dream. It had all been destroyed with the letter from the Hierarchy, this was just the physical manifestation finally revealed. It wasn’t going to get better. He knew Stephan Grock and he knew the way the fucked up man thought. No, there was no seeing this better. All he could do was wait it out and hope he’d make it through.
As he crouched over his broken bureau, carefully pulling shards of wood free from his tangle of shirts, he considered going to Gilda’s, only to shake his head with a sigh. Who the fuck would want to put up with this sort of shit? Stephan would surely follow him. The man would not let him free so easy, not after years of trying to get even the smallest admittance from Evan that he had power. The man would make an ass of himself in the middle of a village of sirens, and make Evan would look just as bad in association. Stephan hated the fae possibly more than anything else because the beings were magic while the warlock fell short in every regard. Making friends with the fae was the fastest way to get on the man’s bad side. Hardly something Evan needed to do more of.
He felt a familiar numbing draining his anger and hurt away as he piled his scavenged belongings together and prepared to step into Beverly’s house. It stole the strange spark Evan had felt since meeting Gilda and the others. Maybe things had been interesting at the Hierarchy. Sebastian had always spoken of having so much fun and crazy adventures… But then, Uncle Seb’s idea of a good time was going off and murdering people so he probably wasn’t the best judge. Evan could only imagine he had experienced something of interest that weekend because now it was gone. He was back home. His days were back to being filled with the same mundane mixed with fear of what might come depending on Stephan’s mood.
Straightening, he exhaled slowly, his eyes sliding up to the dark, cloudless sky and the bright pale moon above. At least it wasn’t a demon, right? He could have been tattooed and waiting for some demon master to drain him until he was dead.
Evan took small comfort in the fact that he wasn’t Vesper Malice even while silently hoping the boy was well and unafraid.
Vesper had stayed too long at the Hierarchy. With slow steps, the platinum blond boy made his way to the vestibule, the one area on campus where residents could teleport outside of the enchanted school. He had lingered for reasons he hadn’t wanted to admit, the main one being to catch a final glimpse of a certain dark-eyed, angry boy he could not stop thinking about.
His demon hellspawn had already slipped away into a foul puff of smoke, returning to its true master where it would undoubtedly become as talkative as it had been silent now that it was free of Vesper’s presence. Vesper had plenty of justifications for why he had stayed as long as he did and had little fear of being found out, especially since he had failed in his endeavor to actually say goodbye to Evan. Instead, he had spoken nearly two hours to Master Cantorous about apprenticing with the man, and he had gotten pulled into a deep conversation with Mistress Nox, the resident demonologist. The woman had been intrigued with his tattoo and the bond that would soon be activated. He would be more than happy to give the sorceress the information she wanted next year when he was forced to endure first hand the bond she had been gushing over in her excitement.
Demons were as alien to Earth as the fae were but they originated from one specific world in the outer realms while the fae had come from many worlds. It was the newness of their discovery that set the demons so apart, for there had been many fae with many different powers that could be just as unsettling. While the fae had populated the earth hundreds of thousands of years back, mixing with humans until they were at times indistinguishable, demons had only been discovered far more recently and through a magical means that few people agreed was acceptable. It was a one-way trip and no demon, to the best of Vesper’s knowledge, had been given a choice in being brought to Earth.
There was still a difference to the demons, one that made even fae avoid them when they crossed. They were all on some level essence eaters. While a fae could choose to consume a being safely of their superficial energy, demons were known to drain their victims of their life force, be it through blood, flesh, or even soul. It made them dangerous on a different level, one that for whatever reason had justified the absolute control of the demonic population as they came to arrive on the planet. Demons were supposedly too dangerous to be allowed free even though the demons had not had any choice in their arrival in the first place.
Most demons became slaves to the sorcerer or sorceress that summoned them. Being essence eaters still didn’t necessarily make them powerful. Demons were rare and some magic users made a habit of bonding the creatures to their own power, allowing them to exploit the creatures. Then there were demons like Vesper’s soon to be master. Beyond powerful, vicious, and with no known rival to defeat him, Heiden could have been a fae god, or so Vesper liked to pretend when he dared to try and comprehend how he had found himself in his dismal situation. Heiden was so powerful, he enslaved demons and when he fancied it, humans and fae as well.
Kruck, the flaming eyed, cracked face demon that had kept student and professor away from the blond’s allure was one of the few of Heiden’s slaves he had met so far. He knew the demon master had more even though he had yet to meet them. Vesper had a natural curiosity of the demons and, perhaps, an affinity seeing as he too was to be a slave. Knowledge of these rare demonic fae was of interest to many a magic user, especially to the sorcerers that would not dare to summon and enslave a demon to satisfy their curiosity. Because of his unique circumstances, Vesper had more than enough information to share with such magic users. He didn’t dare hope that it would one day free him from his demon master but he could at least dream the information might provide a way to free his descendants in the future.
The outdoor vestibule was alight even though evening had fallen hours ago. Beautiful trees framed the domed ceiling that opened up to reveal the clear, dark sky above. It could have been daylight in the area, except there was a quality to the glow that tinged everything a soft blue reminiscent of moonlight. Vesper stopped once stepping through a tall archway, his eyes drawn to the large fountain in the center of the expansive stone patio where a slender, dark-skinned boy sat watching him. It was Asher Vah, still and calm, his long black hair loose around his shoulders and shimmering in the light that bounced off the pool of water.
This was not the first time Asher had sought him out. Of all the peers that knew of his situation, Asher had been the least squeamish to be around him. It might have been companionable if Vesper didn’t have to wonder if the boy was looking for a way to slice his veins open.
The breeze shifted, Vesper’s skin tingling at the nape of his neck when he caught the scent of fresh blood. All his senses warned him of Asher. The boy was a predator, cold and calculating, and he viewed sentient being just as edible as mindless animals. But he could see the tanned boy had fed, Asher showing a slight daze to his pale leaf green eyes that spoke of being sated. The Hierarchy did not lack for anything, nor did the students that attended. He might not have fully trusted Asher, but he could trust that if fed, the boy would be less a danger to his health.
Vesper slowly crossed the distance, taking note of the few people in the vestibule that had chosen to give Asher a wide berth. Asher looked up at him calmly, meeting his curious gaze before looking him over. Vesper was used to Asher sizing him up but he had yet to figure out just what the intention behind it was. The short boy was difficult to read. Sometimes he was certain Asher was trying to figure out if he a worthy opponent, other times he could swear there was a sexual undertone to the boy’s stare. But most times Vesper thought Asher was just looking for a weakness so that he could slash an artery and feast from him.
Fuck, it was Asher Vah. He wouldn’t put anything past the little brat.
“I was curious,” Asher finally spoke, his clawed hands looking deceptively delicate as he braced the marble seat of the fountain on either side of where he sat.
Vesper raised a brow, waiting silently for the boy to continue. Asher was hardly a social creature. He was there for a reason and he’d figure out how to communicate it eventually.
Another moment stretched out, Asher Vah scratching lightly against the stone before speaking again in his lulling voice. “I was curious as to why you interfered yesterday.”
Scowling, Vesper took a gliding step forward, standing directly in front of the slender boy so he could glare down. “You attacked an innocent, Asher Vah. Did you expect me to do nothing?”
Asher tilted his head, a small smile twisting his lips as his hair fell across an eye. “You had to know I wouldn’t kill the boy. You exerted an unneeded amount of energy to save a young man that didn’t need saving.”
“Just because you weren’t going to kill him didn’t mean he didn’t need saving,” Vesper muttered, his glare burning into the tanned boy’s form.
Asher smiled wider, a fang peeking from between his lips. “It was very out of character for you.”
Vesper pursed his lips at the accusation, trying to deny it even though he knew it was very true. He was not the type to get caught up in the stupid games of others, especially of predator and prey. But he had the moment he’d seen Evanel Reed in danger and he couldn’t, for whatever reason, seem to stop himself even now in his desire to protect the boy.
“What was your intention, Asher Vah?” Vesper demanded lowly. Yes, he had been out of character, but so had Asher. The boy was usually controlled but he had given in to the draw of Evan just like the rest of them. Vesper had not been the only one to crack yesterday at orientation. “You risked your life. I have never seen you gamble so much. Why reveal yourself to some null and risk retaliation?”
“You think him null? Truly?” Asher shrugged the blond’s assessment away with a bored sigh. He adjusted the dark silks over his narrow shoulders, wrapping his neck idly. Asher’s tanned skin shone in the magical light, his dark hair and green eyes gleaming; the boy was truly beautiful. Unfortunately, he was a blood drinker, one demented enough to actually bathe in the life-giving fluid.
Vesper wasn’t sure if it was an intimidation ploy on Asher Vah’s part, painting himself in gore to combat his petite frame and sweet face. Asher seemed to take pleasure in fucking with people’s heads in subtle ways. A mindfuck of blood for those foolish enough to see him as weak didn’t seem beyond the boy. It was either that or Asher actually absorbed the blood through his skin. There were demons that had the ability, the djin among them. Except, Asher was only half djin and the rest of him very much human. He could simply eat a damn meal if he was hungry enough.
Vesper had been exposed to demons of all types in preparation for bonding with Heiden. Some of them had been so disgusting and cruel that to see Asher Vah was to know an invaluable jewel with sharp, deadly edges in comparison. The slender boy was a demon/human hybrid, rare and endangered the way anything with demon blood was. There would always be someone, be it concerned citizen, magic user, or more powerful demon that would think Asher better to be owned than allowed free. Vesper sometimes wondered if the boy sought him out as much as he did—little as that was—because of their shared fate.
“I heard you offered him an informal entreaty to court,” Asher finally said, a smile just teasing at his lips.
“You’re mistaken,” Vesper grunted, straightening his stance.
“I know you and the incubus had a rendezvous with the angry thing,” the slender boy countered lightly. “You risk battle and your master’s wrath for the boy. Surely you must have just as compelling a reason as I do for seeking the boy’s attention.”
At the mention of Heiden possibly discovering what he had done, cold flooded through him. Vesper’s eyes shuttered, his expression closing off, his chest clenching painfully tight. “I proposed no such thing. Devlan suggested there was a choice. There is not. I am not available, nor will I ever be.” That it was true only made it hurt more, something inside him rattling in defiance.
He went to turn, done with all reminders of the hell he had gone through yesterday but Asher moved. It was just a twist of one of the boy’s dangling bracelets but it was enough to freeze the blond, warning prickling through him.
“I have never known you to draw your sword, Vesper. Not among your peers. Not in the face of a being like me.” Asher paused, combing claws through his dark hair. “You were going to kill me. All for a boy you didn’t even know.”
There was a new tone to Asher’s voice, unfamiliar and tinged with regret. Vesper sought his gaze, confused. Had Asher been hurt by it? Had he somehow missed that this demented, vicious halfling might actually consider him to be his friend? “Asher Vah, if you hadn’t attacked—”
“Evanel ensnared you much faster than it took to get that tattoo carved into your flesh,” Asher interrupted smoothly, his voice back to its purr of before. “I would have expected far better from a Candidate.”
It was a slap in the face, the words coming from nowhere but stabbing deep and true in a way Vesper could not have prepared himself for. Gritting his teeth with a hiss, he whirled, his hands clenched into fists despite his efforts to control his anger. “Do not approach him again,” he warned, his anger darkening his words. “I will show you no mercy, Asher Vah, no matter how long we have known each other.”
Asher’s eyes glinted and his dark hair rippled in the night breeze as the blond stalked away angrily. “I would expect no less, Vesper.” Looking down, Asher caught his reflection in the water, blood spotting his otherwise clean cheek. He carefully wiped it with his thumb, licking the bloodied digit as he watched Vesper teleport home.
Vesper seethed inside, a storm of emotion trapped in a place of darkness within. Cracking into awareness at the foot of the Sunfall Mountains just shy of the arctic circle in Canada, he kept his head down, ignoring the swirl of white and walls of rock around him and the wind roaring outside the arrival chamber of stone. It was daylight still near the Western Coast of the continent where he had teleported to. His home was above, a castle built and hidden into the highest peaks. The only way to access it was through the mirrored portal before him, but he hesitated, fighting to control his anger.
Asher Vah had dared to insinuate he was a Candidate—The boy had to be out of his fucking mind! Surely he was just trying to piss him off and get under his skin. A game. A game of predators that Vesper just didn’t have the fucking mettle for at the moment because he was facing his birthday, his exritus, and his bonding to a demon that would drain him dead.
Damn. A Candidate.
Sighing heavily, he tried to steady the drumming of his heart while running fingers through his long, nearly white hair. Why would Asher have said that? Did he know something? The Malice bloodline always held the possibility but the last time the Candidates had been called forth had been over a thousand years ago. There was no way it would happen in his generation and sure as fuck not to him. Not with the fucking tattoo. Not with Heiden looking to sink his fucking claws into him for a limited eternity of hell.
Scowling, Vesper strode across the rocky footpath, thin powdery snow dusting his way. The steeps around him rose up like the steps of giants. His mother used to tease him, saying the dragons had carved them into the land so that they could reach the sky. But no dragon could be large enough to use the mountains as a stairway. Vesper glared up at the banded rocky wall, bitterness he tried so desperately to keep at bay rising up in him. Another lie told to him as a child to dull the pain of life. He had grown up faster than his cousins. He had been forced to face reality at ten. Now even the suggestion of such childish fantasies made his heart clench painfully. Vesper had grown up faster because his death was already near and though he had accepted it as inevitable, there was nothing in him that would willingly welcome his fate.
Taking a dagger out, he sliced the inside of his palm, then pressed it to the surface of the mirror. Ancient magic, natural terrain, and hazardous weather protected the castle he called home for as long as the Malice line had lived, possibly even longer. They had little fear of losing their mountain fortress, but then, it had done little to protect any of them from Heiden in the end.
Vesper’s reflection rippled in the portal, his glaring face disappearing to reveal the familiar scene of his home on the plateau above. He took three calming breaths, internally kicking himself for having let Asher Vah get to him. His expression schooled again into one of indifference, he stepped through the portal and into the warm air of Celestial Keep.
The estate stretched out before him, a fertile oasis among an otherwise desert of rock, scrubby brush, and snow. Below in some of the valleys, thin trees grew, greenery dotting the craggy landscape. But at the top of the plateau where his ancestors had made their home, magic had been used to create a hospitable environment. Orchards dominated the majority of the land, gifting a bounty of fruit and nuts that fed the humans and animal alike that had been transported to the three acres of land. Sitting above, sturdy and oppressive with its tall towers was his family castle made of the magic imbued rocks of the cliffs around them. Some stone repelled magic, others enhanced. Celestial Keep was crafted from a stone that was fortified against magical attack. It truly was a fortress and Vesper breathed a sigh of relief to be home.
He rarely left his family estate. His tutors came to him and besides the few visits to relatives and the occasional party, he had little desire to leave Celestial Keep. His trip to the Hierarchy had been his longest away that he could remember. Stepping back into the magical boundary felt significant, some of his tension slowly unkinking from his muscles as he was engulfed in familiar scents and sounds. It was as if the magic that cultivated growth from lifeless rocks was trying to do the same to his otherwise numb existence. Something within him welled to see his home again. It was the one place he was certain he truly belonged and the place he would soon be leaving forever.
Heiden wouldn’t force the issue; the demon would be happy to move in. No matter how much he would miss his home, Vesper would never invite the monstrous creature to enter Celestial Keep and put his family at risk. It was just another sacrifice he had resigned himself to, another internal wound that would eventually dull and numb like all the others had. He was just the walking dead at this point. A ghost that had haunted his home long enough. Once he left, his aunts, uncles, and many cousins could finally return to the Clan’s castle. It would give his parents the companionship he had failed at no matter how hard he’d tried to smile if only for them.
Depression was not new for Vesper but he was surprised to be aware of his state of being. Something had changed in him, something unsettling and disturbing on as many levels as the mountains around him. His weekend at the Hierarchy had been worse than he had anticipated. Mostly because of one strange, confusing boy that he hadn’t been able to stop looking at the moment he had caught sight of him.
He could have easily named twenty men more beautiful than Evanel Reed, most of them from his own Clan. He could have likely named a hundred more powerful than the angry-eyed boy who had been able to avoid Vesper’s allure but not much else. But for whatever reason, he could not stop thinking of Evan. Even now, when back in the familiar surroundings of the Sunfall Mountains while standing in the shadow of his family’s castle, he could see the blond in his mind’s eye. He could nearly remember Evan’s scent and hear those damn near silent whimpers the boy had made—
Fuck. What the hell had the boy done to him?
He had drawn his weapon on a classmate. He had used his power to intentionally pull. Hell, he had agreed to let Devlan call Evan and feed off of him, just so he could have an excuse to see the boy again. It was unforgivable. This weekend had marked not only Vesper’s acceptance into the Hierarchy as his power demanded, but also his first test to see if he could control himself away from the protection of his family and home. He had failed. He had failed on nearly three separate occasions all because of that boy. How could he trust himself to keep the masses safe from Heiden’s possessive rage if he couldn’t even control himself over one damn boy?
Vesper had run the memory of orientation through his mind a dozen times, each recounting more damning than the last. It wasn’t that his actions had been questionable but that his emotions had been joined in them as well. He had wanted to use his power. He had truly wanted to kill Asher Vah. He had been damn near giddy with the idea of slicing the small, vicious boy to pieces. The feeling had almost been as exhilarating as the idea of fucking Evan after in reward.
Vesper raised his clenched fist to his mouth, resisting the urge to actually bite his own flesh as the same feeling rose up inside him unbidden. His hand was healed, the blood still wet from where the portal had sealed the wound. He licked it idly as he thought.
He was just some boy. That he had made it to the Hierarchy at all was a wonder because, for all intents and purposes, Evanel Reed was a null to his senses. He was weak, ignorant of magic and physical defense—An absolute victim too blind to even fear for his own safety. And if Vesper had only felt a need to protect the boy, that might have been acceptable. But it wasn’t protectiveness seething inside him when he thought of Evan. It was definitely something along the path of defilement and enslavement bubbling through his very core. He wanted to possess the boy at every level, kill any that would dare challenge him, and then be free to do whatever dark, delicious things he pleased to Evan.
Madness. Goddess, but he was going mad.
Scowling to himself, Vesper expanded his magical senses, seeking out his mother’s presence. She radiated from the direction of the library and he turned himself towards the imposing building, barely seeing the beautiful gardens as he passed.
Maybe it was the change coming. His birthday was upon him and his exritus was due. Vesper had been so focused on his upcoming bonding that he hadn’t given much thought to the possibility that he might end up becoming some barbaric, bloodthirsty fae. It was not as if his last name was a coincidence; there had been more than a few Malices in the past that had ended up more chaotic and destructive than anything much else. Was that why Heiden had chosen him? Had the demon sensed he would be a monster among his family?
He should have dismissed the invitation to the Hierarchy. Even now, Vesper was thinking of never returning. Exposing people to whatever the hell he was turning into had no useful value beyond his selfish fear of dying alone. Maybe a part of him had hoped the demon would choose to drain him less if there were people to see him falter, to see him grow weak and frail. Now he knew how foolish a dream that was. Heiden would want an audience to his slow death.
The castle was colder than the outside, the properties of the stone keeping the environmental magic from affecting the building. Vesper barely felt it even though his torso was mostly bare. They had personal enchantments and furs if they grew cold but, unlike his father, he rarely had to make use of them with his higher body temperature. His body had been born for the cold, as had all the Malices. They were descendants of the great Fae Ezella, the Celestial Dragon that had birthed his mother’s family. In the foyer was a mural depicting the fae goddess in dragon form, scaled and sinewy, her coloring like the pure snow that fell among the untouched mountain tops. She dazzled in the light, a creature of such power, even her own had feared when she approached. But Ezella was a mother, a protector, noble of heart and true to what was right even if the shadow she cast was dark and impenetrable.
The Malice line may have strayed too far for even Ezella’s mercy. The demon Heiden was a curse on their bloodline, one the goddess had allowed for nearly a thousand years. No one had intervened to save them and Vesper could not expect anyone to. Not after so long. Ezella had pledged her loyalty to the shadow faced god and with that promise, the lives of her descendants had been pledged as well. Neither god or goddess had stepped forth to repay that loyalty and no Candidate had been called. After a thousand years of silent deities, who could expect them to return?
Maybe that too was the way of the gods. Sacrifice the loyal so the weak had a chance to flourish. It wasn’t as if the Malice line had been decimated. No, they had just been culled in such a ghastly manner that many refused to continue the bloodline for knowledge their children could be the next victim. Vesper certainly had no interest in siring an heir.
He found his mother in the library, shimmering in the light from the large picture window that looked out at the mountains. Slender and willowy, Leandra’s white-blue hair reached down to her knees, the locks kept in perfect tight curls. She was pure elegance but Vesper would expect no less from a dragon queen even if she had no Clan to rule. His mother was clothed in a silky blue dress, the material draped straight down to accent her gentle curves. The sleeveless sides revealed the delicate silver tattoos that decorated her otherworldly pale skin from her biceps to the tips of her fingers.
Vesper regretted seeking her out once catching sight of his mother, pity and guilt hitting him in a familiar wave. Leandra looked weaker today than when he had left her Saturday. He knew it was his imagination; the baby growing inside the woman had yet to start redirecting her magic into its protection. Still, it was a reminder of the dangers facing his parents, especially when Leandra turned her pale blue gaze towards him, something mournful just beneath her beautiful surface.
“I felt your power. I was concerned.” Leandra placed her book on the windowsill, standing from her cushioned perch. At Vesper’s expression, she stilled, refraining from approaching her son just yet. “Was there a problem?”
“Potentially.” Vesper winced internally, hating to admit to it. But there was no escaping his parents’ ever watchful eye. If his mother had sensed his lapse of control, his father had as well. Goddess, what was happening to him?
Leandra’s gaze hardened, the woman straightening until she was facing her son not as his mother but as the queen she doubled as. “Your exritus is soon and your bonding sooner.” She swept forward, her dress swishing around her legs. “You lost control at the Hierarchy during orientation. You were hardly in the door. Can you explain yourself? Must we lock you away to protect the world from you?”
Licking suddenly dry lips, Vesper forced himself to stand taller and meet his mother’s disapproving gaze. He could see the concern beneath her stern exterior but it wasn’t important. She was very much right. If he had touched anyone at the Hierarchy, be it for fighting or saving, he would have doomed them to a terrible, unwarranted death.
“I believe I may be in the throes of a mating courtship,” Vesper answered carefully, silently cursing Asher for the boy’s choice to be cryptic when bluntness had been needed. “I did not see the reasoning behind it earlier. I was caught up with just… so much. But looking back, it seems to make sense.”
Leandra inhaled sharply, the warmth draining from her face. “Son, you know you cannot—”
“I know,” Vesper replied swiftly. “It is not a courtship of choice, mother. I was blindsided. I could not have expected such a thing but I will surely be prepared next time.”
She shook her head, a pinched expression of anxiety marring her delicate features. It made Vesper’s stomach twist to see. His mother was not one for emotional displays outside of flashes of anger. She had spent his lifetime pretending all was well while a demon waited at their door.
“We will speak with your father.” Leandra turned back to the window, picking up and holding her discarded book in hand like a shield across her chest. “Perhaps Ryder will know some way to curb the mating urge.”
“Mother, there is no need. Bringing more attention to this will only—”
Leandra shook her head sharply and he fell silent. “Your father sits beside me on a tarnished throne while a demon ravishes our bloodline. There is a great need.”
Vesper’s father was not a Malice. Vesper had inherited his mother’s name as all fae born did, along with much of her genetics. Ryder’s great fae ancestor was Avem, a lesser being compared to the celestial dragon, Ezella. Even still, his father had chosen to marry his mother after everyone knew that Heiden had been feeding on their line for centuries. Vesper had assumed it was out of some great love that his father had thrown all sensibility to the wind to stand beside Leandra. Now seeing his mother’s face, he had to fear that it had instead been a biological drive that had overridden his father’s rational mind.
Not that love couldn’t be called the same. A mix of chemicals that addled beings long enough to ensure that a mating occurred. Except the fae had magic to add to the insanity of the hormonal cocktail that was mating. Vesper gritted his teeth as an image of Evan flashed in his mind again, the boy’s bare torso covered in scars and old wounds, his eyes full of something dark and pleading.
Goddess, but he was such a fool.
It was more than just attraction, more than just the lure of the boy’s unique scent and defensive glare. Vesper had felt an underlying recognition the moment he had watched Evanel Reed huff into the orientation with his standoffish posture and haunted gaze. Curiosity had immediately turned to something else. He had wanted Evan to see him as much as he had wanted to know the boy. Had he turned one fucking moment into an absolute fantasy? Had he sought a companion in the only face he hadn’t known because all his other peers had already chosen to withdrawn from him in self-preservation?
There was a painful tearing inside him Vesper defiantly ignored. In the most unassuming of moments he had proven weak once again and a boy had nearly died because of it. He would not allow the mistake to occur again.
He knew what it was like to have been marked in life early on. Heiden had singled him out among his family and sealed his fate. Vesper had endured the endless whispers from his cousins as to why it had been him and not them. He had seen their unspoken relief, their pity, and never-ceasing fear every time they looked at him. Just because one boy had looked at him differently did not excuse his loss of control.
Vesper could not share his fate with anyone, even if he did see a kindred spirit in the angry blond. He was destined to walk his path alone, protecting all he could until death took him. He would hold out as long as he could so that his unborn sibling could have a chance at a life and not face the fate he had been given. It was his duty whether he had chosen it or not.
Leandra turned from her study of the mountains, her expression again controlled. She offered her son a small smile, leading them to the library door. “Your father returns later tonight. He’ll know the best approach in this, Vesper, I’m certain.”
Meeting his mother’s gaze, Vesper simply nodded in agreement. Something inside struggled to be heard but he pushed it down as he had been doing since he had first caught the eye of Heiden. He could only hope the caged being inside him would one day stop rattling, stop slamming at the bars for a freedom he had not been fated to have. Surely it would make it easier once all of him finally gave up.
Ryder, Vesper’s father, arrived late to dinner after his family had started. The large dining hall of Celestial Keep was mostly dim, only a few floating orbs illuminating the area of the main table they used. There had been a time when the entire hall clothed in pale blues among the white marble would expect to be near capacity to house the Malice extended family, the walls echoing with talk and laughter. If Vesper hadn’t been chosen, it would still have been the case. But Leandra’s child had caught Heiden’s attention and the queen’s family was now the outcasts, always spoken to so kindly while pity shone in every family member’s eye and vicious word was held in cheek for later when not face to face with the monster’s meal.
The dimness of the lighting made it so Vesper didn’t notice that the two individuals with his father were not the servants the Malices employed. It wasn’t until his mother suddenly stood, her eyes flashing, that he looked up, his gaze taking in the two huddled, slender forms.
“Guests?” Leandra asked, her eyebrow arched in the closest expression of confusion the woman would dare reveal.
Ryder offered a weak smile to his wife, stepping to the side and ushering the two young men forward. “Of a sorts, my love. Vesper, Master Heiden intercepted me with a delivery while I was away on business.”
“Father?” Pushing himself up stiffly from the table, Vesper met his father’s gaze. Ryder might not have been of Ezella’s blood but his looks complemented the Malice bloodline well. Having just turned forty with his smooth, straw blond hair, cool complexion, and gray eyes, Ryder fit in with his ethereal wife and son, even if the man insisted on dressing in heavy layers of clothing to combat the temperature of the castle. Although his father had his normal, casual smile in place, Vesper could see a tension to his stance, the man’s eyes sharp and full of warning as he tilted his head towards the two new guests.
A pair of red eyes peered back at him from beneath pale, purple tinted hair and Vesper inhaled sharply. Demons. His father had brought demons into their house. Vesper looked to his mother but her expression was as carefully crafted as his father’s. Still, he was certain this was just as much a surprise to her as it was to him. She would have warned him otherwise.
Vesper approached slowly, trying to gain as much information as possible with his eyes before he dared speak and say the wrong thing. Two, they couldn’t have been older than him, petite, slender, and eerily similar in looks. They were dressed in thin shifts, hardly offering much in protection from temperature or gaze, their legs and arms bare. They came up to his shoulder, their hair cut in identical fashion to bob silky around their faces. After a moment, he realized he was looking at twins, the only difference being that one was as pale as the snow with startling blue eyes while his brother was nearly gray skinned with a demonic red to his stare that could belong to no other creature. They were horned, a single small spire protruding from the center of their foreheads. Beyond their odd coloring, sharp fangs, claws, and pointed ears, they seemed far from hostile, the two of them huddled together possibly from the cold or maybe just in terror.
Vesper noticed it then, the frozen, thick black metal wrapped around each of the young man’s slim throats. They were slaves, their magic cut off from them along with any ability to flee.
The Malices did not deal in slaves. They did not allow them into their household, nor did they support the enslavement or trade of slaves in any way. Enslaving demons, fae, and humans was about as barbaric as one could get and Vesper’s family had no stomach for it. Yet there were two in his dining hall, eyes wide and full of misgiving as they peered back at Vesper with thinly veiled curiosity.
“Vesper, I would like you to meet Lilo and Draven,” Ryder said carefully, indicating the blue-eyed than red-eyed twin while beckoning his son closer. “They will be joining us at Celestial Keep until you find it time to move. They will then accompany you to your choice of estate. Space will be made in your set of rooms so that they can be near whenever you have need of them.”
A sickening wave of heat clenching in his stomach, Vesper nodded tightly. He didn’t dare ask just what sort of need he was supposed to have of the two youths, not when they were standing there staring at him like he was a step away from stripping the flesh from their bones. “They are from Heiden?”
Ryder nodded, his eyes downcast. “A very special gift for his precious one.”
“I see.” Forcing himself to breathe normally, Vesper took a small step back. “I imagine the three of you are famished after your journey. Father, if you will take your seat, I will have Gibbens add two more place settings for the evening.” The two boys were so thin, he had to wonder if they had been fed at all since arriving on Earth and just how long ago that might have been.
His mother sent him an approving look Vesper couldn’t fully feel past the ice moving through his veins. Heiden had gifted him with two slaves. Slaves. The demon had no understanding of his disgust of slavery—Or perhaps he completely did and that was why he had gifted them. All he knew for certain was that two very real lives had just been placed into his responsibility and he had little idea how to care for them.
He glanced back when he heard the two hissing, the pale boy having grabbed his gray skinned brother with a soft cry after seeing the tattoo on Vesper’s back.
“If he desires to bond with us—”
“Do not assume.” Red eyes glowed in warning, glancing Ryder’s way cautiously to see if the outburst had gotten them in trouble. They were speaking in their native tongue, Vesper recognizing it from one of the many demonic dialects he had studied.
“No one will force you to bond,” Vesper said bluntly in the same tongue, ignoring the wary glares immediately turned towards him. “I will not share my fate with anyone. As long as you are under my protection, you will have as much freedom as I can grant you.” He finally met the twin gazes, not sure if he could handle much of any reminder of Heiden at the moment. “I cannot promise it to be much in ways of freedom, given my own situation.” He crossed to the table, lifted the servant’s wand from the center, and signaled the kitchens for Gibbens.
The older man stepped in after a short wait through one of the hidden internal portals, gray-haired and stooped with age but still full of spirit. He took one look at Draven and Lilo and immediately summoned chairs and unfurled placemats that contained plates and bowls magically flattened and at the ready. In moments, the man had food steaming on the two new plates and both demons seated under their own respective fluffy furs for warmth.
Seeing Lilo and Draven were situated well enough, Vesper did everything in his power to ignore the two of them. He could feel their eyes on him, glancing at him secretively while they prodded their food. He couldn’t stop the feelings of resentment swirling within him. No matter how hard he had tried to avoid it, his home had been invaded by Heiden. It would take hours for his father and mother to be able to ensure that the two demons weren’t covered in trace spells or listening runes, or their fancy collars soaked in spying enchantments for that matter. And at the end of the day, Vesper would never be able to guarantee that either boy wouldn’t report any misdeed right to his demon master when his back was turned. The bonding ceremony hadn’t even taken place yet Vesper’s slavery had begun.
He couldn’t even talk to his father about what had occurred at the Hierarchy. Vesper could only hope his mother would relay the information to Ryder. If Avem’s genes were dominant to Ezella’s, Vesper’s control might be nonexistent when it came to the mating urge. After his exritus, he could potentially just off and decide to go seek out Evanel and mate the boy no matter that Heiden would kill the angry blond immediately after.
Vesper had done some reading that evening while waiting for his father’s return. It had not been encouraging. He could already identify traits that were strong in him from Avem. Many of the fae’s descendants had the ability to control prey with their eyes—An ability Vesper was certain a lot of his natural allure was centered in. When he wanted someone, he only had to look at them. Eventually, they would turn and meet his gaze, and he would simply pull them closer after that. It had seemed so insignificant at the time, just a different level to his already overwhelming allure. Now he saw it as the possibility that more of his father’s genetics would awake during his exritus with disastrous results.
Not that Ryder was a particularly aggressive man. Tall, impeccably dressed, and dignified, Vesper’s father was more a man of the world than the type of fae one would expect to lose his temper while seeking a mate. But Vesper had only ever known his father when the man had been past his mating days, married to Leandra and working as a long term investment banker. Vesper’s father had been well on his way to assuring the Malice line would never fear financial instability, along with the entire Celestial Clan. Even Heiden hadn’t been able to disturb Ryder’s financial plans, although it was clear the demon master preferred his victims to be completely reliant on him. Vesper had no idea just what type of man his father had awoken as when his exritus had come. Assuredly someone that had felt no fear to pursue a dragon queen and win her heart.
If anything had stayed the same, it was Ryder’s unfathomable loyalty and love for Leandra. Theirs was not a superficial relationship. Vesper had never doubted it because he had seen arranged marriages within his Clan. The contrast was startling. His parents were friends, confidants, and lovers; nothing less. Even if Leandra had been cursed with the Malice blood that had tied her family to the will of a demon, she had been blessed with a true partner. It only made the fate of their son more tragic, but Vesper knew his parents would persevere even in that. He would not deny them anything, including the replacement his mother was soon to birth.
It didn’t stop the bitterness still from twisting inside him. The world had compromised with his parents. Their love for each other strengthened the two and kept them going. He would never have that. He could never allow another human being to get close to him physically, never mind emotionally. He could not love or be loved.
Vesper didn’t know what fully compelled him as he sat there between his parents, the two exchanging simple pleasantries that held a warmth that revealed their happiness to be back in each other’s company. Maybe it was to distract from all the many things he wished to say but couldn’t because of the two demons that were failing to hide their dislike of the food before them. That night, as the walls seemed to close in and the shadows held a new darkness, he wished silently for a higher meaning beneath it all.
“Who was the last Candidate in our bloodline?”
His mother’s sharp look suggested the question was far beyond the scope of appropriate at the moment. More confusing was his father’s expression, a twist of anxiety on his lips that just as quickly dispersed when the man looked to the two demons.
Thinking a moment to soften the question, Vesper added, “The Hierarchy was riddled with visages of the Exault. Half their buildings were practically covered with the winged beasts. Yet I saw none of the shadowed Domin.”
“They’re beneath the observatory,” Ryder explained quietly. “There is a chamber equal in size. You know those traditional academic types; they have to have symbolism in all they do. They couldn’t just put His statues out in the light of day.”
Vesper nodded in understanding, waiting patiently. Still, it was a full minute before he got his answer, Ryder shooting Leandra meaningful looks until the woman finally relented.
“Over a thousand years, Dionys Malice was the last Candidate of our bloodline.” Leandra gave a small shrug. “He was not chosen but the honor to be selected as a Candidate for the shadow faced god was still great.”
Vesper didn’t respond. From what he recalled, the Candidates battled between three houses for the right to be chosen by the Heir. The remaining living survivor was chosen for the job. “How long ago was a Candidate chosen before Dionys?”
Her hair shimmering in a wave of delicate steel, Leandra’s head bowed forward, her eyes fixed on her plate. “Previously, no more than six hundred years passed between his coming.”
Vesper sighed, staring at his half-eaten plate of food. It would be extremely unlikely. It would be insane, really. Over a thousand years and no sign of the shadow faced god’s human incarnation? How accurate were the old records, truly? How much had just been fables and scare tactics to keep the people in line? He really couldn’t be expected to be called to serve the shadow faced god. It’s not like fae gods really just came down and fixed everyone’s problems. If it really happened, wouldn’t things just make more sense? Less? When there was something so much bigger in the mix, did anything anyone did actually have a value in comparison?
“We do seem a bit due,” Ryder said, his voice a low rumble. Leandra’s face was too impassive for words. It was her war face. Ryder was not a sorcerer to be crossed, by no means, but if there was anyone more dangerous than the dragon queen in the Clan, Vesper didn’t know it. She had upheld the Celestial Clan when even her own family had turned their backs on her. Her tense silence seemed word enough. Looking from his mother to his father, Vesper had to wonder how their world would change if an Heir was born. His parents had spent the last eight years preparing to lose their only son. Would they be happy or devastated to have to come to terms with a change of plans? Would it be another lost child they’d have to look forward to instead of just him?
He wondered dimly if he could reach Asher Vah, then dismissed the idea. The boy had been cryptic, not to mention annoying. Whatever the halfling’s price would be for any information was probably not worth the bother. Vesper had little interest in opening a vein. Either the little brat knew something or just suspected. If he was called to some ancient battle to the death, Vesper assumed he’d have his answer by then.
It could be decidedly more interesting than being fed off of by Heiden for uncountable years. Vesper kept that particular thought to himself. He had no desire to damn any of his relatives to his fate. Still, a battle to the death seemed far more fitting a way to die than being drained until there was nothing left of him.
Ryder surprised his son after dinner by suggesting Leandra show the two demons to Vesper’s quarter’s alone. Apprehensive with all the weapons in his rooms that could be turned against him if the demons felt threatened, Vesper would have preferred to have gone along. His father’s expression left no room for argument and with steady steps he followed the older man down the stairs and into Ryder’s personal study. He was confused to find Gibbens there, the stooped man casting the last in a list of charms on a magical device Vesper had not seen before outside of books.
“A Foure ward. For discretion,” Ryder explained tightly, ushering his son into the room and nodding to Gibbens in farewell. The servant lingered long enough to make sure the magical device on the desk was operational, then bowed out silently. A fire was roaring in the grate, burning a cool blue flame and committing no smoke but a great amount of heat. It cast the dark colored stone and wood in an eerie, ghostly glow. Most of Celestial Keep was as pale as the dragon fae that lived there but the basement rooms had a darker theme. More ancient traditions steeped in something Vesper couldn’t fully name because it was before his time. Something to do with honoring the earth magics and the night while so close to the stone of the mountain. He thought it more symbolism than useful but his mother dutifully kept with the theme whenever adjusting the decor of the rooms.
Ryder’s office was crammed with an array of books, half the bookcases dedicated to accounts and finances and the other half to magic, mostly focused on prediction and luck, two aspects that suited his occupation well. There were a few dark books but Vesper’s father kept those locked in his safe, the items too dangerous to be left out unsupervised. Like most things magical, they usually found ways of being discovered unless they were chained up.
Feeling decidedly unsettled, Vesper chose not to sit when his father offered him a chair in front of his smoothly polished walnut desk. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking around the room idly while trying to think of what he was going to do with his two new guests. It wasn’t their fault they’d been shoved into his life but it didn’t make him any less resentful to the fact. He had enough things to worry about without adding two lives to the list of things to keep from getting killed.
“Vesper, I need you to tell me what happened at the Hierarchy,” Ryder said. He leaned back against his desk instead of sitting, his stance suggesting he was dealing with his own level of nerves.
Shaking his head from his thoughts, Vesper looked up to meet his father’s gaze. “What part? Where I nearly killed Asher Vah over some boy I just met, or when I then nearly got the same boy killed by trying to pull him?”
“The entire incident will suffice,” Ryder said dryly, ignoring the huff sent his way. “I fear it is the reason Heiden has acted. Did you touch this boy?”
Vesper shook his head dully. His muscles were tense and he could feel a headache threatening just at the edge of his consciousness. Nothing was going right. “I never made contact… But it was clear to anyone that saw that I wished to,” he added with a heavy sigh. “Kruck had to physically remove Devlan and Ev—”
“No names,” Ryder interrupted with a sharp shake of his head. “Do not tempt things, Foure ward or not.”
Swallowing, Vesper nodded again while looking at the glowing device. “They had to be removed to keep me from making contact. Others saw.” Saying it aloud only revealed how much he had fucked up, Vesper inwardly cringing at the realization. Somehow he had managed to get home and not fully comprehend just how bad it had been. “Why did Heiden send me those two? What of that incident would make him think slaves were appropriate?”
Clearing his throat, Ryder straightened. “That would be revealed by what type of slaves they are.” At his son’s blank look, he added quietly, “When they were given to me, I was told they were to be your sex slaves. The two demons are your only allowable indiscretions, hand picked by Heiden himself.”
His breath stuttering to a halt, Vesper grabbed the back of the nearest chair. “Fuck, he knows,” he choked out. Would he kill him? Would Heiden kill Evan when he hadn’t even touched him? “His words exactly?” He asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice only to fail miserably.
“Draven and Lilo are the only two beings you are allowed to touch in a sexual manner without repercussions. If Heiden scents another on you outside of your immediate family or the two demon slaves, he will hunt down and kill the individual as stated in the terms of the bonding contract. You are for his enjoyment alone.”
“I’m not bonded yet,” Vesper whispered, knowing it was pointless before the words were even free.
“The tattoo was a sign of you acceptance to the contract,” Ryder reminded, his voice emotionless and steady. “You know he only waits for your exritus so he doesn’t impede your final growth.” He waited for Vesper to get ahold of himself, the boy shaken and pale. “I cannot say for certain that the two demon slaves will not be punished if you actually touch them. I asked him—I didn’t wish for anything to be unclear. Heiden’s only answer was to say that the two belonged to you in all sense of the word. I can only assume once you belong to Heiden…”
Vesper felt another wave of sick hit him. Once Heiden owned him, he owned nothing in return. No slave, no property, no title. He was a ghost from the moment the bonding started, allowed his name and nothing else, unless his master decided otherwise. If Heiden decided so, he would torment the two demons no matter what he said of them being safe.
“Tell me about him.”
Staring at the pattern of dark leaves and vines on the carpet, it took Vesper a moment to notice his father’s request.
“The boy,” Ryder prodded, grabbing his son by the bicep and guiding him beside him at the desk. “The one that caught your eye. What’s he like?”
Vesper looked at his father, biting his lower lip for a moment. “He’s cute,” he finally said, shrugging slightly. “Normal.”
“Normal?” Ryder raised a brow in surprise. “At the Hierarchy?”
Nodding, Vesper studied his father’s face a moment. “He was immune to my allure. I hadn’t seen him before and, well, I’ve known just about everyone that was going to be in my class for years now. So when I saw him… I might have tried to get his attention.” He flashed an awkward smirk. “I ended up pulling three kids that were standing in front of him while he barely looked my way.”
“Impressive.” Ryder whistled softly. “I’m sure that didn’t help matters.”
Vesper snorted softly. “No. By that point, I was ready to pull the damn room just to get the kid to look at me.” He sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair.
“Did you? Pull the room?” Ryder prompted when his son fell silent in thought again.
“No, I only wanted to.”
“I felt your power all the way from Asia. You did something.”
Gnawing on his lower lip again, Vesper gave a reluctant nod. “One of my classmates thought it would be funny to hit the kid with a feverlust enchantment. He over did it and…” He turned his gaze back to his father, something dark and desperate sparking in the boy’s crystal blue eyes. “I wanted to save him. I wanted to save him, and own him, and kill every single person that would dare to look at him. Still… I still want that and I can’t stop this crazy feeling inside.”
Silent for long moments, Ryder mulled for the right words. Vesper was certain it would be the same as his mother; the absolute insistence of what he couldn’t have, no matter how much he wanted it. Instead, Ryder replied with a question of his own, one that Vesper hadn’t expected.
“Does he return your interest?”
Vesper didn’t even have to think about it, the answer clear to him as most things had been concerning Evanel Reed. “Yes.”
“Beyond your allure?”
“He could love me if given a chance,” Vesper said fiercely. “I might love him now. When I reached my magic out to him…” He trailed off, a shudder of heat tingling through him. “He is beautiful. Fiery, angry, and damn beautiful.”
“Ah.” A smile teasing across his lips, Ryder leaned forward with a conspiring whisper. “Your mother was just about the angriest young woman I have ever had the privilege of meeting. She made it very difficult to look elsewhere when she insisted on flaying me alive with every word from her pretty mouth.”
Blinking, Vesper couldn’t help but return his father’s grin, a tension within uncoiling and melting at the man’s words. “Did you know with mother? Was it clear right away?”
“Gods, yes,” Ryder said with a laugh. “Don’t get me wrong; ultimately it was her choice no matter how much of an ass I made of myself trying to woo a dragon queen. But whenever our magic touched…” He sighed. “It was like a meeting of souls. To feel her fire was to help me burn greater. There is nothing else like it.” He gave his son an assessing look. “And I’m glad you had the opportunity to experience such a thing.”
Vesper shook his head agitatedly, abruptly pushing himself away from the desk. “I’m not. It has ruined everything. I barely know who I am anymore and I fear I’ve gotten him killed in just one meeting.”
“Vesper.” Ryder stopped him, grabbing his hand and pulling the boy back to the desk and the device it held. “You must hold on to every memory. Every moment. Do not deny your heart no matter how much trouble it wishes to get you in. It is rare to find someone you connect with. It is a true gift and you should cherish it.” He tilted his head, waiting for his son to meet his gaze again. “When things feel their worst, I can always count on my memory of your mother’s energy as it touches mine. It warms me when nothing else can. You now have his memory, brief as it might be.”
Swallowing back a retort of just how useless a memory was with the many things he was facing, Vesper just nodded. He felt close to tears, the hopelessness of his situation seemingly more concrete since having visited the Hierarchy.
“Is his energy warming?” Ryder asked softly.
Vesper shook his head. “His anger never reached his magic.” He furrowed his brow, turning away from his father.
“I did not mean to suggest he had to be like your mother,” Ryder said when Vesper seemed to shake before him. “When magics touch, it is a unique experience each time.”
“I told you, he was very normal,” Vesper whispered, his eyes glowing in the dim light as he stared at the ground. “Familiar. When I touched his magic, I felt despair. Beautiful despair.” The last words were choked out, something breaking in him to actually speak the words aloud.
His expression grim, Ryder pulled his son into a hug, silent as Vesper shook in his embrace. It took long minutes before the boy could get himself back into some control, tears streaking his porcelain cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Vesper muttered hoarsely. “I don’t wish to burden you.”
“You haven’t. There is nothing you need to protect me or your mother from, Vesper,” Ryder said gruffly. “We’re adults. We’re strong.”
Vesper nodded weakly, his face pressed tightly to his father’s shoulder. “I just… I feel so alone.”
“I promise you, you’re not, no matter how bleak it seems.” Ryder gave his son a final, fierce squeeze, then raised his hand, magic swirling in a curtain around them. “I need you to listen to me very carefully. Do not speak, just listen. Even with the spells in place, what I’m about to say can still cause us harm if word is revealed.”
His eyes closed, Vesper let his breathing even out, turning his cheek so that he could hear his father clearer. He could feel the spell take hold, the magic forming a wall around them making his own breath bounce back on his skin.
“There was a prophecy concerning your birth.” Ryder’s voice was pitched low but his words were distinct. “This prophecy was so cursed that once it was foretold, Celestial Clan had no other recourse than to abandon your mother. You need to understand this, Vesper. They did not leave us because of Heiden. It was because of what the prophecy said of you.”
Vesper’s chest tightened painfully, the light fluttering of his lashes the only sign he was listening. He waited, not certain he wanted to know what could have ever been said that would drive his Clan away.
Ryder ducked down closer, his lips pressed to the side of his son’s head. “You are god touched.”
Breath hitching, Vesper didn’t dare move. Candidate. Asher Vah must have known. The boy had to have known about the prophecy or just that an Heir had been born or maybe just—
Ryder’s fingers brushed his chin, Vesper raising his face to meet his father’s solemn gaze. “By the maddened on, Vesper. The shining faced god has marked you.”
Jolting back as if struck, Vesper stared up at the man with wide eyes. “Father?”
Ryder held his finger to his lips. “Heiden must never know. Do you understand? If you bond with the demon, he will have an instrument of the gods. And by the goddess, you will surely be a destructive force. Your power far surpasses your mother’s already. No one in the Celestial Clan can match you, son, not even close. If your exritus is allowed to pass, what you will become…” Ryder swallowed, his expression pleading something his son couldn’t fully read.
His mouth going dry, Vesper found himself nodding to an answer that hadn’t been spoken. “I must die now.”
Ryder nodded as well, his hand heavy as it fell to the boy’s shoulder. “Soon. Your mother and I are brewing the potion together. It will be painless—A sleep you never wake from.” There were tears in the man’s eyes Ryder didn’t blink away.
“Why?” Vesper asked, his voice rough, his body shaking as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of it all. “Wouldn’t it have been better to have just killed me at birth?”
“We loved you too greatly. Even then, newly formed, you were perfect.” Ryder wiped the back of his hand across his eyes with a heavy sigh. “We were weak. We chose to sacrifice later to have the years we could with you. They were good years, Vesper, happy years. But I fear your short life was marked with only pain and loneliness. Our selfishness hurt you. Your mother and I chose to embrace the pain as consequence of the joy we did have together.” He pulled his son back into a hug. Even in his confusion, Vesper gripped him back just as tightly.
“We never would have let him have you. You had to have known that,” Ryder said with a swift kiss to Vesper’s forehead. “Death is better. Your mother saw two of Heiden’s bonded and they told her as much. They begged for death.”
“You’ll be punished,” Vesper whispered, burying his face against his father’s shoulder. “He might kill you for this.”
“I know. We all die, son. Only a few of us get to decide what we die for.” Ryder’s expression softened as he gazed down at Vesper’s bowed head. “You met a young man. Someone you could love. I am so glad you had a chance to feel such a thing. I… I was worried you might spend your entire life never having the opportunity to love.”
Vesper could not comprehend just how his parents had made it this far with all they must have known. God touched by the maddened one—How could they love him at all? No wonder the Clan had run from him. They likely feared he would kill them each, one by one. “Is this why you and mother waited to have another child?” He asked quietly. “Because of me?”
“We feared what you might become, yes,” Ryder answered carefully, meeting his son’s gaze evenly. “Out of all the records, no one has ever been marked by the shining faced god. Even still, all know…”
“He’s insane,” Vesper whispered, a cold shudder moving down his spine.
Ryder nodded silently, then tilted his head, tucking his son beneath his chin while holding him tight. “We will never let it happen. I promise you; we will save you from such a fate.”
Even though Vesper knew the only way that could be, he felt a warmth of relief at the words. Death would be better.
Vesper couldn’t sleep. Before leaving his father’s study, Ryder had suggested he take something to calm him, but Vesper had refused. He didn’t want to be calm. He didn’t want to sleep, or dream, or forget a damn fucking moment. He had less than a month to live and rest was not at the top of his priorities.
Pacing the length of his bedroom, his gaze inadvertently strayed to the adjoining room where the door was left ajar. The twins were asleep, or at least, the blue-eyed one was. Draven, the red-eyed one, was likely pretending. Vesper wasn’t sure just how things had been told to the two demons about why they were there and what was expected of them. Heiden had likely scared the fuck out of the two. From what he could see, Draven was determined to protect his brother, Lilo, even if the both of them had very little capability in doing such. The gray-skinned boy was currently curled around his brother while the two slept on one of the two beds that had been spelled up for them, claws facing outward just waiting for attack.
Vesper didn’t bother to tell them that no attack would be coming. He had little interest in coupling with either of them. Not that they weren’t attractive—They were fine enough in a slender, petite way. They were also frightened, angry, and seemed to not wish to be in his house even more than he didn’t want them to be there. Vesper had spent years curbing his own innate desires. He wasn’t about to fuck it all up during his last month just to have the two demons end up dead when Heiden realized his pet had betrayed him.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled sharply and turned on his heel. This was not the first time he had faced his death, but it was the first time it had ever felt quite so real. There had been times too numerous to count in the beginning when he had thought to just end it all. To chose death over enslavement and draining. Heiden had been so terrifying, from looks to the disgusting feel of his magic. To think such a being would one day touch him had filled him with such dread, Vesper had dreamed of sharp blades enchanted to keep wounds from closing. Still, some nights, he would take down the Celestial blades passed down through the generations and consider the ease in which all of his problems would slip away with theflow if his blood from his veins.
He was not a coward. He had repeatedly chosen to live so another didn’t have to face his fate. Now… Now, having realized he should never have lived at all, he was at a loss.
God touched.
His parents would not fail. They did not fail. Not when it came to the gods. Celestial Clan had dedicated their lives to the shadow faced god. Candidates had been in their bloodline since the first time an Heir had touched down on the Earth. Even if a Candidate hadn’t been chosen in a thousand years, it did not mean that the clan had lost their way.
Vesper just hadn’t known how absolute his fate had been decided before he had even been born.
God touched by the maddened one.
He should have killed himself. Now his parents were risking their own lives for his curse—And fine, perhaps they were responsible for not doing what needed to be done at his birth, but he refused to see it that way. They had given him life, had stood by him when his entire Clan had turned their backs. His very existence had hurt them at every turn, and still, his parents had kept their loyalty to him. He did not wish to have them be sacrificed because of him yet again.
His pacing brought him to the adjoining door again, red eyes glinting at him from the dim room. Vesper huffed, stalking past while trying to ignore the shiver of dread that went down his spine from his thoughts. Heiden knew about Evan. He may not know the name of the boy, but he knew a boy existed and it would be nothing for him to find the rest of the information. It wasn’t like he’d been discreet about any of it. No, he had made a damn ass of himself, challenging Asher Vah, pulling Evanel, then scheming with Devlan just so he could have a chance to scent the boy’s arousal again.
It had been good, though. It had been fucking divine. If he had been allowed to just touch the kid… Just kiss him. Evanel had nearly demanded a kiss. The boy would be punished anyways…
Vesper shook his head fiercely, forcing the thought aside.
Goddess, he had fucked everything up. The one boy he had ever felt anything for, he had very likely just damned. The demon twins were proof of it. Heiden would find Evan and he would destroy him. Just because he could. To send a message to him and to every bonded Malice that came after him that the rules were not a suggestion but a law. Heiden would take glee in it, whether Vesper was alive to see it at the time or not.
He had to do something. He had fucked it all up and he needed to fix it before it was too late.
Vesper sighed, his paces faltering, his gaze drawn up to the high ceiling where carvings of dragons glared down from the corners of the room. Was he allowed to pray to the goddess now that he knew? Would she curse him for being god touched by the maddened one? What god would listen to him with such a monster holding power over his soul?
Could he pray to the shadow faced god?
Blinking back tears, Vesper took heavy steps to his bed, his hands resting on the decorative cover. He could not pray to the maddened one. He had heard of men that had before and all had gone insane. The creature was demented, cruel, and all powerful. He had no interest in such a selfish, chaotic god that would destroy all for his own wants. All the Children of the Light were like that and Vesper had been taught to hate them for the destruction they wrought on the world.
But his brother, the shadow faced god, was known for his mercy. There was none other like him. While the Children of the Light squabbled and fought, destroying all in their wake, the shadow faced god came down and healed. He restored the balance, brought magic back, and always peace. He loved the beings he saved, as well as the gods he fought. The shadow faced god was mercy incarnate, and fuck, he could really use some mercy.
Decided, Vesper turned to his wardrobe, opening the wooden paneled door and skimming his fingertips through until he found a robe the color of night sky. He wrapped himself in the silky fabric, realizing for the first time just why his skin might shine so bright. God touched by the shining faced god. Made to be beautiful in his image. Beautiful, powerful, and fucking insane.
Maybe that was the new presence rising up in him. Not some primal mating brain waiting for his exritus but whatever the maddened one had imbued in him during his creation. Maybe even a piece of La Lune himself, waiting for his fae awakening to take him over and wreck havoc on the world in a way only a ruthless god could.
He could not let it happen. He would pray to the shadow faced god. Pray to his Heir if the being existed yet, reincarnated on the planet. Pray for a merciful end. It was the best he could hope for.
There was no way to tell if the shadow faced god was listening.
Vesper had gone out into the dark, stepping past the portal of his home just in case Ezella took offense. He didn’t want to ruin his family name any more than he had already. Encased in black against the mountain wind, he stood silent at the cliff’s base where the family portal led to above. He didn’t have any token of the shadow faced god, nothing to show that it was him he wished to speak to among all the many fae, ancient and new. But like all the Malices, he knew Nox Amor’s symbol and with a steady hand he drew it in the thin snow beneath his feet. There was something meditative in the curves of the rune, an interlocking spiral of power that held the light within while the darkness grew complete externally.
Vesper had given up on the gods many years ago. Being chosen by Heiden had stolen most of his faith. He still wasn’t sure just how much he believed. Something more powerful than him had marked him and cursed his family before he had even had awareness. That this creature could be more dangerous than Heiden seemed impossible, but then, there was some comfort in that as well. Maybe there being something larger in the world did not make him feel infinitely small and worthless. It had sparked a hope within, one not fully realized but already felt.
The darkness seemed to close in even greater by the time he had made the last line to the shadow faced god’s symbol. His eyes fixed on the rune, Vesper ducked his head, hunching over in the snow as he whispered to the god named Nox Amor.
He prayed for his family; for Leandra, Ryder, and their unborn child. He prayed for the Celestial Clan and his many aunts, uncles, and cousins. He prayed for Ezella’s forgiveness in his betrayal of her name because of the maddened one’s touch. He prayed for himself and whatever indiscretion he must have committed to have been chosen by the shining faced god in the first place. He prayed that Devlan wouldn’t face retaliation because of his involvement at the Hierarchy. He prayed that Lilo and Draven would be spared when he died. He begged that his brother or sister would be spared the curse of Heiden.
Then, when Vesper could think of nothing else that required his attention, he prayed for mercy for one boy. For Evan, who had done nothing but see him, and ask of him. He hadn’t shut him out when their eyes had met each time. It hadn’t been Evan’s fault but the boy would surely suffer if Heiden had his way. Vesper had taken on so much, had sacrificed without ever a word of complaint even if inside something screamed and broke each time. Surely he was due one wish of mercy.
“Just one boy,” he whispered, a note of pleading in his voice. “Just one.”
Fae gods didn’t respond to words but actions, Vesper knew that much. He just didn’t have much he could work with given his limited time and being tied to Heiden. The tattoo wasn’t active yet, but it was there, ingrained in his flesh. Any that saw him would make the connection and the more Heiden’s name was made a fool, the more likely the demon would seek revenge.
He had a plan, though, tentative as it was.
“I will do what I must, Nox Amor. I will set what I can in motion so that your hand can guide. Save him and I… I will gift you my last loyal act.”
It wasn’t right that his parents had to take on such a burden. Yes, they might have birthed him, but he wasn’t some helpless babe anymore. His exritus was upon him. He was an adult and it was his life that had caused so much turmoil. He might not have had any part in the circumstances of his birth but he could make a choice on his death. In some ways, it had been the only real choice available since Heiden. Just one he had refused to take. Out of fear. Out of selfishness for the last few moments of a life unlived.
It was coming to an end either way. Staring at the shadow faced god’s rune, the darkness closing in like a wave of water, he could swear he could feel death teasing at the edge of his consciousness. Waiting. Calling. The gods were close and surely they would hear his plea.
“I will give you my death, Nox Amor. I pledge my death to you.” The shining faced god might have claim to his life, Heiden might have second claim, but Vesper could at least say his death was his own to give. To protect his family, his clan, and the world from the shining faced god, he would kill himself before the madness took him. It was the only righteous choice he had left.
A section to comment on the Awakening series. You may find polls here, secrets answered, character bios–I’m not sure exactly yet. Please, if you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them!
Self Inflicted Wounds
$2.99
Episode #11. A dangerous hunger awakes…
Ky’s trial with the Aeternum is a day away, and he has no plan on how to face the mysterious coven of demon summoners. A new hunger wakes in him and his eyes start to glow. Something is changing, something that has Ky nearly draining a hot, but very human classmate while at school.
Ky’s losing control as his relic genes turn on. He needs the help of his relics more than ever as starvation hits him, but Ky can’t get past his feelings of betrayal. Feral, Lovely, and Magnificent Night need to convince Ky of the importance of feeding before his weakness turns to something deadly.
Time is running out. If the Aeternum coven realizes Ky is part relic, they won’t just take the demons from him, they’ll enslave Ky forever.
Each episode in this sexy, suspenseful gay monster harem serial is over 10,000 words, and should be read in order to be enjoyed fully.
35,000+ wrds, Published July 29, 2018.
Heat level: XX
“Faggot freak, twelve o’clock.”
Ky stopped short at the meanly snickered words. There was only a trickle of students in the courtyard that connected all the buildings together at Mesabi College, and everyone there was hurrying to their first class after the weekend. Ky turned to see who had spoken and was jostled forward by a group of taller students who stepped in too close. His side was struck by an elbow, and the strap of his backpack was pulled roughly from his arm. His bag fell to the ground with a loud clatter while Ky gritted his teeth and struggled to keep from being knocked off the narrow concrete path.
“Whoops,” someone snorted when they hip checked him, and Ky stumbled sideways.
Ky managed to catch himself before he hit the grass peppered with orange and red leaves. He braced his hands on his knees and growled under his breath.
Fucking Mesabi. He hadn’t bothered to be anyone but himself today, and he was paying for it.
“What’s wrong? You gonna cry?”
“Fuck you,” Ky snapped as he looked up through his spiky black hair and found the faces of the boys who shoved past him. They had turned back to see his reaction, and Ky was greeted with an ugly sea of flannel and ill-fitting jeans. Was everyone in Blackstone Falls trapped in the fucking 90s?
“Not our thing, fairy boy,” drawled a tan, solidly built young man with cruel, light eyes. His gaze dropped to Ky’s shiny black pants that were laced up with red on the sides, his red and white band shirt that left his slim arms exposed to reveal an array of black and silver bracelets, and his shiny black fingernails. He didn’t even notice the master collar glittering at his throat as he dragged his stare up to Ky’s face and apathetically met his large silver eyes rimmed in smoky black eyeliner. “Even if you do look like a pussy.”
Anger flushed up his back and down to his toes. Ky’s mouth stretched into a grin free from humor as he stared the stranger down and debated if he wanted to feel flesh break beneath his fists. It had been a really shitty weekend, and he was kinda sure beating the fuck out of some redneck bigots would be a nice release to the supernatural stresses waiting for him at home.
It was so unlike him, Ky had to take a breath to get ahold of himself.
Shit, what the fuck was he doing? Weak. This guy was human. He was just some stupid, naive as fuck human who didn’t even know a wand to his head could kill him dead.
“What, you got something to say?” At Ky’s silent glare, the dull-eyed teen took a step forward. He was tall, blond, and had a way with his shoulders that spoke of starting more than a few beat downs. Ky tensed when something hard and aggressive flashed in the kid’s eyes. “Well? Spit it out.”
“Sorry, I don’t speak farmhand.” Ky forced himself to shrug it off and back down. He wasn’t going to fight some stupid kids who didn’t even know magic existed. Ky, no matter how assholic the opponent, was still a pacifist at heart.
“Enjoy your circle jerk, dickwads,” Ky taunted as he reached for his bag. There was a sharp inhale, and Ky paused and groaned inwardly.
“Frank, we’re late.” Someone stepped in front of the tall blond whose face had turned a blistering red at Ky’s parting words. Ky’s eyes darted to the sober looking teen holding his friend back, then to the others who had gone silent.
Right. Apparently the gay jokes only went one way around there before someone took things personally. Fun.
Ky’s glare was molten as he watched to see just how things would unfold. Frank wrenched from his friend’s grasp with an angry snarl and stomped away. The gazes turned Ky’s way were accusing, like he’d broken an unspoken rule for those born painfully straight in a world that didn’t give a fuck about sexual orientation. Ky had a feeling the only reason the group was leaving was because they didn’t want Frank to end up in jail for beating him to death.
“Faggot freak,” one called in farewell. Another echoed “freak,” less exuberantly.
“Stereotypes,” Ky grunted back, pretty sure there couldn’t be anything more mundane or annoying. He watched the group of teens leave the courtyard and walk straight into the school building he was headed for. Fuck his life if they were actually in his class.
Ky’s anger was dulled by the sleep he hadn’t actually had, and he sighed when he looked down and found his fallen backpack spilled open and Tobias’s wand visible. “Shit.” He quickly scrambled to the ground to put his things in order.
Ky hissed when he couldn’t get the wand to fit around his bulky books. He flipped it a few times and pulled the edges of the canvas to make room. He’d gotten the damn thing in earlier but just barely. It was bad enough he had Anselm’s wand up the back of his shirt. He should have worn a jacket—the weather was getting cold enough to warrant one—but Ky hadn’t wanted to hang around his house long enough to dig one out of the unpacked boxes. Things were strained around his parents, and Ky didn’t trust Marcus not to go through his things to steal the wands while he was out.
“Mother… fucking… whore!” Ky snarled when one of his books snagged on the crystal on the wand and he heard a tearing sound. He stopped struggling, hunched forward so his bangs covered his eyes, and sighed heavily. He was ready to turn the fuck around and never walk into Mesabi again. Seriously, he had to negotiate with an actual coven of witches tomorrow, and his parents thought he could just go to school the day before?
Footsteps crunched, and Ky tensed as a shadow crossed over him. He shoved the wand roughly into his backpack, cringed at the sound of ripping fabric, and quickly pulled the edges of the bag together.
“Sorry about those assholes,” an unfamiliar girl’s voice called down to him. “But you’re kinda asking for it dressed like that.”
Ky scowled. Yeah, this was so not how he wanted to spend his day. He stood abruptly and hissed when the world spun unsteadily for a moment. A hand touched his arm, and Ky quickly pulled back.
“Whoa. Chill, man.” Bright blue eyes blinked at Ky. They were surrounded by thick eyeliner from a face powdered so white and smooth, he thought he was looking at a doll. “I’m Piper.”
Ky looked down at Piper’s outreached hand with fingers that ended in two-inch-long blue nails, and then back to her bright, raccoon mask eyes of a similar shade. She looked like the kind of trouble most people who didn’t know magic got up to, and Ky was immediately wary.
She might have been going for punk, but as Ky took in her outfit, he was going to say she was an artist. Piper was decked out in a tight white corset and a deconstructed mini tutu of silver and white layers of glittery tulle and silk. Her thigh high latex boots with flat chunky heels were neon blue and splattered with white paint like she had gotten into a fight with a paint brush and intentionally lost. Her white tights were more holes than anything else, as were the long fingerless gloves she wore of the same material that stretched up to her slim biceps. Her dirty blond hair was streaked with blue and pulled back in a messy bun on the top of her head, while a delicate hoop of white gold glinted from her septum and another from her eyebrow.
“Nice nose ring,” Ky said finally. He turned with his backpack clutched to his chest and walked away. Piper was about the most normal person his own age he’d met since leaving the city, and he seriously needed to get away from her if he wanted to keep his sanity.
“Hey, wait up,” Piper called after. Her heels clunked on the pavement as she hurried to catch up to Ky’s deliberately brisk pace. “The ‘asking for it thing’ was a joke, if you can’t tell. I mean, like, duh, look at me.” She swung her bag over her shoulder while sashaying her hips and beamed. “I like your clothes. Did you make them?”
Ky shot her a sideways glance and kept walking. He was not going to get dragged into this. All he had to do was act like an asshole long enough for Piper to realize how pointless it was to talk to him.
“Come on, you’re the most interesting person I’ve met in Blackstone Falls in like, well, forever. Don’t ruin it by being antisocial.” Piper was not dissuaded by Ky’s apathetic stare, and she jumped in front of him. Ky stopped short to keep from crashing right into her. Piper’s winning smile revealed two dimples, and Ky sighed to himself. She was ridiculously adorable. Damn it.
“Or, you know, be antisocial with everyone but me,” Piper added cheerfully. “I love your shirt. Did you slash it yourself, or is this the style where you’re from? Please tell me people dress like this somewhere all the time.”
Ky steadied himself. She couldn’t even understand how complicated a subject that was. Like, did he tell her about Feral—the invisible demon who lived in his wardrobe—or the deadly overseer who nearly ate everyone in his house?
Ky exhaled noisily. Fuck, he was never going to be a normal person again.
Piper didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “If you can’t tell, I’m studying to be a fashion designer. It’s, like, my fate or something. You can’t even understand. I was born for this. Oh, but I was also born here in Blackstone Falls and the textile program is, well, it’s kinda like a sewing circle from hell. The teacher is so fucking old I want to hang myself every time she brings up buttonholes.” Piper stopped gesturing her hands and fixed Ky with a pointed look. “I haven’t seen you there yet. You’re studying fashion, right?”
“I’m an artist,” Ky grunted and pushed past her.
“I knew it!” Piper cheered. She followed after and matched Ky’s steps. “I knew you were either into fashion or art, or maybe you were one of those broody poetry writers. So, what do you do? Sculpting, painting, jewelry, glassblowing? Oh, have you tried fusion art? Your necklace is totally industrial.”
“I paint,” Ky said sharply, and was immediately annoyed with himself for answering.
The Olson House held Ky’s required English Lit course, and he quickly ducked into the building and headed down the wide, white laminate tiled hallway while Piper struggled up the flight of stairs in her impressive heels. Most of the classroom doors were closed, even though the small community college didn’t have enough students or teachers to ever have many rooms filled at the same time. Ky’s class was down a corridor, and then another. He did everything to keep his pace quick to avoid his chatty companion.
Ky unfortunately misjudged Piper’s determination to have an actual conversation with him.
“Painting, huh? I bet you use a ton of colors, right? Like crazy saturation.” Piper caught up and threw her arm across the door to Ky’s classroom before he could pass. Her grin was full of determination. “You do, don’t you? I’d love to see your color palettes. I use them to create cool color designs. Color is like my thing. Oh, maybe we could do a collaboration!”
“Uh…” Ky really couldn’t handle whatever the hell this was. “I have to get to class. I’m late,” he muttered.
“Pssh, no shit. We both are.” Ky winced when Piper’s eyes went wide with understanding. “Ha, you don’t know we’re in the same English class, do you? Seriously, you do realize I’m in your botany and Intro to Arts class, too, right?” At Ky’s blank look, Piper shook her head and tsked. “Well, I’d be offended, but you’re always spacing and you never talk to anyone. I’m kinda relieved to see you’re not stoned out of your skull enough to even talk.”
Great, not only did everyone think he was a freak, but they also thought he was drugged up. His parents would love that to go with his whole sorcery, breaking and entering, and accomplice to murder thing.
Ky pursed his lips and ducked under Piper’s arm without a word. His shoulders were stiff as he sought out an empty seat in the room of students who were staring back at him like he was a science project from an alien world. There was no way he could bullshit his way through normalcy right now. Not anymore. His father grew up in a house full of magic and wouldn’t bring himself to admit it was real.
Experimented on. His entire family was experimented on. He was never human.
Ky’s stomach lurched as a familiar, sick wave hit him all over again. He threw himself into the empty seat by the window in the back and clutched his arms around his bag on his desk. The teacher gave him a look Ky didn’t notice with the way the room was tipping. He was seconds from jumping out of his skin, or screaming, or maybe just being really sick in front of a bunch of judgmental, snickering college students.
He never should have come in today, but he knew his parents would’ve freaked. Ky could only handle so much when it came to being a disappointment to his family.
Piper took the desk beside him and hefted up a brilliantly glittering bag made out of small, colorful quilted triangles trimmed in white. She rummaged through the large bag until she found her notebook and pen. Ky kept his head down to avoid her gaze, and therefore the invitation for conversation. His eyes were drawn to the door when someone slipped through and the teacher stopped short.
“Late, Mr. Matthews. We’ve been over this.”
It was the guy who kept Frank from flipping out. His dark eyes met Ky’s a moment after he took a seat on the other side of the classroom.
Ky bit back a groan. Great. Fucking great.
A pen tapped his desk, and Ky jolted and turned his head to where Piper was leaning his way.
“Do you have notes for Friday’s reading? I had to leave early.”
Ky stared at her silently. The girl just wouldn’t give up. With a sigh, Ky sat up and pulled his backpack down toward him so he could find his notebook. He scowled when he discovered the inner lining of the bag was badly torn from the wand’s crystal topper. Ky was careful to keep Tobias’s wand covered as he pulled his notebook free. He turned to the last page he wrote in, twisted the cover back, and handed it to Piper.
Piper took one look at Ky’s notes—an array of dark scribbled drawings in the margins with very little text—and handed the notebook right back. “Forget it. I’m sure I’ll figure it out. Do you, like, even care if you pass this class?”
The question surprised him, and Ky’s gaze fell to his desk as he shrugged defensively.
He wasn’t exactly brilliant, and school never came easy for him even if he was determined to make something of himself with his art. Well, that was, he used to be determined. Things had made a lot more sense when he first moved there before relics, overseers, and magic came into his life.
Ky suddenly felt guilty about just how little attention he had for class, and how much money his parents were spending to keep him there.
His thoughts flashed to Magnificent Night, and Ky flipped his notebook to a blank page. There was so much he couldn’t ever hope to fix.
Ky hunched in his seat and tried to focus on the teacher’s lecture. It was pointless with all the thoughts swirling in his mind about tomorrow and the Aeternum. Even now the simple black business card in his back pocket burned with magic and destruction.
He might lose them all, not just Tobias’s demons but Lovely, Feral, and Magnificent. Ky couldn’t let it happen, but then, he had no power to stop it. He might die tomorrow just for trusting Stewart Moore enough to walk into what felt like an obvious trap. Having Liem vouch for the sorcerer wasn’t an assurance. If anything, it pretty much promised he’d be just as monstrous as Tobias.
Ky didn’t know enough, and the knowledge of his ignorance only made the lives he was responsible for feel heavier. He sighed and rested his chin on his hand, and his gaze caught on a pair of brown eyes that quickly darted away. Ky raised an eyebrow when the same guy from earlier looked his way again. His eyes touched longer this time before the kid turned his gaze down to his desk with a blush.
Really?
Ky shook his head and snorted softly. A self-hating fag picking on the goth fairy. It was so fucking cliché it made his teeth itch. Still, it was more interesting than his parents calling him a liar and a thief. Probably better than being home and having to face the mess of a requiem sleeping in his bed.
Ky’s expression darkened and his gaze unfocused as he thought of Magnificent Night. There was no escaping this. No matter where he went, they were all bonded to him now. Their lives were in his hands, and it felt like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.
***
The sounds of chairs scraping back and bags rustling alerted Ky class was over. He pulled his dulled stare from the window, and the room blurred before him. Ky had barely slept since his wards were invaded by Stewart Moore. When he finally gave in, curled up in the overstuffed chair by the fireplace, his dreams were full of the impossible tasks ahead of him. There was less than 24 hours to prepare, and he had no plan or idea of what he was going to do.
“Hey, you ready?”
Ky blinked and lifted his gaze to the person standing in front of his desk. It was the guy from earlier, the one who kept staring at him, and Ky raised his eyebrows in confusion.
“Almost,” Piper chimed next to Ky as she gathered her books. “I need to stop in at Mrs. Babin’s and ask about the project due next week.”
“Come on, Piper. You promised.” With a frustrated sigh, he shoved a hand into the back of his jeans pocket and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill. “If this is about gas money…”
“Jared, stop being a dumbass. I’m keeping my promise. It’s just a little later than planned.” Piper pointedly ignored the money being pushed at her, stood, and hefted her bag onto her shoulder. “What’s the rush? It won’t be more than ten minutes.”
Jared glanced self-consciously at Ky, who was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t there as he tried to force his notebook into his overstuffed backpack. “It’s nothing. I just want to get out of here. My mom has been flipping over this thing, and the sooner I get rid of those damn cats, the better.”
Ky’s head throbbed in pain as he struggled with his bag and tried to get the sides closed.
Seriously, why the hell did every damn class in Mesabi require books when they could all be stored digitally? He understood that some people couldn’t afford computers, but you could read a book on plenty of affordable devices no bigger than his hand.
Ky jolted when a bright blue fingernail tapped his desk, and Piper spoke. “Hey, you wanna hang out? Jared’s got a litter of barn kittens we’re taking to the shelter. They’re super cute and tiny.” She cupped her hands to indicate the small size.
“Uh…” Ky glanced from Piper to Jared, who looked more than a little uncomfortable at his inclusion. “You’re just giving them away? Are they even old enough to be from their mother?”
“He’s trying to keep them from being eaten by the other cats,” Piper explained when Jared’s expression soured. “There are a ton of feral cats on his land, and the kittens keep ending up dead. Jared’s crazy mother won’t…”
“Piper!” Jared hissed, his cheeks flushed with outrage.
“What?” Piper fixed him with an impassive stare. “Your mother is out of her fucking mind, and the entire town knows it. Ky’s not going to care. He lives in the evil, haunted death house, after all.”
Ky stopped fighting with his backpack. “I live where?”
“Ha, you have no clue.” Piper smirked unapologetically. “I think some of the urban legends about your place are actually in one of the books about the town. Let’s see, there’s the Conner disappearance. They found a dead kid there, supposedly. Oh, and the house, like, never catches on fire.”
Piper paused and carefully combed fingers through her hair. “Actually, you should probably keep an eye out for that. People have been trying to burn the Scion mansion down for years. Kids go down all the time to see if it’ll burn. Well, that and for the ghosts.”
“Oh.” It was hard to think of kids sneaking outside the Scion mansion for years while Lovely, Feral, and Magnificent were struggling to stay alive inside.
“You haven’t, you know, seen any ghosts since you moved in?” Piper’s overly casual posture did nothing to disguise the interest glittering in her eyes.
Ky’s curiosity about the rumors circling Anselm’s old house wasn’t strong enough to suck him into actually having a conversation with people who thought ghosts were cool.
“No ghosts,” he said flatly and pushed himself up to his feet. Ky lurched and grabbed his desk when the room spun. “Shit.”
“Whoa. You okay?” Jared reached out and his hand grazed Ky’s arm. “You look like you’re about to hit the ground.”
“I’m fine.” Ky met his gaze, and Jared immediately looked away.
Jared’s cheeks tinted pink, and his dirty blond hair teased into his eyes as he spoke to the spot next to Ky. “You can come with, if you want. I mean, the kittens are really small and stuff, so yeah.” Jared shoved his hands into his pockets, and his eyes darted to Ky and then away in erratic movements. “There’s room in the car, so…”
“You mean there’s room in my car,” Piper interrupted haughtily. “You seriously need to get your own car.”
“Right, I’ll just get a license and car overnight. Maybe I’ll win the lottery at the same damn time too.” Jared tried to hand Piper the crumpled up five dollars again. “Just take it, okay? I feel guilty enough needing rides from you. Just because the town can’t afford a bus doesn’t mean you should have to be my shuttle to college without some sort of compensation.”
“Uh, I think we’ve been clear about this. If you would stop bitching and just let me dress you all hot like, I’d be happily compensated.” Piper flattened the money on her desk and then carefully folded it into a small rectangle. She turned back and tucked the bill into Jared’s hand. “I need a macho boy to model some of my clothes for class.”
“No. No way in fuck!” Jared’s nostrils flared, and he stumbled back. “I’d rather be broke.”
Piper pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, I promise nothing will be pink. Well, maybe a bit of hot pink. It’s very metro-sexual.”
“What did you just call me?” Jared’s face turned red. His gaze darted to Ky before he ducked around and grabbed his backpack.
Ky had to wonder just what Piper’s idea of men’s clothes were to freak Jared out so much. Anything would be better than what the guy was wearing now. His jeans were dusty and torn, and not in a stylish way. He wore a grungy gray tee under his long sleeve blue and gray flannel shirt that was so faded it was nearly palatable. Ky eyed his chest as he tried to distinguish which band was supposedly featured with the worn lettering.
Jared’s shoes were even worse. There was a hole so big in one of them, it was a surprise his foot didn’t fall out. The strip of duct-tape wasn’t doing a lot for it, and hung off the edge like a dirty, ragged flag.
You could disguise poverty better in the city. The local Goodwill where Ky grew up had clothes from people who only wore things a few times before they were thrown away for the next big trend. Not so much in Blackstone Falls where clothes were a commodity more than anything to do with fashion. It only made Ky’s mood worse when he thought of his closet full of shredded clothes back home.
Fuck his life if he ended up dressed in flannel.
“Ask him to model your clothes. I mean, he looks like a model and, uh…” Jared’s fluster only grew worse when Ky looked his way. “Nothing. I didn’t, uh… I really need to get this cat thing done, like, now.”
Piper raised an eyebrow when Jared headed for the door without her.
“He’ll figure it out eventually,” Ky said with faint amusement in his voice.
“I think ‘little Jared’ is doing all the thinking at the moment.” Piper twitched her finger to exaggerate her point. “So, are you into that?” She nodded her head to where Jared exited.
“Am I into sexually confused guys who can’t get over their hang-ups to even wear something that might make them look hot?” Ky shrugged noncommittally.
A month ago, Jared could have been interesting. More than interesting, really. He was hot, and although in the closet so deep he couldn’t see the walls, he still had the guts to stand up to the kind of guys who thought Ky was a target for being different. It didn’t hurt that he was easy to rile up. Jared was the type of guy he could tease the fuck out of right into his pants.
Ky reached up and let his fingers touch the chain links on his collar. A month could change a lot of things.
“You like older guys,” Piper said sagely.
Ky shook out of his thoughts and grabbed the top of his backpack. “I like guys who have their shit together.”
Guys who wouldn’t freak at the idea of magic, or worse, get super excited like they just won the lottery. Definitely not a sorcerer, that was for fuck sure. But maybe a guy with horns and fangs that nipped just right. Someone who could pin him down and growl until his toes curled…
“So, yeah, older.”
Ky shrugged. He was pretty sure age had nothing to do with it.
“Shit, Piper, are you coming or not?” Jared apparently remembered Piper was his ride. His expression was stormy as he charged back into the room.
“I still have to see Babin.” Piper didn’t flinch at Jared’s frustrated scowl. “I also don’t know if Ky is coming with.”
She turned back to Ky. “I really don’t mind if you want to come. We can show you around the town.”
Ky paused when they both turned to him expectantly. He knew they were the same age as him, but they seemed so young. Weak, naive. Human. They had no idea what he was, or what Blackstone Falls hid just beneath the surface. Piper was worried over grades that wouldn’t protect her from a crazy sorcerer, and Jared’s biggest fear was if his friends found out he was queer.
Ky’s chest felt tight, and he looked away without speaking. He couldn’t be like them anymore. He couldn’t go back.
Ky grabbed his bag by the strap. “I have to go.”
“Oh.” Piper wasn’t deterred. “What about tomorrow?”
“No, definitely not tomorrow.” Ky snarled as he thought of Mr. Moore’s threat to basically kidnap him if he didn’t show up willingly. He couldn’t have normal people in his life, not with the damn monsters he was dealing with.
Ky started for the door. “I need to go.”
“Wait, let me get your number. I really want your take on some of my clothing patterns.”
“Not interested.” Ky stopped short when Piper jumped in front of him and pulled out her phone. His nerves felt frayed, and he was starting to get angry. “I’ve got better things to do than hang out in front of the town’s only ice cream shop hoping to tip a fucking cow.”
Piper paused and looked up from her phone. “That’s just a myth. We have two ice cream shops.” She sighed when Ky refused to crack a smile. “Listen, I just wanted to show you around a bit. You’re new, the place is kinda shit, whatever. I’ve been surrounded by the same three hundred faces for, like, forever. We don’t get a lot of new people around here.”
“Not like you, anyways,” Jared mumbled under his breath.
“Geez, suck his dick already,” Piper snarked.
Jared coughed awkwardly. “That’s not… I mean… Uh…” His cheeks flushed and his eyes darted toward the door.
Ky wondered if he’d bolt again. Piper didn’t give him a choice and hip checked him.
Jared stumbled and quickly recovered. “Damn it, you’re lucky you’re a girl.”
Piper stuck her tongue out. “You’re the idiot who thinks I can’t take a punch.”
Ky stifled a sigh. He suddenly felt terrible, and more, he hated that he cared. Why did they have to be so damn normal?
“I have to go.”
Jared stood taller at the rejection and crossed his arms over his chest. “What, you have a hot date?”
Ky shook his head and smiled bitterly. Fucking whore. “Yeah, I’m late to be gang banged by three hot as fuck, totally horny guys. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He went to push past the two and jerked when Jared grabbed his arm.
Jared’s expression turned sheepish when Ky whirled and glared at him. “I didn’t mean… Sorry. I wasn’t saying it was a queer thing.”
“I’m gay,” Ky snapped. “Every reference to my sexuality is going to be a ‘queer thing.’ Are we done here?”
“Shit, I’m just trying to apologize.” Jared ran a hand through his hair and released a heavy breath. “Frank is an asshole. I don’t… Who people sleep with isn’t anyone’s business.”
Ky pressed a hand to his temple as pain flared again. The last thing he expected was an apology, and it sure as fuck wasn’t Jared’s job to be giving it for someone else’s shitty behavior. For all his fluster and bravado, he was a decent guy.
Ky’s gaze drifted down when Jared’s tongue darted out a moment to lick his lips. He might have been hot too, even with the ugly flannel.
“Are you okay?” Jared asked when Ky wavered on his feet.
“I’m fine,” Ky snapped. “I just want to go home. I missed breakfast and…” Ky’s brows furrowed as he tried to remember the last thing he ate. His mouth pinched tight and stomach churned.
Tobias. The last thing he ate was Tobias. Fucker.
The room dimmed at the edges, and Ky quickly pushed past Jared and Piper and escaped into the hallway.
Fuck, he didn’t care if he looked like a lunatic. He couldn’t do this today. He never should have gone to school.
“Hey, you forgot your notebook.”
Ky barely heard Jared as he pushed his heavy legs forward and tried to keep from collapsing. The hallway felt closed in, dark, and kept tilting at the most annoying angles. Ky lurched to a stop when his vision was suddenly filled with blue flannel and a faded gray tee.
“You dropped your notebook.” Jared held it up while Ky glared.
He seriously needed a new bag.
“Listen, do you need help? You look…” Jared swallowed hard when Ky’s gaze moved to his, and his silver eyes glinted with an otherworldly, cerulean glow. “Damn.”
Ky’s heartbeat sounded loud in his ears as blue filled his vision. He could smell the sweat on Jared’s flesh and hear the sharp inhale of his breath. His gaze slipped down to take in the breadth of his strong shoulders, and his fit chest half obscured by ill-fitting clothes. Ky’s eyes fixed on the flutter at his neck that revealed Jared’s pulse was racing. Heat flushed through Ky’s body and he fought the overwhelming urge to press forward.
Jared was hot and clearly into him. Ky glanced down and exhaled slowly when he saw Jared’s jeans were failing to hide his erection. Fuck, it’s not like it would be the end of the world if he kissed him… touched him. Ground up against him until they both came.
Ky’s breath sped up when Jared stepped closer. Getting off right now would feel really fucking good. He was so hungry. Ky was starving and Jared looked just as ravenous…
Hot breath brushed his cheek, and Ky jolted back to reality. The room spun, and he grabbed the wall and ducked his head to avoid Jared’s lips.
What the fuck was he thinking? Human. The guy was fucking human and so closeted he made the wardrobe back home look like daylight.
“Give me my book,” Ky rasped. He licked dry lips and fought to will the hungry glow from his eyes.
Jared couldn’t stop staring at his face, and his gaze roamed over Ky’s features, his heavy eyelids, and lingered on his lips.
“We should hang out sometime. I’m not… I’m not like those other guys,” Jared assured quietly.
A mean smile split across Ky’s face. “Liking dick doesn’t get you an automatic pass into my pants.”
No, apparently just having a dick was enough for him lately.
With a scowl, Ky snatched his notebook from Jared’s hand and staggered past. He rolled his eyes when he saw a phone number written on the back in a sparkling purple gel pen. Fuck, that girl did not give up. Ky walked faster to escape the weight of Jared’s gaze as he stared after him.
His head pounded with every erratic pulse of his heart and wavering step he took. There was something wrong with him. Not just the whole turning into a slut and ready to fuck any guy who looked at him twice. No, there was something seriously wrong with him.
The corridor blurred before his eyes as Ky forced himself forward. When he was able to focus again he was staring at an unfamiliar wall of lockers. His bag was on the ground, and his notebook, pens, and Tobias’s wand spilled out around his motionless feet. Ky blinked in confusion and tried to remember when he got there or how he dropped his bag. His mind felt like a dark void, and it was hard to make sense of anything.
Ky? Ky, can you hear me?
Ky shook his head and groaned when it throbbed in protest.
Lovely’s voice grew more concerned. Ky, are you okay? Your energy is all over the place.
“I don’t… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Ky felt too heavy, and he unsteadily sank to his knees. He hunched forward, his face hidden behind his hair as he gasped for breath.
Crazy. He was a crazy person. He kept hearing voices in his head. Crazy people never knew they were actually crazy until they were locked up or shooting down a crowd of people.
Ky? Ky, call for me.
Ky winced at the frantic sound of Lovely’s voice. “I’m fine,” he whispered weakly. “Leave me alone.”
He didn’t want Lovely’s help. The relics betrayed him, Lovely worst of all, and he couldn’t face them.
Ky slumped forward and drew in weak breaths. He stared at his shaking hands with unfocused eyes. The hallway was silent, the temperature cool on his flushed skin, and Ky lost track of time as he counted his breaths and the world spun around him.
Whelp. Feral’s voice was strange in his mind. It was the first time he had spoken to Ky this way, and with his voice came his presence, warm and sturdy just like the coyote demon. Let me reach you.
Ky gritted his teeth and growled. Feral couldn’t handle leaving the manor never mind coming to his fucking school.
“Go away. Just leave me the fuck alone, all of you!” He lurched forward and clutched the cold laminate floor when a wave of dizziness hit him.
When Feral returned, his voice was subdued. Ky, you’re scaring him. Both of them.
Ky closed his eyes and hissed out. Feral sounded too quiet, like maybe he was scared too.
Please, whelp. You need help.
Damn it. Fucking damn it, why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone today?
Ky snarled at the floor he was practically kissing at this point. His hair was fanned out around his face like a dark, silky curtain. “Fine,” he snapped weakly. “Just you.”
Hey, I’m nearly done with Demon Bonded episode #11! Working on the last two (three?) scenes this weekend. Finally. This baby got wordy. I think it’s going to hit 30,000 words by the time I’m officially done. @_@ I also posted the outline of the erotic short I plan on filling out next. I’ve yet to officially do anything dragon bestiality related, so might as well start things off with a (gang) bang. <3
I think I might jump right into Feral after that, the third book that follows Heat: Abducted to be his Mate, and Bite: Claiming his Mate. It fits the right length, I have a fair idea what I’m doing with it, and it’s totally a XXX level kind of story. Probably more so because there is no initial relationship between Will and his mate-to-be to soften the events that follow, unlike Heat where Ryan and Shane’s bickering past allowed for a mild level of safety and connection once you had Ryan lose his shit when the mating heat hit him. I want an excuse to explore a little Stockholm syndrome stuff, humiliation, maybe some golden showers and beast… although knowing me it might just get ridiculously cute. >_> I know, issues. XD
I’m thinking that will be fun. I’m disappointed I have to move away from the novels for a bit just to get some cash flowing, but it’s nice to return to some fun, dirty fuck fics and indulge. Speaking of which, I’m totally snagging that ‘Locked’ fic down below. I need to remember fun kinky stuff again.
I was going to do a newsletter last week and ended up deciding against it. Wrote two of them, but legit, I was just too depressed. I didn’t like the voice I was using, didn’t like the place I was coming from, and I think all and all, it was the right decision. Moments pass—they’re just moments—and there is no reason to preserve the lowest fucking ones like they’re more important or are going to define anything moving forward. Depression is a blip, a hiccup in the face of the wonder life can bring, and I won’t dwell in that dark chasm when there is life to live.
I’m actually in my room—yeah, the killer bedroom of doom—and replacing all the stuff back on the walls, getting the shelves back up, and the computer. Carefully testing everything that comes back in the space to make sure it’s safe. All the windows are open and a fan has been blowing air out since I left… what, a month ago now? The days kind of blur at this point.
This is a tentative thing cuz I’m still having issues in the house in general. But as I sit here typing, waiting to finish ozoning my car (water got in there, it smells of mildew, and I’m trying really hard not to freak the fuck out that there might be mold growing in the one place I can sleep @_@) my pulse is fine. A calm 88 verse the 100+ bpm my heart hits when I’m in other parts of the house. I mean, I’m wearing my mask so it’s not a full indicator, but still, it’s a good sign. My pulse goes ape shit when I’m having a reaction, meaning I’m not having a reaction where I currently am. Yay.
We’ll see. I’m just setting the room up as an office in the hopes I can get some graphic work done in here. I’m not getting my hopes up that everything has suddenly fixed itself, but I do have hope that we may be moving in the right direction. Because, legit, I cannot get my hopes up. Multiple Chemical Sensitivity has on average a seven year length to fully heal. Even without knowing the source of this, that fact is pretty standard in a lot of reading. So things can change pretty fucking quick depending on which way the wind is blowing. I’ve read about people moving 13 times seeking a place of safety. I’m not falling into the trap of thinking anything is permanent right now. I gotta adapt and flow.
The first of the lab reports came back and I can officially say I don’t have Mast Cell Activation Syndrome, which is great, but means we still don’t know what set me off. We just noticed the bath water has a blue-green tinge so we’re checking for copper. Apparently copper toxicity can lead to immune problems, tics, anxiety, psych disorders—it can even mimic Parkinson’s—etc, etc. It’s a good contender for being what might have fucked me up this long, and hey, there are paints made for boats that specifically have copper in them for certain underwater properties, and there was that weird marine epoxy under my room for 2 years. No guarantee—it’s still a fucking guessing game and we’re getting the copper water test in the mail in half a week—but it’s another thing we’re checking.
I’ve found a rhythm to life once again. I’m writing fairly consistently. It’s a little difficult because I find myself playing chauffeur 5 days out of 7, and once I’m moving around, it’s hard to wrangle my brain into a place of writing. Seeking shade, seeking quiet, seeking any place where I open the window and don’t end up breathing in something that makes me sick; it’s fucking time consuming. Oh, and I can’t go to bookstores anymore. I started reacting to the scent of ink and paper, so, yeah, fuck my life. But my brain is working. The last few days have been the clearest it’s been in a while. Keeping expectations low, but again, hope.
I refuse to wait seven years to start my life again. Fuck that. I will not be waiting seven years to get back to Sorcerer Slayer. Fuck that. I am not putting my life on hold. I am distracted by this, by my need to make an income while I’ve been in pain and disabled on a level I haven’t had to deal with in a long time, but I’m not fucking waiting. Moving forward. Planning. Gaining ground. This shit is happening even if I’m writing out of a car, or van, or a damn cardboard (mold free, thank you) box. I’m not waiting for anything anymore. I gotta live now.
I know what I want out of life, peeps. When I finished that new Demon Arms cover, I could see a future unfold beyond what I had ever imagined for myself. No mountain is too big, no bullshit remotely worth my time. I’m heading toward my dreams and fuck anything that tries to get in my way. My inner rhino is on this shit. Rawr! XD
I can see the headline now: Locked Boys Transcend Tumblr. My article on Chip and Billy—two twinks locked in the name of love—is going to take this niche kink mainstream.
When Marshall arrives to interview The Chastity Brothers, he has much to learn from them about frustration and denial, about service and devotion, about what kind of men get to play the role of alpha male and what kind of men allow the very essence of their manhood to be controlled, ignored, locked up, and denied.
The interview starts Marshall on an exciting and erotic adventure into the world of locked boys and their alpha male partners as he escorts Chip and Billy to a gang bang, meets Niblet and some of the members of the motorcycle club who keep him, visits the estate where Spike spends his nights in a crate, and learns an important lesson of love from an older alpha male who’ll never forget the boy who got away.
And somewhere along his journey, he might just find a locked boy of his own.
Content advisory: This is a non-romantic, highly kinky story that includes sharing, gang bangs, extreme orgasm denial, and light humiliation
Werewolves, adventure, and romance
An attempt on Ganzorig’s life by members of his own tribe sends the Siberian Killers into turmoil. On the brink of civil war, Ganzorig’s role as a beta and the Mongolian leadership of the tribe are under threat. A relationship is the last thing Ganz needs, especially since the man he is falling for is a prime target for the Russian packs challenging his rule.
Cristian has enough on his plate ruling the Dacian Wolves. His alpha spends most of her time in the UK and the Romanian packs turn to him for leadership. Getting dragged into Siberian Killer feuds, discovering their male beta is who Cristian is falling for, and having a permanent target on his back are not things he’s bargained for.
A grueling fight for survival, great plans for the future, and an attraction that’s undeniable bring Ganzorig and Cristian together. Faced with real danger, tribe responsibilities, and their own fears, it hardly seems enough to keep them from going their separate ways.
From bestselling author Dahlia Donovan comes a new witty novella between three very different men. With drama, emotional turmoil, and hilarious banter, be prepared to be swept away in Dahlia’s British M/M/M romance.
When one drunken night forever scars three best friends, will they ever find a way to pick up the pieces?
Eaten up with guilt, Ivan Black spends ten years hiding from the world. He retreats to his family forge to wallow in misery. Alone. So lonely his heart aches with it.
Wesley Cook and Rolland Spence have been together since university. They struggle through the physical scars of the accident, building a life in the ruins of their dreams. They find happiness but continue to miss their angry ginger Viking—Ivan.
In all the anger of wasted years, the three men find a way to forge a relationship as hot as the fires in the smithy.
Forged in Flood is a stand-alone British contemporary M/M/M romance. With heartache, hot men with foul mouths, and plenty of heat, enjoy getting to know Ivan, Wesley, and Roland.
Can Their Love Withstand Their Fathers’ Feud?
A war has been declared. Only, it was a secret war. Claude and Ronnie live in a divided city -split in two by their fathers’ feud. But it’s also divided by fear. On one side stand humans, united and powerful and on the other side, vampires run, alone and scared.
Caught up in the middle is spoilt rich kid Claude. Not long ago, he was a carefree playboy. But now, is a virtual recluse. Because he is the thing that his father hates even more than his business rival. A vampire. And when he saves mysterious stranger, Ronnie, from certain death, he finds himself in serious danger… from his own father!
Soon both their lives are hotly entwined … in more ways than one! With a price on their heads, they must both run from their families. And will they make it out of the city alive?
M/M contemporary romance story.
Patrick is gorgeous, gay, and a lawyer climbing the corporate ladder. His fears about what his family and colleagues will think about his sexuality mean that he wants to stay firmly in the closet. When he goes to a new club in search of a one-night stand, he is picked up by Liam, the bar’s owner.
Liam is big, beautiful, and also a top. A hot and heavy night ensues leaving them both thinking there could be more to their hook-up than just sex.
But Liam is out and proud gay. His integrity will not stand for Patrick’s closeted sexuality. Patrick asks for enough time to come to terms with all the changes Liam will bring to his life…and major problems occur.
Warning: Lot’s of M/M sex in this standalone novella. Including some light bdsm and a super sweet happily ever after.
Jamal has a typical mother who’d like him to succeed in all aspects of life, especially when it comes to marriage. But Jamal already has a partner. His name is Farnham.
And while Jamal doesn’t want to disappoint his family, his mother’s interference is pushing Farnham away. In the end it will take a voice of reason to help Jamal rethink his life.
A contemporary gay romance set in London
Tugging persistently on his mother’s sleeve, Draco whispered furiously as his eyes fell on the exit to Diagon Alley. “Are there really muggles right outside, Mother?”
“Darling, you are ruining the wrist on my dress with your pulling.” Narcissa whispered back. “Now, I promised I would show you but I will not sacrifice my clothing for it. Control yourself. I dare say you would not be so wild if your father were here.”
At mention of his father, Draco immediately straightened, releasing the arm he had grabbed in his excitement. “Of course, Mother. Are there really muggles, though?” He bit his lip, watching as his mother flinched; he had spoken too loud while out in public.
Now eight, he was responsible enough to accompany his mother on her outings into the wizarding world. Everyone knew that the perfect companion for a lady did not speak loudly or act in a rambunctious manner while out in public. Being childish was only for children, and children were not aloud to go on outings. This was the seventh time he had escorted his mother to the amazing and fascinating place that was Diagon Alley and, although he had learned to curb his excitement, today mother had promised to take him out into muggle London and he could hardly restrain the anxious butterflies alight in his stomach.
“Alright, Draco. First I am going to show you how to get into Diagon Alley when you arrive from floo, or if necessary, walking or coach. The only thing you need is a wand, and the proper knowledge of how to use it. Remember that, Draconis; all power is nothing without knowledge. A man could hold the most powerful object in his hands and be destroyed by it merely for being ignorant.”
Draco nodded obediently and watched as his mother used her wand to prod the bricks on the wall leading outside. The power of knowledge had been the first rule, and as he learned every new rule to living life as a powerful wizard, he was constantly stumbling across that rule again and again. Knowing was power, and knowing that one doesn’t have all the information was just as important in obtaining that information.
He did not know a lot about the muggle world. He had learned of its existence when he was five and had been fascinated ever since. But he had also been warned about muggles and their oddities as well. He would be feared, hunted down, used, tested on, killed, or worse if he were found out to be a wizard.
The bricks began to move and he stepped back involuntarily, eyes wide on the scene that was revealed before him. After all those warnings—and he had learned long ago that his parents did not warn without good reason—he was still jumping to see this strange and dangerous world that didn’t even know he existed.
“As you can see, muggles aren’t too keen on cleanliness. It’s not so much that they are slovenly, as is they do not have the magic or the means to keep things as clean as we can,” Narcissa told Draco softly, indicating the storefronts and buildings that were covered with different levels of grime and soot.
It didn’t seem so bad to Draco; when his parents weren’t looking he had spent plenty of hours chasing toads at the creek in his backyard, and knew from experience that dirt could be caked on a lot worse than this. He made a small tsking sound nevertheless, just because he knew his mother was expecting him to.
The street was, on the other hand, surprisingly mundane. He had spotted mostly wizarding establishments, and that wasn’t anything new, certainly nothing worth looking at. What he really wanted to see was a real live muggle, and since wizards and muggles walked side by side here, he couldn’t be fully certain if he was looking at true muggles or just his kind in disguise. “You said we could walk around, right Mother?” he urged, making sure to keep his voice at a respectable level.
Narcissa pursed her lips and gave a curt nod. “First, do you remember how you are to act when in the presence of muggles? Run through the list again.”
Draco did quickly, letting his mother double check his clothing to make sure he would fit in. He hadn’t worn a robe over his normal clothes; robes were not of a muggle nature, and would not only stand out, but also attract negative attention from people who would think he was dressed in the wrong gender style. His dragon hide boots he had gotten for his birthday had been replaced by trainers, and the long-sleeved shirt he had on was simple, not having any lace or frills like the majority of the ones he owned. It was a little much for the summer weather, but mother had assured him he wouldn’t look over dressed to the muggles, just of someone of high society.
Satisfied with both of their appearances, Narcissa placed her delicate arm in Draco’s and together they slowly made their way down the street. Up ahead, Draco could see groups of people, all dressed in shorts and t-shirts and a few in more formal business wear. Coaches—no automobiles—buzzed and puttered, coughing out smoke and moving at speeds that seemed hazardous when so many people were about. Draco felt his heart speed up with it, and it took everything in him to stay with his mother instead of skipping ahead like he really wanted to.
A clock, towering spire piercing the skyline, gave a low chime and Draco stared in wonder. “That’s um…tekology, right?”
“Technology, dear, and yes. But that’s an older form; they have far more advanced models now.” Clearing the street and walking into the hub, Narcissa held Draco’s arm a little tighter so the press of bodies didn’t separate them up ahead. “Let’s go through a couple of stores. If I see anything suitable, perhaps we can get you a gift.”
“Really?!” Momentarily dismissing all protocol, Draco turned and gave his mother a quick, one-armed embrace before letting go and beaming. Narcissa raised a brow at his antics but smiled in response, and moved them to the closest storefront filled with electrical devices.
Mother had been very determined not to get him anything electrical no matter how much he pleaded. Draco knew that it wouldn’t run properly in the magical realm but he didn’t really care. He figured if he worked on it long enough he’d eventually be able to fix it so that it could run on a different power source. Mother had scoffed at him and picked out a muggle toy that shot out foamy disks. He liked the toy so he kept his complaints to himself.
“Draco, dear, stay in sight.” Narcissa pulled out the small handbag she kept just for muggle money, and joined the line waiting to pay for purchases.
The store was ridiculously crowded. Perhaps she should have saved their outing for a weekday when muggles were less likely to be out of their offices and schools. But she had learned long ago that it was easier to be inconspicuous in a crowd of people than in a scattering.
Maybe she would get Draco a small electrical knickknack after all. He had been looking forward to this outing for ages, practically jumping around the house like a happy puppy ever since she had told him it would be today. Maybe one of those little video games… she was pretty sure Lucius knew a way to shield the technology from the affects of magic.
“Pardon me, Madame,” a young woman wearing far too much makeup and clad in lacy black from head to toe, addressed Narcissa. “I couldn’t help but notice your dress. Wherever did you get it? It’s so hard to find custom made dresses, and such a fine quality at that. You must tell me.”
“I’m afraid it was a gift from my cousin. I couldn’t tell you where she found it,” Narcissa replied politely, but her eyes made it clear that she had no intention of discussing it further. Wilting under her gaze, the girl turned back to her friend without another word.
Narcissa kept her eyes set forward from that point after, only glancing around to locate Draco’s white blond hair from time to time. Maybe the video game was a bad idea; they had been there twenty minutes and her son was still staring intently at the screen along with a large group of boys, watching as two battled each other. Perhaps one of those portable clocks—wristwatch, if she remembered correctly—would be a better idea. Most all of the muggles wore them, and they would be helpful in getting her son home on time when he insisted on playing out in the yard when he knew dinner would be served soon.
She stepped forward, a tall man taking the place behind her and blocking her view of the corner Draco was playing in. She placed the toy on the counter so it could be scanned and the price entered into the computer.
Draco was probably too young yet for a computer. They were too easy to use in communication with the world of muggles, and although she didn’t mind feeding her son’s curiosity, Lucius didn’t want their son too sympathetic towards muggles. Certainly, her husband had gotten more lax over the years since the disappearance of the Dark Lord, but she had a feeling some things would never truly change.
She wanted her son to be able to see all sides and let Draco choose for himself, but Lucius and his Malfoy pride were not so lenient. If the gods were good and Voldemort truly dead, Draco would never have a choice to make.
“You have to be kidding me, lady. Do I look like a bank?” Narcissa fixed her eyes on the store clerk and raised a brow at his scowl. Honestly, didn’t muggles practice customer service?
“I have nothing smaller, young man. You have more than enough to reimburse me.” She ignored the man’s glare and waited patiently for her change. It was only for Draco that she had graced this particular low-classed establishment. She was certain there were more suitable toy stores, but she hadn’t had the time to research. It had been a long time since she had journeyed outside of the magical community, and things changed in the muggle world as much as things stayed the same in hers.
Finally her change was handed back to her… but things weren’t quite correct. The man was glaring at her still, and Draco’s toy had yet to be packaged. “Must I ask for a bag, or is commonsense beyond you?”
“We’re out of bags.”
Narcissa could see at least ten bags in plain sight right behind the counter. “It seems you are blind, as well as rude.” She debated calling for the manager, but decided she really didn’t want to stay any longer in this store than she had to. With a discrete flick of her wand the shelf behind the clerk gave a lurch, its contents spilling to the floor with a loud crash. “Oh my, what a mess…”
While the frantic clerk tried to bring some order to the mess, she reached across the counter and grabbed a bag, carefully placing Draco’s new toy in it. A demure smile in place, she whirled and carefully picked her way around the crowd, moving over to the gaming stations where Draco was likely still glued. She spotted his shining locks in the crowd and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Time to go, Draco.”
“Huh? Watch it lady.” Surprised, Narcissa stared at the crude boy that was most certainly not her son. Shaking off her shock, she turned and scanned the mobs of people for Draco, her heart speeding up the longer it took to find him. Forcing herself not to panic, she began searching each row, even going so far as to check the men’s loo.
No, no… he was probably right outside. Draco disliked crowds; he probably stepped outside for some fresh air. The bag shaking in her grip, she strode quickly to the door, not caring that she had knocked into at least five people on her way. Bursting out of the store, she looked desperately for Draco’s telltale white-blond hair.
Draco was nowhere to be found.
Alright… maybe he had wandered into another store. Maybe he had gone back to look at the one with computers while he waited. She’d check them all if she had to. Gods, what were the words to that locator spell?! Her mind was drawing a blank, and she wondered if she’d even be able to cast a simple lumos right now. Oh dear… no, she wasn’t going to faint. She didn’t have time to faint. Narcissa took a shuddering breath and carefully made her way to the closest bench so she could sit for a moment, just in case, beyond all strength of will, she did pass out.
Draco would be fine. No one knew who he was here, or who his father was; they would have no reason to harm him. And Draco was a smart boy. He knew enough to stay away from strangers or anything that could harm him.
Oh why hadn’t she given him his wand today! He only knew a few little spells, but the Ministry would be able to track him the instant he used it. Oh gods, her poor baby was all alone with all these strange muggles, probably scared out of his mind with no means to defend himself…
Pushing herself off the bench, Narcissa made her way to the nearest store to search. A moment later her vision dimmed again and she fell to the ground.
Eyes wide for signs of his mother, Draco continued down the street he was certain led back to Diagon Alley. There he’d be able to floo call his father, or if need be, the Ministry—anyone with enough power to help him find his mother.
One minute she was there, standing in line, and a moment later she was gone… just gone! It wasn’t like her to leave without him, not when they were on an outing. All he could think was that maybe she had fallen ill; she had a delicate composition after all, and could have had to step out to rest.
The bench outside the store was filled to the brim with a muggle family, so he had taken off towards the one all the way on the corner, but that one had been empty. Not sure what to do—and standing around worrying seemed foolish if his mother was ill somewhere—he had retraced their steps back to more familiar ground.
Unfortunately, familiar ground wasn’t that familiar anymore. He had been certain that the right alley was up ahead, but once turning the corner he was faced with a dead end. Whirling, Draco looked for some sort of landmark that might let him know where he was but found none.
Oh no, oh no, oh no… he was lost—Wait! Eyes intent on the skyline, Draco picked out the tall spire of a clock tower. All right, he just needed to find the spot where he could see the face of it, and where the small landing jutted out at the side, partially covered by a tree, and he should end up on the street he had started out on.
Oh, but it seemed farther away than it should be… He must have been walking in the wrong direction since the very beginning. No matter, it was around lunchtime now, so it shouldn’t get dark for a while.
Feeling calmer now that he had a goal, Draco kept his eyes on the tower and began walking again.
“Quit it!” Harry jumped over his cousin’s fat foot, resisting the urge to stomp on it for good measure. Something pulled at the back of his collar, and before he knew it, he was tumbling backwards, knocking his thigh and shoulder painfully on rocks hidden in the grass. He blinked up blearily, just making out Dudley’s sneering round face.
“I told you to stay out of my way.” Harry ignored him, his bruised narrow fingers scrambling blindly for his glasses and praying to any god listening that they weren’t damaged. He found them by his head and slipped them on, happy to see that they hadn’t gained any new scratches. Then he rolled out of the way before Dudley decided to start kicking him, and sat up, holding the ground until he stopped feeling dizzy.
Why Dudley seemed to need the whole bloody park was beyond him. It was huge, with trees, and a playground, and plenty of kids for the overgrown boy to pick on and yet, once again, Harry was left dodging his cousin’s attacks. His Aunt and Uncle had dropped them and Dudley’s friends there for the day to be watched by Pier’s parents. Pier’s parents were currently talking to a small group of parents also in the park, and didn’t seem to notice, or care that Harry had already been punched, kicked, knocked down, and chased during the whole first hour there.
“Grrr, stop it, Dudley!” Harry grabbed the foot before he was kicked in the stomach, and pulled. Leverage, and Dudley’s extra weight, was the only reason the big boy went down. Harry didn’t stay around to see just how angry Dudley would be once he recovered. Scurrying to his feet, he took off towards the trees and the opposite direction Dudley’s friends were playing.
If he had to, he could always hide up in one of the tall trees. Harry didn’t mind, really. Climbing trees was fun, and no one ever found him because he was really good at staying still when he needed to. He liked listening to the birds and being surrounded by layers of foliage, watching the people pass by oblivious to his presence.
It was funny how no one ever looked for him unless they wanted to hurt him… Right, that wasn’t really funny at all.
Once Harry was a few yards into the forest he slowed his pace to a normal walk, moving deeper in before he started looking for a good hiding spot. It was quieter here; the trees blocked the sound from the roaming cars and the noises of the city that surrounded the park. The light was different here too, sparkling and brilliant among the trees, and warm and yellow. It felt safe and familiar compared to the stark reality that greeted him everyday outside his cupboard door.
Only his second visit to the park, Harry already knew he was home.
He knew the perfect tree too, having found it last month when he had been dragged along on the Dursleys’ turn to bring the kids to the park. It was a tall tree, the lowest branch far out of reach for even Dudley, who was tall for his age. This deterred most climbers, but Harry had noticed the way a large rock had gotten tangled in the tree’s roots. If one had the courage, they could pull themselves up on that big rock and then, if they didn’t mind a few scrapes and bruises, they could wedge their feet against the tree trunk and jump, catching the low branch against their chest and using it to scramble up.
From there it was easy to climb the rest of the way up, and Harry didn’t stop until he was half way up and resting where two thick, strong branches crossed to make the perfect seat. The bark was even a good type, not that rough, bumpy stuff, but the smooth kind that didn’t itch his back and shoulders when he leaned back and rested against the trunk. He was high enough that he could see the goings on in the small forest, but not too high that he’d be exposed and spotted from the park in the thin leaf coverage.
The summer air felt nice, a gentle breeze rocking the tree he was in. He felt himself drifting and didn’t really mind. Harry fell asleep a lot outside. Maybe it was all the light; he never had nightmares when he fell asleep in the light and not the the dusty cupboard under the stairs.
“Waaah—Ooof! Owwww, ow, ow, ow, owwy, ow…”
Harry started from his nap, grabbing frantically at the branch he had fallen asleep on before he could fall from his perch. Light headed and not quite awake, he blinked around for whatever it was that had woken him, his gaze eventually falling on the sniffling form on the ground below.
“Hey, are you okay?” Harry called down, leaning over to get a better look at the little blond. Bright, crystal clear gray eyes sparkling with tears met his, widening in surprise to see him there.
“Are you… are you an elf, or a tree spirit?” the boy whispered, his voice strained from crying.
Harry furrowed his brow, pushing up his glasses that gravity was trying to pull from him. Didn’t the kid know elves were make-believe? “What?”
“I’m sorry! I just wanted one little bitty branch to make a wand. That’s all, just a little branch. I’ll leave if you want. I’ll never touch a tree again, promise! Just—just don’t hurt me…”
Harry stared in disbelief, watching as the blond fidgeted, obviously ready to run if need be. “Why would I…? I’m just a kid, that’s all. I’m not some sort of elf spirit or what not.”
The boy didn’t seem relieved but winced and gingerly held his arm. Harry could just make out the red staining his shirt. “Hold on. I’m coming down, okay?” He grabbed hold of the branch he was resting on and pushed off, swinging down with his legs flailing a moment before his toes found footing on the branch below. Harry bent and used the tree trunk for support while he crouched and sat on the branch he had landed on, slowly making his way down to the ground.
Draco scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve, watching the strange boy maneuver down the tree. If it weren’t for the funny clothes, he’d think the boy was lying about being non-magical. He was very agile and small, just like the elves mother had told him about. The wild hair and glowing green eyes completed the image and Draco couldn’t help but stare as the boy leaped to the ground, landing as gracefully as a cat.
Stepping around the big rock, Harry walked up to the blond with a look of pure concern. “Is your arm okay? You’re bleeding.”
“No, I-I’m fine.” Draco shied away, feeling nervous around the wild looking boy. He was just too intense, energy crackling around waiting to spark like a broken toaster Draco had seen for the first time just that day.
Harry blinked, taking in the boy’s strange clothes and odd hair color. He lived with a family of blonds, but none of the Dursleys’ hair was quite as stunningly bright, almost white. And he had never met anyone with eyes like that, all silvery like. “Oh. Are you sure? That’s a lot of blood… And you ripped your shirt.”
Draco stared blankly down at his arm, seeing the large gash for the first time. It had hurt when he had fallen, but he was too busy crying about it to notice the blood.
“Err… you’re not going to faint, are you?” Harry put a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder as all color drained from his already pale face. “Here, maybe you should sit down.” He carefully led him over to the big rock, helping him lean against it. “Listen, if you tell me what they look like, I can go get your parents for you.”
Draco shook his head dully, first studying the ground and then the narrow grimy hands that were carefully pulling his sleeve apart to reveal his wound. He had to get back. He had to find his mother. The clock tower never seemed to get any closer and he had been walking for a while now.
“It’s not too bad… just a nasty scratch I think.” Harry gently closed the fabric back up and pressed it firmly to Draco’s upper arm to slow the bleeding. “Here, just hold it like this and it’ll be better in no time.”
“I, uh… thank you.” Draco covered his hand over the one holding the makeshift bandage, the boy carefully pulling his away. He’d never had a real cut before. Mother would always charm it away the instant he started crying.
“How do you know how to… um…?” Draco trailed off, feeling too miserable to really talk aloud. He had just noticed all the cuts and bruises on the brunette. The boy probably had a lot of first hand experience at treating cuts, being wild and living in trees.
“Oh, that’s from my cousin Dudley,” Harry answered, noticing where Draco was looking. “He’s bigger than me, and his parents love him and really hate me, so they look the other way when he beats on me. I’m pretty fast though, so he doesn’t catch me a lot. That’s why I was up there.” He pointed to the treetop. “Dudley’s too fat to lift his own weight. He’s real lazy, just like a pig. Good thing for me pigs don’t fly.”
The joke worked and Harry cheered inside to see the blond crack a small smile. “Come on, I’ll take you to your parents.”
The boy was small, almost as small as Harry, and he seemed really delicate, like he’d be easy to break if Dudley got his fists on him. His hair was nearly as white as his clear skin, and with his large crystal eyes Harry thought the boy likely more a tree spirit than he would ever be. Almost otherworldly… and it made Harry feel special just to be near such a beautiful boy. He probably had really caring parents that made sure he never got hurt. His clothes looked fancy, like a rich kid’s, so that would make the kid’s parents extra fussy if something had happened to the pretty blond.
“Oh, my name’s Harry, by the way. Do you live around here or are you on a trip too?”
“Oh, ummm… a trip, I guess,” Draco said lamely, unable to meet the boy’s questioning gaze.
Surprised by the obvious lie, Harry took a step back and shoved his hands in his over-sized jean pockets.
He hated being lied to, but he supposed maybe the blond had a good reason. Harry had to lie to his schoolteachers when something strange would happen, because he knew they’d only punish him if he told the truth. Of course, they always thought he was lying when he told the truth, which was why he was punished. It was easier to tell them what they wanted to hear, that way his Aunt and Uncle usually weren’t called about it.
“So… what’s your name?” Harry pressed when the boy didn’t supply it freely.
“Draco Malfoy, of the pureblood Malfoys,” Draco whispered, digging into the dirt with his shoe. “Um… you wouldn’t happen to know where here is, would you?”
“What… the park? Uh, I think there’s some sort of sign back that way.” Harry glanced towards where he had left his cousin and friends. Draco Malfoy… it was a strange sort of name. Kinda regal sounding, and maybe a little, well, special, like magical even.
The boy gave off that sort of air; he was too perfect to be real. He was really graceful, and with his eyes and hair he seemed almost not human. Maybe… maybe he wasn’t. What kinda person would see a kid in a tree and ask if he was an elf, all serious like?
Then again, he could just be crazy too… Shrugging, Harry turned back to Draco. “Why? Don’t you… err, don’t you know where you are?”
Draco shook his head, tears filling his eyes. “No… I-I can’t find my mum, and I d-don’t know where I am…” Saying it aloud was harder than he thought, and Draco began to cry, not from pain this time but from utter fear and hopelessness.
“H-Hey, it’s okay…” Not sure what to do, Harry placed a hesitant hand on Draco’s shaking shoulder. He had never known a boy to cry before in front of anyone else. Girls from school sometimes, but not boys. They would have been teased and beat up mercilessly. But Draco seemed less the type to care what others thought.. He was weird, just like Harry. “I’m sure if we find a policeman they’ll be able to find your mother and, uh, take you back home… Really…”
Harry couldn’t understand why the boy started crying more at his words. Harry sighed, not sure how to fix the boy, but very much feeling terrible that he was crying. He was pretty sure the police would be able to help… unless Draco really wasn’t from around here but some sort of elf or something… but that was just silly. “Listen, honest, all you have to do is tell a policeman your address and they’ll take you home in a jiff.”
“No! You don’t understand!” Draco wailed, sinking to the ground and burrowing his head in his arms. He shouldn’t have left the store. He should have waited there for his mother and… and if something h-horrible had happened to her no one would ever come for him no matter how long he waited! Mother and him had been the only ones from the wizarding world that knew they were there!
Draco began sobbing in earnest. He was never going to get home again. The muggle world was so big, and no one even knew he was there, and he had no magic to protect him, or gold, or anything!
Harry bit his lip and sat down beside Draco, letting the boy cry it out. Given that he probably had a good family and home life, he looked devastated to not be able to find his way back.
Harry would love to not have to go back with the Dursleys, but he didn’t have any other place that would take him in. That was really the thing, though. It didn’t matter where it was, he’d just be happy to have people that loved him. He would do anything for that… No wonder the boy was so sad.
“Draco?” Harry scooted over and carefully tugged at the blond’s arms until red-rimmed crystal eyes met his. “I’m going to help you, alright? We don’t have to go to the police if you don’t want. I’ll help you find your mum no matter what. I promise.”
Scrubbing his face free of tears, Draco gave a half laugh, half sob. “H-How old are you?”
“What? Er, eight… What’s that have to do with anything?” Harry scoffed. “I swear, I’m gonna help you.”
Harry looked so determined, Draco almost believed him. “Do you know the area well? I need to find a certain spot.” He sniffed and pointed to the clock tower that could be seen through the trees.
“Well… actually, I don’t.” Harry smiled sheepishly. “But, I am good at finding things. I have really amazing luck, and a good sense of direction. I know all about the rail system and how to get to Privet Drive from there—that’s where I live, at Privet Drive. Once I’m done helping you, I can just hop a train and go home.”
If Harry remembered right, elves were supposed to have pointy ears. Draco’s weren’t really round, but he wouldn’t call them pointy either… so he probably wasn’t an elf after all. His own ears weren’t that round either but he was pretty sure he wasn’t an elf. Aunt Petunia never would have taken him in if he were.
Draco bit his lip thoughtfully. He really didn’t want to be alone anymore in the huge muggle city. A companion meant twice as much help looking. But the boy was the same age as him, and it seemed wrong to let him get caught up in something like this. “What about your parents? They’ll be worried if you suddenly take off.”
“It’s kinda hard to worry when you’re dead,” Harry said blandly, shrugging his shoulders. “My Aunt and Uncle take care of me, but they won’t care. Honestly, I’m sure they’d be happy if I went off and never came back. They’d probably throw a party. I think Dudley would be the only one who would miss me, and that’s only because he’d have no one to blame when he breaks, or steals something from his parents.”
His own problems momentarily forgotten, Draco stared in disbelief. “You can’t mean that. Family is supposed to take care of each other… It’s—It’s like one of the rules!”
“I don’t know about that…” Harry scratched the tip of his nose, staring out into the woods. “I think my parents loved me… I’m pretty sure they did, but they died when I was just a little baby. Sometimes I think my Aunt wished I had died along with them. But I didn’t, did I?” He turned back, flashing a crooked grin. “One day I’m going to grow up and get away from all of them. I’ll fall in love, and have a family of my own, and I’ll make sure they’ll have as much love as I always wanted. That’s a ways off though…”
Harry blinked, sobering a bit. “Um, so did you want to get going now? Stuff like this, it’s best to figure it out the first day. After that I think things get more complicated, needing food and shelter, and all that.”
Draco stared silently at Harry, trying to figure out how someone so small had gone through so much, and could still smile so easily. They were the same age, and yet Harry seemed to know a lot more about some things that his parents had never covered. Life experience, he supposed. If anything, it made him a good person to be around in the muggle world, and… Suddenly Draco realized he didn’t want the boy to leave him.
“I just need to get a branch from that tree and then we can go, alright?” Draco reached a hand up, holding onto the rock to help stand. Startled, he gasped as Harry suddenly slid his arm under his armpits and lifted him up like it was nothing.
“I’ll get it,” Harry said, leaping up the side of the big rock before Draco could say otherwise. Draco watched as the boy jumped up to the low branch; was he really only some muggle human? Harry moved like a tree spirit or something.
Draco took the time to dust his pants off, willing the funny blush that had sprouted when Harry had suddenly grabbed him to go away.
“How’s this?” Harry called down, pointing to a fair sized branch longer than his arm.
“It doesn’t have to be so big.” Draco held his hands out to indicate the size, and Harry nodded, quickly snapping a piece and dropping it down to the waiting boy.
Draco caught it, surprised that it was exactly how he had wanted; thin, straight, and with no bumps or knots to mar it.
Before Harry could jump down, Draco whispered the words his father taught him to help find large concentrations of magic. Because Draco’s magic was weak from his inexperience, the locator would only be able to find really big magic, but that was okay because the only magic he was looking for came from the center of the wizarding world. If he went in that direction, he was bound to run across his own people.
“Hey, have you eaten lunch yet?” Harry jumped to the ground, cheeks red from the sudden activity. “I was just about to get mine before you showed up. I’ll get you something if you want… it might take a while until you get a real meal.”
Draco flushed, touching his stomach lightly. He’d had a late breakfast with mother before the trip into the muggle world, but with all the walking and worry, he was famished now. “I am a little hungry, I guess.”
Harry smirked. The boy was obviously starving. “I’ll go get us something to eat. Be right back.”
“Wait—” Draco grabbed onto Harry’s sleeve, eyes wide and desperate. “You’ll come back, right?” He didn’t know what he’d do if he was left alone again.
Harry turned, grabbing Draco’s hands and squeezing encouragingly. “I’m just going to get food to keep us going, and then we’re going to get you home. Your parents are probably really worried right now. If my parents were still alive… Well, people who care about each other should always be together, you know? It’s just how it should be.”
Beaming, Harry let go and skipped backwards. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back. Promise.” With that he ran off, back towards Pier’s parents and the bags of lunches waiting to be eaten.
Draco watched until the boy disappeared among the trees. Sighing, he sat back against the rock. The low throb in his arm kept him from relaxing, so he decided to see if it was all right. He couldn’t help but wonder what sort of food muggles ate. Probably stuff less dangerous than food from the magical world. It’s not like there were monsters to disguise themselves as food around here.
Carefully, Draco pulled the bloodied sleeve away from his skin and peered down through the slash in the material. Huh, the bleeding had stopped. Actually… Draco opened the fabric wider so the light could reach the wound. It looked, well, smaller. He could have sworn the cut had reached higher, all the way up to his shoulder, but now it was only a thin red line about three inches long on his upper arm.
…Maybe Harry really was magical.
Smiling to himself, Draco climbed up to the top of the big rock and sat, swinging his feet idly while he waited to catch sight of the wild boy.
Not feeling guilty at all, Harry grabbed both of Dudley’s lunches, plus his own much smaller one. He figured Draco needed it a lot more, and Dudley could do to lose some weight anyways. The older boys were busy picking on some children that were playing on a swing set while their parents looked on apathetically. Stuffing everything under the shirt Harry had inherited from his cousin that could have fit two of him at once, he slipped towards the closest stand of trees, following them round about to finally get back to Draco.
He was glad to see the boy had stopped crying and looked happier than when he had started out. Now free from prying eyes, Harry pulled the bags from under his shirt and placed them up next to Draco on the rock. “Do you mind eating and walking at the same time? I took my cousin’s lunch, and he’ll be looking for me once he figures it out.”
Draco couldn’t help but snicker at the thought Harry took his mean cousin’s lunch. “I bet he’ll be real mad, huh? Brilliant.” He scooted to the edge of his perch and stared warily down at the ground where Harry was.
“Oh, yeah, it’s funny as long as he doesn’t catch us.” Harry sent a nervous glance over his shoulder. He could definitely handle Dudley, but Harry did not want to think what his cousin might do to someone so soft like Draco. “You coming?”
Draco nodded but didn’t move, eyes still fixated on the ground. “Um… it didn’t seem so high when I got up here.”
“Oh, well… here.” Harry held his arms out. “Jump, and I’ll catch you.”
Surprised, Draco took a good look at Harry’s arms. They were really thin beneath those billowy sleeves, and even though he could see that there were the beginning signs of toned muscle, he really didn’t think they could hold much. “I really don’t think so.”
Laughing at Draco’s expression, Harry gave a little hop. “Come on, I’m stronger than I look. Or are you going to sit on that rock all day?”
“Ummm…” Draco wasn’t really convinced, but he didn’t want to stay on the rock all day either. He wanted to find his mother and go home. “Okay… Try not to drop me though.” Slipping his sneakers down the side of the rock face and lowering himself as far as he could without falling, he was still over the other boy’s head. There was no way he was doing this.
“Come on, don’t chicken out now,” Harry urged when he saw Draco trying to push himself back up to where he had started.
“I’m not chicken—I’m smart!” Draco yelped, his outburst causing him to lose his footing and fall forward. He was certain he had just killed himself, but surprisingly strong arms wrapped around his chest and his feet hit the ground with only a little thump.
“Told ya,” Harry teased, helping Draco catch his bearings and straighten out. “Besides, you’re almost as light as I am, so it wasn’t that hard.”
Draco nodded dully, his side aching a bit from where he had been caught. “I don’t feel so good…”
Harry immediately stepped back and put a firm hand on Draco’s arm, covering where his wound was. “Did it start bleeding again? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Draco cut him off with a shake of his head. “No, my tummy hurts… I’m all queasy from falling.”
“Oh, alright. Here, just sit for a bit.” Harry glanced back towards the way he had come, anxious to get going. They were supposed to have lunch at two, and it was around one forty-five now. Dudley would be bugging the adults to eat, and it would only take one look to notice that the lunches were missing.
“It’s okay,” Draco whispered, noticing how anxious the other boy was. He didn’t want to get Harry into any trouble. He certainly didn’t want him to get beat up by his cousin because then he wouldn’t help him find his mother. “I’ll feel better after a little walking, I think.”
Harry nodded, not really believing him but knowing they had to get moving. “We’ll go slow until you feel better. Which way?”
“Um, hold on a sec.” Draco pulled the stick Harry had gotten him from his back pocket and cupped it close to his stomach, turning his back so he wasn’t seen. The stick pointed to the left but Draco had been moving more to the right the whole time before. Conflicted, he decided to continue towards the clock tower. It wasn’t a real wand, and he didn’t know a lot of magic yet, so he was probably messing up the spell somehow. He tucked the stick back in his pocket anyways, liking the imaginary security it gave him.
“This way, towards that clock tower.”
Harry nodded in reply. He was curious about what Draco had been doing but he didn’t want to be nosy. Reaching up, he grabbed the bags of food and together they set off towards the right, the woods around them growing thicker and thicker for the first ten minutes before finally breaking away into the streets of a wealthy neighborhood.
“You really seem to love her. Is she pretty? I think my mum was pretty, but I don’t really remember.”
“She’s really pretty, probably the prettiest mom in the whole world. She’s really nice too. She reads to me, and sings, and at least twice a month we both go out on an outing.”
“Outing?” The only outings Harry had been on were the few to the park, and once in a while he’d go somewhere with the Dursleys when his Aunt couldn’t find a babysitter.
“Yeah, we’d go for tea a lot, and sometimes clothes shopping… We always looked at the store windows even when mum said she didn’t want to buy anything. I was her protector. She didn’t like to go out alone because she has weak blood, and passes out a lot…” Draco trailed off, clenching his fists at his sides.
“She’s okay, Draco.” Harry placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The way you talked about her, your mum must be smart enough to take care of herself.”
“But she doesn’t know anyone here. How do I know some mean muggle isn’t going to attack her without me there to help! She could be passed out in the middle of a street or—”
“Stop it, Draco, she’s fine.”
“No, she’s not. She’s sick, and worried about me, and she could even be lost too!” Draco sniffed, his eyes going wild behind the new tears threatening to spill.
Harry sighed, placing the bags on the low wall they were passing so he could grab onto the boy’s narrow shoulders.
“Hey, it’s going to be all right. If something happened to her, they’ll take her to the nearest hospital and they’ll make sure she’s okay. And, if you’re just worrying for nothing and she’s fine, then she’s probably talking with the police right now to help find you.”
Harry carefully wiped the boy’s tears away. “Either way, you’re both going to be all right, and see each other again real soon. I wouldn’t have come along if I didn’t think it was possible. I would have pointed you to the police instead, and went back to sleeping in the tree.”
Something in his little speech must have been funny because Draco’s eyes widened in surprise and he giggled tearfully. “What? What did I say?”
“No… it was a really nice thing to say, really,” Draco managed past his giggles. “I do believe you. My mum is probably fine and I’m just worried.”
Harry looked unconvinced, mostly because the weird blond had yet to stop laughing.
As if reading his mind, Draco continued. “You—You sleep in a tree!” He laughed aloud, throwing his hands up as if the humor was obvious. “I thought you were an elf because I saw you in a tree, but you’re just a muggle, and yet you sleep in a tree! It’s funny.” Beaming, Draco pulled on Harry’s arm, only giving the boy a moment to grab the lunches before skipping down the street.
“I’m a what? A muggle?”
“Yup.” Draco answered distractedly and pointed to a skyscraper in the distance. “What is that? It looks like some weird, shiny mountain but my mum said that people work in it, and it lights up at night.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Harry commented thoughtfully, as Draco once again asked another strange question. PB&J equaled peanut butter and jelly; what kid didn’t know that? And come on, asking what a mailbox was for, or bicycles, or asking, god help him, why didn’t Harry just lose his glasses and see better? Draco was not normal, and Harry found it absolutely fascinating.
“I told you, I’m on an outing with my mum,” Draco said matter-of-factly.
Harry just rolled his eyes. “You’re a horrible liar, just so you know.” He said it lightly, not wanting to hurt the boy’s feelings. Sometimes you had to hide things, and Draco had no reason to trust him with the truth. He wasn’t about to let the boy think he bought his act, though.
“What? I was on an outing!”Draco insisted, his cheeks turning pink.
“Right, right, but where are you from? You won’t tell me that, will ya?” Harry smiled and pulled a juice box from one of the bags, handing it to Draco.
Together they had eaten their way through one of Dudley’s lunches. That left them with another big one and Harry’s own pitiful bag. He figured it would be enough for dinner, although he hoped it wouldn’t take that long. The more time he spent with Draco, the more he got the feeling that they may be looking for a long time—like a really long time.
After letting Harry fix the straw for him, Draco sipped on the drink, using it as an excuse not to answer. The first rule with dealing with muggles was secrecy. And he knew it wasn’t just for his own safety, but for Harry’s as well.
Right now Harry still had deniability. Wizards didn’t like muggles knowing about them. A lot of Draco’s people looked down on muggles, like they weren’t good enough to talk with or even touch… as if they were diseased. It had only taken a few minutes with Harry to see how wrong that opinion was.
“Want some?” Draco handed the juice to the brunette, making sure Harry saw him not wipe the straw off when he got it back and took another sip. He didn’t think Harry had any diseases, and he didn’t think he was stupid or inferior. Actually, the boy was really smart… He’d probably know how to keep a secret, too.
“I don’t usually sleep in a tree, you know. I live in a house with my Aunt and her family,” Harry mumbled, feeling it was important Draco know he at least had a home and wasn’t as poor as his clothes made him look.
Draco nodded. “You were hiding from your cousin, right?”
“Yeah.” Harry glanced over at him. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No, I’m the first heir in my line. Father wants mother to have another child, just in case, but she’s really delicate. It makes me glad I was born a boy, because my mum would have to keep having children until she bears a male heir.” Draco was oblivious to the confusion on his new friend’s face.
“Oh… well, if your mother wasn’t delicate? Would you want to have a brother or sister? I always wanted one—a real one, not like Dudley or the berks he hangs out with. I think I’d feel less alone, having someone around who understands me.”
“I don’t know. My parents, they really understand me.” Grabbing onto Harry’s hand, Draco gave it a small squeeze and smiled. “What’s to understand about you?”
The question surprised Harry, or maybe it was the simple kind gesture he wasn’t used to having directed at him. “What?”
“You know, what makes you you? Why do you feel so different from the rest of the people around you?” From what Draco had observed, Harry was a totally different species from all the muggles he had seen that day. He wanted to know why.
“Oh, umm… well, let me think.” It was a strange thing to figure out. Harry knew, there was no question there, but he wasn’t quite sure why, or what he knew.
“They’re hiding something from me, my Aunt and Uncle,” Harry blurted suddenly. “About my parents and about me. They know who I am and they hate me for it.” He turned gleaming eyes to the blond. “It’s hard to explain…”
Draco frowned, holding Harry’s hand tighter. “I don’t think anyone can really explain hate. Why do you think they feel that way about you?”
Harry shrugged, looking down at his shoes. “Weird things happen to me. It really freaks my Uncle out. He yells and knocks me around like it’s my fault. My Aunt will start shrieking, her lips and knuckles going all white like a ghost is about to jump her.”
“What happens?”
Harry met the worried gaze hesitantly. He was afraid to lose his new friend so soon. Eventually something weird would happen and Draco would freak out and never want to talk to him again. It always happened. Draco was pretty cool, but Harry was sure he’d still think he was weird or worse, lying about the stuff that happens to him.
“Weird things happen to me sometimes,” Draco offered quietly, hoping to stop the boy from chewing on his lip in anxiety.
Harry glanced glowing green eyes his way, hope sparking. “…Really?”
“Sure.” Draco flashed a small smile. “Like for starters…” Draco held up their clasped hands. “I can feel stuff, umm energy… a special type of energy. I can feel it in you.”
“Yeah?” Surprised, Harry reached up so he held Draco’s hand in both of his, crushing their lunches in the process. “What’s it feel like?”
“Uh, well l-like magic, of course,” Draco stuttered, the wild tingle coming from Harry’s hands going all the way down to his toes.
Harry watched the boy blush, his mind whirling. Draco had said the M-word, and he had said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Uncle Vernon had told him time and again, until he was purple in the face, that magic didn’t exist and anyone who said otherwise was a filthy waste of life. He had said it so many times, and always so angrily, that it had made Harry sure that he was lying about it. It made him wonder if magic was actually real.
“What… what does magic feel like?”
Draco shook his head dumbly, clasping his other hand over the two holding his. “It feels like you.”
Mother had told Draco about the rare muggles that grew up to have powers like his own kind. Eventually they would be accepted into Hogwarts, a school whose founders were indiscriminate with who was allowed to attend. They would become a part of the wizarding society… Harry would become part—
“You’re a wizard!” Draco cheered, lunging at the brunette and tackling him into a bear hug.
“W-what?! Ooof—watch it…!” Knocked over, his elbow stung from where it had hit the ground, Draco’s weight pinning him down. Rearranging his glasses, Harry gave the beaming blond an annoyed glare. “Are you off your rocker?”
Draco laughed, too happy with the prospect of Harry living in his world to notice his discomfort. “You know what a secret is, right?”
Harry rolled his eyes at the question. “Yeeeah. Why? Is that why you can’t tell me where you’re from?” He blinked innocent eyes at the blond.
“Well yeah, it’s a big secret, you see… But, if you can promise not to tell anyone, a real promise, a blood oath, then I could tell you. You’re going to find out when you’re older anyways. If you know, it will make it easier for you to help me find my home so, umm… yeah. What do you say?”
Harry wriggled distractedly; Draco’s weight was sending tendrils of warmth through him and he wondered if that was what magic felt like. Harry wanted to know the secret, there was no question about that. For some reason, he wanted to know everything about Draco, more so than he could remember ever wanting to know anything. “What’s a blood oath?”
“We both cut ourselves and mix the blood together while saying ‘I swear on my life I’ll never tell.’ It doesn’t have to be a lot of blood…”
Actually, since Harry was a muggleborn the oath might not even count. It wasn’t real magic, but things concerning blood alone could be more powerful than some spells. “We’ll have to find something sharp. That is, if you want to?” Draco tilted his head questioningly, smiling bemusedly as he caught the soft calming scent the boy gave off.
“Did you just sniff my hair?” Harry asked, a giggle bubbling in the pit of his stomach.
Draco blushed, realizing that was exactly what he had just done. “No! I j-just… oh, stop laughing!” He sat up, sitting on Harry’s legs so the laughing boy wouldn’t jiggle him.
“This is going to be so brilliant, Harry. When we find my mom she’ll be so happy to meet you. She might even charm up her famous fairy-honey squares just for you.”
“Fairy-honey squares?”
“Yeah, yeah, they’re really good! Even better than that candy bar we had. Come on.” Draco got up and grabbed Harry’s hands, pulling him to his feet. “We need to find something sharp.”
It had only taken a minute for Harry to find an open kitchen window and ‘borrow’ a slender, but sharp knife. If he remembered later, he’d certainly return it, but for now he felt he should hold on to it for the remainder of their search for Draco’s mother and home. They were, after all, two kids in a very big and potentially dangerous city.
“Have you ever done this before?” Harry asked, barely flinching as he drew the knife across his palm and blood began to seep from the cut. He frowned when he caught the pasty look on Draco’s face. Something told him this was going to be a little more difficult than Draco had made it out to be.
“Once…well, I kinda saw someone do it.” Draco took the knife with a shaking hand, fear making his skin prickle and his grip waver. He stared at the blade, unable to press it to his flesh. “I… umm…”
“Do you want me to do it for you?”
Draco laughed tersely. “Yes, but it doesn’t work that way.” He took an unsteady breath and closed his eyes. “I can do this,” he whispered, and before he lost his nerve, Draco cut, trembling the whole time. “Quick, give me your hand.”
Harry did, lining their cuts up together like Draco had showed him. “I swear on my life I’ll never tell.” His eyebrows shot up as a distinct pulse of heat ran up his arm before slowly fading away. “Did you—?”
“Yeah.” Draco’s eyes were just as wide in surprise. “I… I guess it worked.”
“Guess so…” Blinking away his confusion, Harry tightened his grip to get Draco’s attention. “Well? What am I not telling?”
“Oh, yeah.” Draco was still staring at their joined hands with a look of confusion. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Err… no, it doesn’t actually.” Harry carefully pulled his hand away so they could stare at their palms. There was a smear of blood that had collected and mingled, but the cuts they had just made were barely a white line on each of their hands. “Wow… wow, that’s real. Draco, that’s real magic!” Harry said excitedly, his green eyes bright in exhilaration and awe.
“Well yeah, of course it is.” Draco huffed, but he was just as surprised as Harry. He examined his hand carefully, flexing his fingers. “That’s pretty neat, actually.”
“It’s brilliant,” Harry confirmed, lapping the scarlet puddle from him palm before wiping his cleaned hand dry on his jeans. Watching him, Draco hesitantly followed suit and flickered a pink tongue over his own palm.
Waiting for the blond to finish, Harry carefully pocketed their new knife in his jeans, his over-sized shirt easily covering the handle from view.
“How can you…?” Draco scrunched his nose at the odd tang of blood. It wasn’t completely unpleasant, but he certainly wouldn’t make a habit of it. “It tastes weird.”
“Yeah, but you don’t want to get it all over your clothes and everything. People will think you murdered someone.” Draco took another curious lick and then began looking around for someplace to wipe the rest of it off on.
Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed the boy’s hand. “Here, I’ll do it. Half of it’s mine anyways.” Grinning mischievously, Harry ran his tongue over the blonde’s palm, giggling when Draco yelped in surprise.
“H-Hey, quit that!” Draco tried to pull his hand away but Harry followed, using his other hand to hold the boy’s arm still. “Argh, that’s icky! Harry!” Draco whined, squirming in the firm grip as the spaces between his fingers were thoroughly cleaned.
“It’s only blood, Draco.” He found the boy’s squirming funny, and teasingly bit at his hand, rewarded with more giggling jumps.
“Harry— I’m s-s-serious here! Quit—ha, ha, haa! ” Getting a little fed up—he hated when he couldn’t stop laughing—Draco grabbed blindly at the boy’s messy locks, accidentally knocking Harry’s glasses off in the process.
“Sorry… just let go already.” Draco met the unfocused green eyes, amazed by the vibrant green color blinking at him. “You’re uh… you’re really weird, ya know that?” he said decidedly, combing Harry’s wild tangle of hair. “Like a puppy or something.”
“Puppy?” Harry cocked his head to the side, licking his lips in thought. “You know, I always wanted a puppy. A nice one; my Aunt Marge has this really vicious dog that hates me.”
“Oh, well if you were really a puppy, I imagine you’d be a really nice one,” Draco whispered, pulling his hand away, which was now squeaky clean and distinctly moist, and shoving it in his pocket before Harry did something else weird. Blushing, he helped Harry find his glasses in the grass.
“So, tell me already,” Harry persisted, pushing his glasses up his nose and scrambling to his feet. “Where do you live, and stuff?” He pulled Draco up, and grabbing their lunch bags, set off towards the clock tower again. He didn’t want to stay around the area, afraid that somehow they would get caught for taking the kitchen knife.
“My house is called Malfoy Manor and it’s, well it’s hard to say where it is exactly,” Draco tried to explain. “It’s unplottable—that means that it can’t be found by magical means. Only those who know beforehand can find and enter my house. That’s why it won’t help to ask the muggle police for help, because they could never find it.”
“So, only you and your family can find it? But, if you don’t know where it is, and you can’t find your mum…” Harry trailed off uncomfortably.
“Well, um, if I can get back into the wizarding world, I’ll be able to find it right off. You see, we have this floo system network thingy that lets us go wherever we say.”
Harry shook his head in confusion. “Maybe you should explain what you mean by wizarding world first. It sounds like you’re from another planet or something.”
“Uh, it’s the same planet, just… how do I explain this…? You know how you muggles have different countries, right? Well, think of the wizarding world as another country, just that only the people from that country and some bigwigs in your government know about.
“There are small groups of us everywhere, really, but London holds one of the larger populations of our kind. And I mean our, Harry. The only real difference between muggles and us is our ability to use magic, really.” Draco smiled excitedly. “Not everyone sees it that way, but my mom has been teaching me, and that’s what I figured out. Muggles are non-magical people, and that’s that. It doesn’t mean they’re meaner, or less smart, or anything else.”
“Um, okay.” Draco was looking at him expectantly, so Harry hesitantly nodded his head. He still wasn’t quite sure about all of it yet, but it sounded really interesting anyways. “You said that my government would know about your world. What if you went to them? Maybe they could help you get home.”
Draco bit his lip and shook his head. “I don’t think… Um, my father kind of has a history around here. They might…” He looked away, tousling his white-blond locks.
“We have money, you know? So people that want that money might decide that they could hurt me, or mother to get it. My father isn’t well liked in the muggle world, so they might think it would be okay to do something like that if they knew who I am… He’s an important man, my father.” Draco looked ahead blankly. “But I think there must be a reason so many people are afraid of him.”
Harry stared at the boy. Afraid didn’t really seem to fit the description. The way he had sounded, Harry would think people would be angry or jealous of Draco’s father, not frightened. He let it slip though, because Draco seemed agitated about the subject.
“Have you ever been kidnapped before, or am I your first?”
Gray eyes regarded him in surprise, taking in Harry’s teasing smile and laughing eyes. “You think you could kidnap me? I bet you’ve never even held a wand before!”
“I don’t think I have…” Harry mussed, not quite knowing what Draco meant by a wand. “But I’ve most certainly got you, don’t I?”
Draco shook his head in amusement. “If anyone is going to be considered a kidnapper, it’s me. For all anyone knows, I’m luring you to your doom.” He accented the last three words with wiggling fingers that he used to attack Harry’s stomach.
Sniggering, Harry wiggled away. “I don’t think it’s kidnapping if no one’s ever going to look for me. Ha, or if I actually want to go with you, too.”
“Do you want to go with me?” Draco asked suddenly, eyes wide and innocent and making Harry lose a step. Harry very much wanted to go everywhere with Draco.
“Uh… well, I don’t suppose that really matters,” Harry said awkwardly, his mood immediately falling. “I mean, the Dursleys are horrible, but I suppose I could be in a worse situation.”
“Still,” Draco persisted, “do you?”
Harry glanced at the boy, going quiet.
It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, mostly because there was no point getting caught up in dreams like that. Since the first time he could remember, he had been waiting for someone; his parents, a relative, a friend of his family, anyone to come take him away from the Dursleys and give him a proper home. He had hid that little dream in a small part of his heart, knowing that it would never come true, but unable to fully let it go. At this point it just hurt to think about it.
Concerned by his new friend’s brooding, Draco gently bumped Harry’s shoulder with his. “You’re a wizard, you know. You don’t have to go back to them anymore. You should live with your own kind.”
Sighing, Harry shook his head, but gave the boy a smile for his efforts. “Do you think it’s that simple?”
Draco shrugged. “It is for my father. He can do anything… Come on, I think I see something familiar.” Draco hurriedly dragged Harry towards the back of the line of houses, pointing out a tall, wired fence. “This was on one side of the alley we came in from so… that would mean the alley is right on the other side!”
“Um, I don’t think it works quite like that,” Harry said hesitantly, noticing the very normal field the fence was surrounding. “There’s more than one fence like this.”
“What…but…” Draco stopped and scrunched his nose, eying the quite obvious field that could be seen on the other side. Not completely convinced, he grabbed onto the fence and climbed halfway up so he could poke his head over the side. Like Harry had said, it was just a field. “Darn… I thought it was a magical illusion.”
“Sorry, things are kinda simple around here.” Harry waited for the blond to jump down, trying to hide his smile.
Imagine magic that could make you think you were looking at something, when another thing was really there! “What other things can magic do? Can it stop a war? Or make the snow fall in the middle of summer? I want to know everything.”
“Sure, um, let me just check something first.” Draco searched the skyline for the clock tower landmark. It still seemed rather far away and he couldn’t figure out why. If it was anywhere but the muggle world, he could blame it on magic. The residential neighborhood they were in was also confusing him. It seemed odd to have houses within a city, well, houses with large yards. But that could be a muggle thing too. Torn, he decided to try his locator again.
“Hey, Harry. Do you want to see some magic?” Draco asked while pulling the stick from his pocket. He held his hands palm up, the branch of magic free to sway as the green-eyed boy leaned close with an expression of rapt concentration. Sure enough, the stick stopped its spinning, only to point in the opposite direction they had been heading. Sighing in frustration, Draco plopped to the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, sitting next to him after a moment.
Draco made a moan of displeasure, pointing to the clock tower. “So, that’s the tower I saw when I was with my Mom, and I figured getting to the right side would be where I could find my world. But it hasn’t been working—I keep walking and walking and it just doesn’t get closer.”
“…Could it be magic?” Harry asked quietly, looking a little disbelieving at the thought.
“I don’t know…” Hand straying to where Harry’s was resting beside him in the grass, Draco fiddled with the boy’s fingers thoughtlessly. Harry frowned to himself, not sure why Draco kept touching him all the time. It didn’t hurt—it wasn’t like Dudley, always trying to hurt him. Harry wasn’t even sure if it was a normal thing, because he had never really had a friend before, and he didn’t know what friends did normally.
It made Harry look at Draco a lot, and notice how he looked, with his wide eyes and flush mouth against his pale skin. And Harry supposed that reminded him just how weird he was, because even if Draco liked to touch him, he probably wasn’t thinking the same weird thoughts Harry thought when the boy did it. Draco might have been pretty enough to be a girl, but he definitely wasn’t one, and Harry didn’t mind at all. Uncle Vernon would have called him a freak for it… definitely…
“Maybe it is magic…” Draco mused, eyes straying to Harry’s. “Diagon Alley is hidden by spells so you can’t see it. Maybe I’m looking for a clock tower that was hidden in the alley, and not in the city. That could explain why it’s taking so long to find the place—I could have been walking away the whole time!”
Harry was not sure if that was how magic worked, having only just learned about it, but he imagined Draco would know more about it then him. “So… should we go the other way?” Harry asked, watching as Draco’s white eyelashes blinked slowly.
Draco nodded, but made no move to get up. “I’m tired… really tired. I don’t think I’ve ever walked so far in my entire life.”
Harry nodded to himself, looking at their surroundings. They were at the edge of the field, in a suburban neighborhood. There were no houses close to them, and no other people wandering. “If you want to close your eyes for a bit, we can get going after you rest.” Draco was a delicate sort, and Harry didn’t want the boy hurting himself.
Draco fell back into the long green grass, eyes slipping up over the bright blue sky and the fluffy white clouds slowly blowing by. The grass tickled at his skin, and he squirmed, letting the smell of green and dirt fill his senses. He reached for Harry’s hand again, brushing fingers across and liking how Harry’s energy sparked at him in response. He had never felt magic quite like Harry’s, so raw and wild, like stumbling across a dangerous wild animal in the woods and bringing it home for a pet.
Draco glanced over, thinking that was probably not a nice, proper way to consider someone. But he couldn’t help himself, feeling like Harry was some wild, magical creature—very special, and very much just for Draco to play with and take home.
“Hey, Harry?” Draco asked, watching intently as the boy turned his way, a small frown on his tanned and dirt streaked face. “Can I see your glasses?”
Biting his lip, Harry pulled the taped frames from his face and handed them over to Draco by the narrow ear piece. Draco held them gingerly, bringing them closer and closer to his eyes until he was peering through at a blurry, almost watery world.
“Is this how you see things all the time? Fuzzy?”
Harry bent closer, flattening out on his stomach and scrunching his nose as grass tickled his chin and throat. “Without them, yeah. The glasses make things sharp for me. I can see up close okay without them.”
Draco pushed Harry’s glasses up to his forehead, the world tilting and coming back into focus. He turned his head, hand coming up to touch Harry’s fluffy hair. “You’re very different from the people I know. My mother would throw a fit if my hair was so messy… or if I came home covered in dirt… or wore clothes that didn’t fit right.”
Harry shrugged, eyes half closing as Draco insisted on combing fingers through his hair as if he were a dog. “That’s because your mom loves you… Although, even if I did have a loving mom, I don’t think my hair would ever be neat.”
“No…you’re too wild for that.” Draco agreed, looking very serious. “Harry, you should come live with me.”
Breath catching, Harry turned his head up to see if Draco was joking. He was very close, his bright skin smelling like soap and boy, only looking a little blurry as Harry blinked at him. “Draco, I don’t think your parents would ever agree to something like that… Adults don’t just take kids in…”
“So? I bet if I ask really nice, my mom would agree. All she’d have to do is meet you—I’m sure she’d like you as much as I do.” Draco said optimistically, very much used to getting his way.
Harry shook his head, very much liking the way Draco smelled. “I’m not normal… Your parents wouldn’t like me, Draco…”
“Harry, I keep telling you, normal isn’t good for a wizard. You don’t want to be normal,” Draco insisted, pulling a little too hard on Harry’s hair, his fingers getting stuck. He carefully worked at the small knot, smoothing the strands up into a point once done.
“I’m not a good person,” Harry whispered, looking away and burying his head into his folded arms. “I’m very much a bad person. People get hurt around me… and I don’t feel bad about it… I think sometimes that I’m glad they get hurt. Especially when they’re trying to hurt me first.”
Draco sighed, his eyes closing against the warm sun and soothing breeze. “That’s like my father. He’s good at hurting people… and mom loves him. I love him… He protects us. As long as you don’t hurt us, I’ll love you.”
Harry didn’t say anything, staring at the long strands of grass brushing his face while Draco’s breathing evened out into sleep. No one could ever love someone like Harry, and it was crazy to ever get his hopes up.
He pushed himself up on his arms, eyes roaming over Draco’s sleeping face. A part of him very much wanted to never find Draco’s parents. They didn’t have to go to the Dursleys—they would only hurt someone like Draco. They would tease him for being the type of boy that was sweet and cried, and liked to touch other boys because he not so secretly liked them.
Harry was fairly certain Draco liked him the same way he liked Draco… And Harry did not want to let the boy go. But Harry had no place to live if not the Dursleys. Draco was very soft and sweet—he would not want to live in trees, or out in fields. So Harry would take Draco home, to the people that loved him, and then Harry would go back to the Dursleys and forget about things like magic and how easy it was to fall in love with someone like Draco.
Harry eventually had to wake Draco up, the afternoon light slanting the trees shadows long, and reminding him that it would be night soon. Draco was still tired, his eyes heavy and body wavering as Harry helped him to his feet. The boy was worn out, plain and simple, just too much having happened that day.
As much as Draco felt uneasy about back tracking after all the distance he had traveled, after explaining it more to Harry, they both agreed it was the best course of action. Better to go back to where Draco had started than hope he was headed in the right direction the whole time.
Twilight was starting to fall, and Draco was getting hungry again by the time the trees started to be surrounded by small fences on the sidewalk and city neon began flickering in shop windows.
“It all looks so different at night,” Draco mused, looking around and pressing closer into Harry’s side. Harry had gotten used to how clingy Draco was by this point, and just raised his arm so the boy could wrap around it.
“Do you think you’re close to where you last saw your mom?” Harry asked, looking around warily. Cars lines the street, more flowing back and forth, taillights turning everything red as traffic sat for the signal. There were a lot of people on the sidewalks, older people being loud and stumbling as they went in and out of bars and restaurants in groups.
“I don’t know… I remember there being benches to sit on…” Draco trailed off, both Harry and him finding the nearest bench with their eyes, only to discover a homeless person camped out, a sign at his feet while he filled the bench with his dirty coat and black plastic bags filled with stuff.
Pursing his lips into a grim frown, Harry decided it was time for Draco to eat something, if only to distract the boy from his nearly panicked breathing. He pulled Draco to a bench not full of anyone and their stuff, and sat the boy down and handed him Dudley’s other large lunch. Harry didn’t eat, not feeling hungry at the moment, his stomach tight with anxiety as he watched every face that walked by and thought to look in Draco’s direction.
Draco was too pretty, Harry was realizing. Not just too young, because Harry was young and people didn’t pay him much heed. Draco was soft, and sweet, and everyone kept looking at him because of it as if they wanted to take him away… And some of the people, especially men, looked as if they wanted to hurt Draco, their eyes roaming over Harry’s new friend as if he were a meal to be eaten.
Harry wasn’t sure if he was glad Draco seemed oblivious, or frustrated. He did not want to panic the boy—it was too easy a task as it was—but Draco was just so carefree, swinging his feet and looking openly at these hungry looking people as if they weren’t the predators Harry sensed them to be. To the point that some slowed down, one man, this sandy haired, soft smiling thing with hungry brown eyes, daring to stop and talk to them while Draco sipped on his juice box.
“You two look like you’re out on a trip together,” the man said, crouching down so that he was eye level, as if not to frighten them. Harry glared, meeting the dark eyes and willing the man to go away. He did not, turning instead to Draco, his smile handsome and gentle even though his eyes were not.
Draco squirmed under the attention, glancing at Harry uncertainly. “We’re uh, just out for a walk…”
“Go away,” Harry snapped, taking Draco’s hand when the boy reached for him. The man seemed very interested in that, that Draco had reached out to Harry, and Harry found himself wanting to growl and push the man, but was afraid to frighten Draco who only looked confused and not scared yet.
“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you were eating, and I thought maybe you would like something warm?” The man said calmly, head tilting in a way that made Draco relax. “It’s getting cold out, and I don’t know if you realize it, but it’s very late.”
“It is?” Draco asked, eyes looking around the city that was now alight with colors and neon, the sun having disappeared hours ago.
“We don’t want anything from you, so get lost,” Harry said sharply, getting up from the bench to glower down at the man. “My dad is right in there, and he’s coming right back.”
The man held up his hands, smiling apologetically, and looking as if he didn’t believe a word of what Harry had said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just thought you might be hungry.”
“Well, you were wrong.” The man was still blocking Draco’s way, and Harry scowled, reaching for Draco’s shoulders and pulling the surprised boy down the bench and off. Harry glanced at the last of their food, realizing it was better to leave the bag than reach across the man again. Holding Draco’s arm firmly, Harry led the confused boy down the street, glancing back to make sure the man didn’t follow.
He was watching them, the same fake smile and hungry eyes watching, and Harry shuddered inside. “Come on, Draco, that man is trouble.”
Draco bit his lip, glancing back as well, and giving a small smile in response to the beaming one the man sent him. “He seemed okay, Harry. He just wanted to give us some warm food. It is getting cold out.”
Harry shook his head, amazed at the boy’s naiveness. “Draco, that was a bad man.”
“He was?” Draco furrowed his brows, glancing over his shoulder again, but the man had disappeared.
“Yes. He very much was. Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to speak to strangers?” Harry asked, huffing when Draco just looked at him blankly.
“Harry… my parents are always with me—always. If there is someone to talk to, they already know them,” Draco said uncomfortably, not sure why Harry was angry at him.
Harry sighed, noticing Draco’s expression and feeling guilty. “Just… just don’t go thinking everyone is safe, okay? You said people didn’t like your dad, remember? So you should be careful…”
Draco nodded slowly, staring at his shoes. He shivered, and Harry wrapped his arm around the boy, wishing there was a place they could go where they would be unnoticed. Kids weren’t out this late at night, not in bars or restaurants. They were home in bed, safe under their parents’ watchful eye. “How about you do the spell again? Figure out if we’re still headed in the right direction.”
“Kay,” Draco whispered, pulling the stick from his back pocket. He huddled his body against the wall so no one could see what he was doing. Harry took the time to look around, feeling very exposed all of a sudden as if they were being watched.
“Hey… do you know that guy?” Harry asked under his breath once Draco was turning towards him.
Draco looked up, hands frozen as he held the stick. A man in a long leather coat and straggly red hair was staring at them from the corner of an apartment building. “I don’t think so.”
“He’s been watching you, and I’m pretty sure he was on that last street we just stepped off of.”
Draco took another look at the man’s coat. From this distance it was hard to be sure, but the cut and the detail on the coat was a lot like wizard’s wear. “Do you think he knows my parents?”
“Actually, I think he’s a creep.” Harry said bluntly, grabbing onto Draco’s arm when the man started moving towards them. “We should get out of here.”
“But I think he might be one of mine,” Draco persisted, standing his ground. The man’s boots were definitely dragon hide. He was a wizard, which meant he’d know how to bring him home. “Harry, I think he’s a wizard.”
Harry shook his head in irritation, wishing again that Draco wasn’t so bloody naïve. “Draco, wizard or not, he’s damn creepy.”
Biting his lip, Draco watched the man approach, his straggly hair fitting well with his dirty face, scruffy beard, and worn clothes. If he was a wizard, he wasn’t a rich one… which meant he wasn’t a very good wizard, Draco imagined.
Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s shoulder, trying to pull the boy away, but the man was towering over them now, smiling cruelly and revealing rotted, tobacco stained teeth. “Malfoy, your father has been looking everywhere for you.”
Having scrunched his nose at the man’s unpleasant appearance, Draco suddenly beamed, relief clear in his eyes. “Oh, you do know my father! I was so afraid I’d never—Harry, did you hear him? He knows my father!”
Harry was less impressed, glaring at the man while Draco nearly pulled his arm off in his enthusiasm. The man glared back, beady black eyes fixing on him and then moving to Harry’s forehead where his thick hair blocked the view of his scar.
“That wouldn’t be Harry Potter, would it?” The man asked, something akin to greed crackling in his eyes and making Harry step back from the feel of it.
“Draco… let’s just get out of here.” Harry muttered, pulling at the oblivious boy.
Draco pulled himself free from Harry’s grasp, turning to stare at him disbelieving. “Harry… are you really? I mean—that’s mad! Are you really Harry Potter?”
Harry shrugged, unable to meet the boy’s blazing stare. “Uh, that is…”
When Harry wouldn’t give a proper answer, Draco stepped closer, carefully pushing at Harry’s fringe until he could see the lightning bolt scar. “Harry… that’s amazing… You’re amazing…” He breathed out, looking at Harry in such wonder Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
Harry swallowed hard, shaking his head and stepping away. “I’m not, Draco… I’m a monster… They all told me. The Dursleys know what I did, and I’m a monster…” He took another step back, faltering as the sidewalk crumbled beneath his feet. He stumbled, eyes going wide as a large hand grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and pulled him roughly upright.
It was the sandy haired man with the hungry eyes, his smile too wide and menacing. “It’s okay, Potter. You get just as much money selling monsters as you do little boys.” Harry had only an instant for the implication to sink in, and then he was falling backwards, the man slamming him hard against the building wall where his head cracked against the brick.
“…stop…”
“Shh, it’s okay. Boys like you like this.”
“N-no. Don’t touch me… ohh.”
“See, you like it. Fuck, look at you, fucking pureblood…”
Harry shifted, red flashing behind his eyes. His head felt cracked in half, pain flooding like a heavy weight of hot sand where his brain should be, gritty and overwhelming to the point he could barely think.
“Please, l-let go.”
“You don’t mean that. Such a pretty thing like you.”
“Give me my clothes back… and stop. Stop doing that.”
“I will, I promise. First, first you’re going to do something for me.”
Red flashed again, and Harry groaned. His stomach churned like he was going to vomit and he wondered if it was another concussion. Petunia always yelled when he hit his head on things.
“Come on, pretty baby. Let me put it in you.”
“No. That… that feels strange. Don’t touch me!”
“You’re gonna like it. Boys like you always like it. You’re so soft… so fucking hot inside.”
“Don’t.”
The darkness was swirling, spinning, a whirlpool threatening to take him down and drown him. It felt so far away, every noise and gasp. Harry tried to grasp it but his limbs were too heavy to move.
“I’m gonna make your friend mine, your special friend. Is he a boy like you, baby?”
“Leave him alone.”
“I think he’s a boy like you, baby. I think he wants to play with us.”
“No. Leave Harry alone!”
“Or what, baby? Did you want to play with me alone. Do you want to be my baby slut?”
“Just stay away from him.”
It felt like Dudley was sitting on him, stealing his air and crushing him to the floor. Harry’s nose wrinkled from the smells. Cheerios… and cat piss… and rot… and noises… sniffling…
“Open up, baby. Spread those legs wider. We both know how much you like it.”
“Stop.”
“That’s it. Fuck, that’s it. Look how hard you are. You’re going to come. I’m going to put it in you, and you’re going to come.”
“Get off me.”
“Not until I…”
Eyes snapping open, Harry jerked up, the world jolting and stopping its maddening whirl. His stomach made a lurch, threatening to escape, but he ignored it, getting to his feet and swaying precariously. “Draco?” he rasped, searching the dark room cluttered with broken furniture, piles of old newspaper, shoe boxes, and clothing. Children’s clothes were everywhere, strewn across the floor, on tables and the one worn couch he could see among the mess.
“S-stop!”
Harry whirled, turning behind him where there was just a crack of greenish yellow light coming from an ajar door. It was Draco and he was scared. Harry waded through clothing and paper, stepping over and nearly tripping on an old suitcase. He could hear the boy crying, sounding like he was in the midst of another panic attack. “Draco!”
“Harry?”
Harry threw the door open, the wood resisting as it caught on clothes piled behind it. There were three large dirty mattresses on the floor, squished together, no sheets on any of them but more small soft clothing in bright colors covered the area. A television was on in the corner, the sound muted as a cartoon flashed on the screen. Along with the green tinted light it made everything look more ghastly and stark, especially the sandy haired man that had Draco in his lap, long fingers moving between his pale thighs.
Draco had such a tormented look on his sweet face, Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted him to save him, or run away and be safe. “Harry, I thought he killed you!” Draco sobbed, struggling with the hands holding his thin torso and hips in place. “Let go!”
“It’s okay, baby. He can watch if he wants,” the man murmured, kissing Draco’s neck while wrenching the boy’s hips still. “God, you can all have a turn before my friend comes back, I promise. Just give me a second to…”
Harry saw the man reach for his hardening dick and he stepped into the room. “Draco, it’s okay. He’s going to stop.”
“I am?” The man asked, smiling slowly as he took a look at Harry, eyes moving over him hungrily. “Did you want to go instead?”
Harry stared at him. He didn’t feel angry anymore, just empty inside. There was this dark, heavy feeling inside Harry’s chest that had replaced the rage he had felt the instant he had seen what the man was doing to Draco. The dark feeling knew what to do. It always did.
Harry took another step forward, staring the man down. “I’m going to kill you.”
The man laughed but Draco didn’t, going very still while staring at Harry with a mix between dread and absolute, all consuming hope. “With what? Come over here and watch TV while I play with your friend, you pretty, green-eyed boy.”
Harry blinked, glancing from Draco and then back to the very stupid man that had yet to let the boy go. “I just wanted to let you know, that’s all.” And then he let the darkness out, watching the man stiffen, his hungry eyes widening as his body began to twist on itself. Draco scrambled away the moment he could, whimpering as he rolled on the mattress, eyes fixed on the contorting man.
He barely screamed, the man’s thick neck twisting just as quickly as his muscular limbs, small choked gurgles of breath breaking free as blood burbled from his mouth. Harry watched dispassionately, making sure the man kept twisting, kept turning in on himself until he was thin, wrapped and completely broken.
Once he was certain he would never untwist and hurt Draco again, Harry breathed deep, letting the feeling seep out of him, willing the darkness to stop for now. But he didn’t let it completely go. He might still need it for the straggly haired man if he was there.
Draco was shaking, silent tears falling. Harry internally sighed, knowing he had very much lost his only friend. His head still hurt, more so now that Draco was safe and he could feel things again, and Harry touched the back of his skull gingerly while looking around the room. Blearily, he realized he had lost his glasses but it didn’t seem to matter. Draco had been right—all Harry had to decide to do was see better and now he could.
The sheets that belonged on the bed were covering the only window, red spaceships floating on a blue background splitting the otherwise bare, dingy walls. There were too many child things in the room, toys and stuffed animals, younger things for younger kids, and it made Harry feel sick to think about it.
His eyes were drawn to the television and a strange stick sitting across the top that seemed to be resonating power. It felt as twisted as the man was. Harry picked it up, flinching from the feel of the foreign magic. Glaring, he placed it back down again, not sure if he wanted to keep something that made him feel so sick inside.
“Draco, do you know where your clothes are?” Harry asked, seeing that the boy had gotten himself in enough control to stop shaking quite so wildly. Draco nodded his head but made no sign that he was willing to move just yet.
“I know you’re scared but we have to go, Draco… Even if you don’t ever want to see me again, we have to get out of here.” Harry crouched before the too quiet boy who had his face buried in the mattress. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t want him to hurt you anymore.”
“Not scared,” Draco murmured, squirming against the bed and refusing to look at Harry still.
Not sure what to do—obviously the boy was terrified, and rightfully so—Harry reached out and touched Draco’s shoulder. Draco stiffened from the touch, face peeking out to gasp for air, cheeks flushed and silver eyes hazy. “Draco we should… go…” The boy was looking at him so strangely, Harry had to swallow the lump that had risen in his throat.
“Harry, he did something to me,” Draco whispered, eyes downcast while he panted. “A spell… said to… oh, to make me like it… That boys like me liked it a lot…”
“Draco, he shouldn’t have done that. Even if you’re… you’re that kind of boy…” Harry said softly, having guessed before being caught by the man that Draco liked boys. “You get to decide what you like, not creeps like him.”
Draco nodded, moving up the bed, eyes closing as his skin rubbed against the mattress. “You don’t understand… god, it… it feels funny… feels good…”
Harry was at a loss, Draco climbing up him and holding onto his shoulders while pressing his face into his neck. The boy was pulling at Harry’s shirt, trying to take it off, and that seemed like a very strange thing to want to do at any time, even if it was Dudley’s hand-me-downs. Harry tried to catch Draco’s hands but his head was spinning and the boy kept rubbing up against him, making it hard to concentrate.
“I like you, Harry… I like you a lot…” Draco whispered into his ear, wet lips touching his cheek. Draco’s skin felt so very hot against Harry’s, like the boy had a fever. Closing his eyes, Harry nodded, a part of him very relieved that Draco wasn’t afraid of him for having just killed a man in front of him. If Draco could forgive that terribleness, Harry could forgive the strange things the beautiful boy was doing to him.
Draco finally managed to pull Harry’s over-sized shirt off, mouth moving over his neck and chest while his hands pulled at Harry’s back, rubbing and touching him with such intent that he had to wonder if Draco had done this before. Harry couldn’t help but noticed that Draco was hard, the boy making soft noises into his skin every time he pushed his hips up against Harry’s waist, grinding into him.
“Does it feel good?” Draco asked, pulling back to meet Harry’s eyes, his pale hands straying down Harry’s sides and making him shiver.
Harry shrugged, not quite sure how it felt, just that Draco seemed very engrossed in pressing his body against his and there was little Harry could do to stop it—at least without hurting the boy or his feelings. Looking concerned, Draco swayed closer, Harry nearly going cross-eyed with how close the boy was staring into his eyes. “I want you to like it, Harry. I want you to like me.”
Harry did like Draco, he just wasn’t really sure he liked touching Draco in some fucked up room with a twisted up corpse sharing the bed with them. He was about to say something along those lines when Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s, the boy’s gray eyes still intent on his. Harry closed his, unable to handle Draco’s closeness, another shiver shaking him. Draco was licking at his mouth and he wondered if the man had done that to him, and that’s why he thought Harry would like it.
Harry pulled back to breathe, and Draco followed after him, tongue delving into his mouth, surprising Harry and rushing heat through him. “Draco…” Harry gasped, but the boy only did it again, rubbing his tongue against his. Harry’s tongue felt slow, almost sore as he stretched it out, pressing back against Draco’s hesitantly. Draco made another soft moaning noise, rocking against Harry while holding his shoulders hard.
“Draco… someone could come back any second…” Harry tried again, but Draco didn’t seem to hear him, the boy having pulled away to lick at Harry’s neck. It made Harry feel funny, his skin tight and hot, with the only relief to be Draco’s wet tongue moving over him. Cheeks flushed, he didn’t fight Draco when his hands were suddenly on Harry’s jean waistband. “Oh hell—oh!” Harry gaped, eyes wide, Draco’s mouth latched onto his nipple and licking.
Draco pulled back, smiling softly with his eyes still very hazy, his entire body swaying as if he could hear a song in the background. “Did you like that?” He asked breathlessly, leaning in to lick Harry’s lips. Harry nodded silently, watching Draco’s smile widen, his swollen lips extra red now. Draco was very pretty… probably the prettiest person Harry had ever seen, boy or girl.
Staring at his mouth the entire time, Draco asked Harry another question. “Did you… want to put it in me, Harry?” He licked Harry’s mouth again, then breathed deep and sighed. “I think I’d like it if you did it.”
Harry shook his head, trying to gently push Draco away. “Draco… that’s only for grown ups, okay? He shouldn’t have made you think that… that you want that…”
Draco groaned, a soft whine echoing somewhere around Harry’s shoulder as the boy clung tight and began to lick his skin again. “The feeling won’t stop… he cursed me, and it won’t stop…”
Harry really wished Draco would just stop, the boy’s feverish flesh making him feel too hot and suffocating. He could feel the boy’s small hands, pushing at his jeans, pulling persistently until Harry’s pants and underwear were down his thighs. Then Draco was pulling away, pulling Harry’s pants off the rest of the way, leaving him with nothing but shoes and sock on. “Draco, this isn’t right.”
Draco nodded in agreement, then crawled back up Harry’s stiff form, wrapping his arms around him and straddling his legs. “Just once.. just until the feeling stops… He said it would stop once he… oh god… once he put it in me enough times…”
Harry growled, holding Draco’s shoulders in place and trying to get the dazed boy to meet his eyes. “He was lying, Draco! He just wanted you to do whatever he wanted—he wanted you like this. He wanted you to want this.”
“No, he couldn’t make me…” Draco whispered, leaning against Harry’s cheek. “I didn’t want him… I fought him…” He ran his hands over Harry’s back, slowly moving up and down and drawing little flames of fire over Harry’s skin with each touch. “Even with the feeling… I didn’t want him…”
“Draco…” Harry sighed warningly, his eyes closing on their own accord.
Draco just smiled, kissing Harry’s cheek, hands slowly moving down his body. “But I want you, Harry… You’re really nice… and strong… and brave…”
“I’m horrible, Draco. I’m a fucking monster and you shouldn’t touch me.” He opened his eyes, watching Draco flinch when he swore.
“I like you,” Draco insisted, eyes wide and clear of any fear.
Harry sighed, not knowing what to say to make the boy see reason. Because Draco still didn’t seem to care that the twisted bleeding corpse was only feet away, and that the creep’s partner could come back at any moment and capture them all over again. Was that what some magic did? Could it mess up someone’s mind so much they couldn’t see reality anymore?
“Draco, I think the curse you’re talking about is making you not see things properly… We really need to go, and… and, oh… Draco… you shouldn’t do that…” Although the pale boy was blushing, he still kept moving his hand over Harry’s hardening prick, trying to get it as hard as his was with slow tugs.
Draco pressed closer, rubbing up against Harry’s stomach while pumping his length. “I like you… and you like me, Harry… I know you do, ‘cus you saved me…”
“Damn it—that doesn’t mean… god… Draco, just promise… you won’t do this… with anyone else that saves you…” Harry managed to choke out, his hands flying to the boy’s shoulders and holding himself up. For all Harry knew, Draco thought this was a proper thank you, the sweet boy very much weird at the moment.
“Okay…” Draco promised easily, eyelashes fluttering as he watched Harry’s small length jump in his hand. Well, at least the boy wasn’t crying anymore, Harry thought distractedly, pushing his hips forward into the touch, mouth gaping when Draco tightened his hand more. “Oh, you like that… I can tell…” Draco murmured, smiling dazzlingly until Harry just had to smile back.
“Now will you…?” Draco asked, again looking very hungry and dazed at Harry.
“Will I… what?” Harry panted, unable to really focus on much of anything except the feel of Draco’s hand on his dick.
Blushing, Draco tilted his head and pressed his face against Harry’s. “Put it in me.”
“Draco… that’s really messed up…” Harry regretted it the moment he said it, Draco stiffening against him, his face hidden from view. “Crap, I mean… Draco!” Draco had not waited to hear exactly what Harry had meant, instead shimmying his thighs higher up Harry’s waist, and pushing the boy back onto the mattress. Harry tried very hard not to think of the dead man that was starting to rot somewhere just behind him while Draco smiled shakily down at him from his perch.
“There is a dead guy—and this place smells gross—and you’re still lost, and really bad people are looking to hurt you! Draco, wake up and stop being like this!” Harry tried again.
Draco just tilting his head, mouth open to pant softly. “He promised… it would stop… if he put it… in me… and I came…” Draco explained slowly, his hips rocking against Harry. “I didn’t want… him to… But I do… want you to…”
The darkness was rising inside him again, and Harry was afraid this time. He didn’t want to hurt the boy—he really liked Draco. Hell, he might have even wanted him like this some day. But this was really wrong, and Draco was not being himself. The sweet boy would not want this—he would never forgive Harry for this, because Harry sure as hell would never forgive himself. He didn’t want to be like the twisted man he had killed.
“Draco, do you want the feeling to stop?” Harry asked quietly, the darkness settling over him, stealing his fire and stilling his fear. The darkness wouldn’t hurt Draco, it protected him.
“Yes… god, Harry… I need it to stop…” Draco moaned, rocking against him again, and then leaning forward, rubbing down Harry’s stomach and chest. “I need something… inside…”
“Okay.” Harry tugged gently at the boy’s soft hair, pulling his face up. “I’m going to kiss you, and the feeling is going to go away.”
Crystal eyes regarding him curiously, Draco eventually nodded, leaning forward so Harry could kiss him. Lips brushed lips, a feeling of coolness passed from Harry to Draco in a long shiver. When Harry opened his eyes back up, Draco was asleep, slumped atop him awkwardly.
Harry took a moment to catch his breath, trying to comprehend what had just happened enough to know what to do next. The boy was messed up, some sort of spell making Draco really, well, messed up. If the darkness put him to sleep, maybe it couldn’t cure it? Harry didn’t know enough, but right now he figured he needed to get the boy out of the fucked up room where the sandy haired man raped children and sold them to other men to do the same.
Harry dressed quickly, trying not to think of all the clothing around him and if they had belonged to kids just like him or if they had been bought and thrown there for kids just like him. He found Draco’s clothes balled together, shoes tossed against the wall. Some blood had gotten on them but Harry figured it was still better to wear your own clothes than someone else’s—especially these weird, sad clothes. Harry carefully dressed the sleeping Draco, trying not to wake him up just in case the magic only worked when Draco was asleep, and he might wake up full of weird lust.
Getting Draco out the bedroom was easy enough, but the living room was difficult, the piles of newspapers harder to navigate around. Harry thought of turning the light on but was afraid someone from outside might see and know that they were escaping. He thought briefly of looking through the fridge, maybe finding any money stashed in the apartment so that they wouldn’t be without resources. He wouldn’t feel bad steeling from these terrible people. But he didn’t want to linger any longer than they had to for fear of tempting fate.
Harry was carrying Draco to the outer door, arms under the fair boy’s armpits as he dragged him, when the door swung wide open and jolting him still. It was the straggly red haired man, filling the door with his large form. He didn’t say a word, face half in shadow while he just stood there. There was something off about the man and Harry glared, trying to figure out his options.
He tightened his arms around Draco, deciding he could give this man a chance seeing he hadn’t seemed interested in hurting Draco the way the sandy haired man had. “If you walk away now, I won’t kill you,” Harry said blandly, letting the darkness fill inside him.
The man didn’t say anything and Harry noticed that he wasn’t breathing properly and blood was dripping wet down the man’s face and neck. Harry did not want to drop Draco but he had a feeling whatever was happening with the man was going to need two hands to deal with. Harry was just starting to lower Draco to the ground, eyes fixed on the doorway, when the large man lurched forward, walking in halting jerks into the room.
Quickly backing up, Harry froze again as he caught sight of another figure following the man in. Swallowing, Harry stood taller, pulling Draco closer to his chest. The stranger was dressed all in black, tall and fit, a cloak swirling around his shoulders—Completely unremarkable in many ways, except somehow these clothes were also extremely fine and wealthy, the lines perfect, his black boots glowing in the dim light. His face was aristocratic, blue eyes sharp, long blond hair the color of Draco’s as was many more of his features, which was the only reason why Harry was not immediately killing the clearly dangerous wizard before him.
Draco’s father was powerful and Harry felt it as near a threat as he had when seeing the not so powerful sandy haired man touching Draco. But that power was not being directed at Harry, instead on the puppet of a man the straggly haired man had become, body too tight, beady eyes vacant and blood gushing down his face. The blond man shut the door behind him, walking with cat like grace as he moved around his prey and caught sight of Harry and Draco.
Revealing no emotion except a twitch to his lips to have found his son passed out in the arms of another boy in an apartment full of piles and dirt, Lucius glanced to the door where artificial light was streaming out. He strode silently across the room, Harry’s heart pounding once he realized that Draco’s father would see what he had done.
Harry would never be allowed to see Draco again. Hell, he might go to jail. Unless he left now before anyone knew who he was. Yeah, Draco might know that he was Harry Potter, but maybe the boy wouldn’t tell since he had save him and all. Hands shaking, Harry lowered Draco carefully to the floor.
“I gotta go, Draco. Your dad’s going to take care of you now. I… I hope you feel better… It was really nice to meet you.” Catching a final look at Draco’s peaceful, sleeping face, Harry stood and made his way to the door. He paused, staring at the straggly haired man blocking the way. He was breathing strangely, standing sideways as if he was going to fall over at any moment. Harry edged carefully around him, feet brushing against a pile of newspapers and accidentally knocking them over. Swearing quietly, he quickly reached for the door.
The door wouldn’t open no matter how hard Harry pulled or fiddled with the lock. He whirled, Draco’s father stepping out from the other room and fixing eyes on him. The blond was very much a predator but without the sick twistedness of the sandy haired man. Regarding him silently for a long moment, the blond man looked away, moving to Draco and crouching.
“What happened here?”
Harry jumped, not expecting the man to speak. He edged to the side so he could see them better. Together there was no question if the man was Draco’s father. Harry did not answer right away, not certain how much he should reveal. He had killed someone. At the time it had seemed very much like the right thing to do, so much so that he had been considering killing the straggly haired man as well just to be safe. But he was not certain that this man here would understand that—He was not certain anyone should understand such messed up logic.
“One of these men hit me over the head and brought us here,” Harry said, carefully choosing his words. “I woke up and that one wasn’t here anymore. And the other one was… in the room there… with Draco.” Maybe he would assume the man was already dead? No one would normally think a kid could kill a grown man.
Lucius looked up, eyes piercing into his. Harry had a feeling very little got past this man. “Why is my son asleep? He is not waking.”
Biting his lip, Harry shifted from one foot to the other. “You, um, you shouldn’t wake him. The man did something to him, and… well… I couldn’t fix it.”
Face set in a grim frown, Lucius stood, holding his hand out for Harry to come closer. Glancing up at the still unmoving straggly haired man, Harry walked around him, keeping a good five feet between himself and Draco’s father.
“What’s your name?” Draco’s father asked, his voice a low purr as his eyes accessed him warily.
Harry considered lying but figured Draco would likely tell his father his first name at the least. “It’s Harry.” He narrowed his eyes, watching as the man stilled and glanced to where his hair hid his scar. Apparently Harry was a very rare name among wizards if everyone immediately assumed he was Harry Potter.
“Harry, I need you to understand that I am not going to hurt you,” the man said evenly, his eyes never leaving his. “I am here for my son and have no interest in anything else. You are not in trouble. Nothing you say is going to get you in trouble. I do not care about how things happened but I do need to know what happened. I need to… I need to know how to help Draco. I can’t do that if I don’t know what happened here.”
Harry nodded slowly, understanding that as a father this man would want to help his son—Because even though he was a powerful man, he was still a good father. Harry was glad Draco had a good dad. “I don’t know everything. The other one hit me off the back of the head and I was knocked out.”
“But then you woke up,” Lucius pressed, his voice soothing.
“Yes. I woke up. And Draco was… was calling for help.”
“Did you help him? Did you try to go get help?” Lucius asked when Harry trailed off.
Biting his lip, Harry nodded. “I… I killed the man hurting Draco.”
Something shifted in the man before him, something that set Harry on edge, drawing his eye to the regal face and watching carefully to see if the blond was going to attack. But then the man calmed, jaw loosening, and nodded at Harry to continue. “What happened after the man was dead?”
This was somehow more difficult to speak, Harry’s hand tangling in his hair as he glanced down at Draco’s sleeping face. “He was… He said the man cursed him. That it made him… like…”
“The man had touched my son?” Lucius interrupted, his face completely blank of emotion but Harry sensed the anger frothing beneath.
“Yes… I don’t know how much. He had… taken Draco’s clothes. When I came in he had been… his fingers had been… inside him…”
Lucius held his hand up, his eyes closing a moment. “This is when you killed him. How did you kill him, Harry?”
Harry shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know… sometimes I want things… things bigger than I ever usually want… Then the darkness comes, and it… it gives me what I want.”
“Do you want things a lot?” Lucius asked, and Harry wondered if he wanted to know if he had killed a lot of people.
“This was the first time I, uh, wanted that,” Harry said after a moment. “There have been other things, much smaller things… but never that.”
Nodding in understanding, Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a slow breath. “And what happened after the man was dead?”
Harry sighed, wishing it had not come back to this again. “Draco was very—Damn it. The man did something to him. It made Draco want to… to touch me. And… and be touched back…” Harry pulled at his hair again, not meeting the man’s eye.
“Alright, but he is asleep now,” Lucius said after a moment, his voice strangely low.
Harry nodded quickly, glancing back at the man. “I didn’t want him to be like that anymore. That’s not how—Draco’s not like that. He’s a good kid, so I let the darkness come and fix it. It, um, it put him to sleep.”
Lucius took a step towards him and Harry instinctively stepped back. Staring at the flinching boy, Lucius instead held his hand out again. “Harry, I need you to wake him up. You are very powerful. I don’t think you understand just how powerful. I cannot wake Draco up.”
Harry bit his lip again, glancing down at Draco. “But… but he’ll be… He won’t be himself,” he whispered anxiously. “I don’t know how to fix him.”
“That’s alright, Harry. I know how to break curses. It takes a more complicated kind of magic that you won’t know how to do until you’re older. If you wake Draco up, I’ll be able to fix him eventually.”
Swallowing, Harry hesitantly nodded. Draco’s father would know more about these things, certainly more than he did. He just didn’t want Draco to be scared, and so… feeling so out of control like he had when Harry had put him to sleep.
Harry slowly walked up to where Draco was lying, edging around Lucius and another pile of newspapers. He crouched over Draco, gently touching the boy’s silky hair. Staring down, he let the darkness fill him again, empty and heavy inside. “Draco, I’m going to wake you up now. Don’t… Try not to be afraid.” Lashes lowering, he leaned in, listening to Draco breathe evenly. Carefully he brushed his lips to the boy’s, pulling away when Draco’s breath changed.
Gray eyes regarded him intently and Harry wondered for a moment if the boy was himself. But then Draco gave a soft gasp and then a moan, his face flushing quickly. Harry slipped back when the boy’s hands reached for him, standing and looking at Draco’s father helplessly. “He, uh, he can’t help himself. Don’t think poorly of him for…” Draco gave another needy moan and Harry looked away.
“I understand,” Lucius said tightly, his eyes glued on his gasping son. Draco heard him, eyes widening as he looked up to find his father there.
“Father… I got lost…”
“It’s alright, Draco. Your mother is fine, and I’ve come to bring you home,” he said swiftly, kneeling down and gently pinning the hands that had inadvertently reached for him. “Draco, I’m going to help you sleep. Until the spell can be removed, I’m going to have you sleep.”
Draco nodded, body rocking on the floor. “Okay… oh, oh no…” He closed his eyes, caught hands tightening into fists. “Feel so hot…”
“Hush, it’s time to sleep.” One handed, Lucius reached for his pocket while holding Draco still, using his wand to spell the boy to sleep. Draco gave a soft murmur and then relaxed, his body losing the heated tension of earlier.
Harry gave a quiet sigh of relief when Draco was asleep again. The boy seemed almost tormented, the terrible spell cast on him turning him into some sort of sex slave puppet. It wasn’t right. Draco was too sweet and it wasn’t right.
“Harry, would you mind sitting with Draco while I clean up?” Lucius asked, standing again. Harry did not want to stay, afraid that Draco’s father was still going to bring him to the police. But the door was locked and he really didn’t have much of a choice. Unless he was going to kill the man and that seemed to be very wrong since he was Draco’s dad.
Harry sat, eyes fixed on Draco’s sleeping face while Lucius left to disappear into the other room. It was a long time, Lucius returning only to have the red straggly haired man to jerk and spasm behind into the room with Draco’s father again. The door was shut, and everything became very silent and still, all light now gone from the room except for the digital clock on the mantel.
Harry could feel the power in the other room. It was very much the darkness, bringing fire that burned so hot even bone could not survive. Harry reached towards it, feeling it against his awakening senses, trying to remember exactly how it felt in case he ever needed to dispose of a body in the future. The power died down and he relaxed again, staring at Draco in the dark while waiting for his father to finish.
Lucius slowly opened the door, stepped out into the room and shutting the door behind him. His wand glowing light, he made his way to where Harry sat and Draco slept.
“Your family must be missing you, Harry.”
Harry shrugged silently, fingers still combing Draco’s hair.
“Do they live near by? Maybe by Diagon Alley?”
Harry shook his head, finally raising his eyes to the man. “You’re not going to tell, right? That’s why you…” He tilted his head towards the room Lucius had left.
“I’m not going to tell. Are you going to tell?” Lucius asked, already fairly certain of the answer.
“Hell, no. My Aunt and Uncle wouldn’t ever let me in the door again. They can’t stand that I’m strange.” He sighed, pushing himself up to his feet. “I should be going, Sir. I’m glad—I’m glad he has a good dad like you.”
Lucius watched him walk to the door, Harry’s hand on the handle that refused still to open. “Could you just…?” He asked, huffing in annoyance.
“Harry, what is your last name?”
Rolling his eyes, Harry moved his hair so the man could see his forehead and let him leave already. But Lucius still did not open the door, instead walking forward and bending down so he could see his scar clearly.
“Your family, they don’t practice magic, do they?” Lucius asked, touching Harry’s scar carefully. “Do they know what you are?”
Harry didn’t move, not used to being touched. He stared at the man that looked so much like Draco but very much not the same. He looked more like if Draco were to grow up into a dangerous beast instead of the sweet boy he was. But Lucius didn’t hurt Harry the way Dudley did when he touched him or Vernon for that matter. No, Draco’s father was almost acting like Harry was a skittish cat, gently trying to pet him calm. And for some reason it was working.
“Harry, someone as special as you needs to be around people that understand him. Otherwise you could want something that could hurt others. Not even on purpose like tonight. Because tonight was on purpose.”
“Yes,” Harry agreed quietly, eyes trapped in the icy blue gaze before him. “I wanted to save Draco. And… I wanted to kill that man.”
“I am very glad that you wanted that, Harry. Because I wanted that too, and I was not here to do it.” Lucius let his fingers curl through Harry’s messy locks, head tilted appraisingly. “Can you see how useful that is? Having someone around that could protect Draco while I’m not home? Someone who would like to play with him. Keep him from being so lonely.”
Harry’s eyelids drooped but there was no magic trying to control him. Lucius felt safe—Strong, and powerful, and safe, and it made him feel calm. This man was not afraid of him. He had seen Harry do something terrible, and he had then done something just as terrible. That was why Draco wasn’t afraid of Harry either. Because he had a father just like him.
“I like Draco, a lot,” Harry admitted.
“I can tell. I can also tell that he likes you, too… Maybe even more…” Lucius mused, thumb moving over Harry’s scar again. “And we like to give Draco the things he likes… Right?”
“Right,” Harry echoed with a small smile.
Narcissa was very dainty, sweet tempered and extremely relieved when Draco was brought home, held in Lucius’s steady arms. Harry was asked to stay in their large parlor, a funny looking short creature with large eyes and long nose bringing him biscuits to eat and pointing him to a couch by the fireplace with a plush blanket to curl up in. Draco was taken away, still fast asleep while his parents went to discuss what had happened without Harry hearing.
Harry was tired but afraid to sleep. He dozed, head dipping repeatedly as he tried to not fall asleep and let his guard down. Even though Draco’s father, Lucius, had invited him to stay and had promised Narcissa would be more than agreeable, Harry could not fully believe it. Surely someone—The Dursleys that hated him or the police or someone would interfere and make sure he could not be happy.
While Harry dozed he dreamed of the cupboard. Vernon waiting on the other side to unlock the door and let him out. Except he never did, just giggling a high pitched giggle that sounded too much like the sandy haired man.
He awoke with a cry, falling off the couch and tangling in the blanket. Voices he had not fully been aware of stopped and Harry looked up blearily to find Lucius and Narcissa staring down at him from across the room in a love seat.
“Are you okay, Harry?” Narcissa asked, the two of them getting up. Confused, Harry closed his eyes as Narcissa placed a soothing palm to his cheek. “Did you hit your head?”
Harry shook his head, blinking up at the pretty woman and then catching Lucius’s ever searing gaze. “I have nightmares sometimes, that’s all.”
“Oh, well, that’s okay. We all have nightmares and then we wake up and everything is better.” Harry focused again on Narcissa, not used to anyone comforting him before. He tilted his head, not sure what he was supposed to say.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Malfoy. I’m not afraid, not even when it hurts. You don’t need to worry about me.” He pushed the blankets off and got up to his feet. “Were you able to fix Draco yet?”
Narcissa gave him a disquieted look. “Draco’s condition is complicated, Harry. It might not be fixable.”
“That’s—No. That’s not right.” Harry whispered, freezing and swaying in place.
Lucius reached forward and held Harry steady by the shoulder. “We’re going to do what we can. Most children caught by those two particular men don’t live very long. My colleagues tell me the spell is permanent but, considering the situation, it has hardly been tested long term.”
“Harry, we are very grateful you brought Draco home alive,” Narcissa said earnestly, tears in her eyes. “No matter what happens, you saved him from a very terrible life. And we will never forget it.”
Harry nodded but he felt very empty inside. Draco might be messed up forever. What if the two men hadn’t realized he was Harry Potter? Would they have left Draco alone? Would Draco have even been there if he hadn’t met him in the park?
“I want you to live with us, Harry,” Narcissa continued, kneeling down to the boy’s level. “We want to give you a home where you can grow your power safely. And so I can thank you every day for bringing Draco home. Would you like that?”
“I… uh… I would… I just…” Harry bowed his head, pulling at his hair anxiously. “I should have just brought him to the police. He was scared and said they might hurt him—But I should have. Now he’s—he’s messed up.” He tried to step back but Narcissa pulled him close, hugging him tight. Harry stiffened in the hold, waiting to be hurt, waiting to be yelled at, but it didn’t come.
“Harry, you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. If you brought Draco to the police, a different type of bad man would have caught him instead. Powerful people have enemies and we are very powerful. We told Draco not to go to the police just because of that.”
Harry just nodded, swaying in the warm hold. Narcissa smelled like flowers, her hair tickling at his nose. He wondered if his mom would have smelled the same. Narcissa pulled back, smiling weakly and combing his hair with her fingers.
“Harry, we need the name of your relatives. Do you know your address? We want to explain to them that you are well and that we are going to be taking care of you. That way you can get all your favorite things from your house and visit whenever you’d like.”
Harry bit his lip, shrugging uncomfortably. “If you want… but I don’t want to visit. And there isn’t anything there that’s mine…”
“Nonsense. I’m sure you’ll want to take your toys, maybe some books to read. Your clothes. It’s good to have familiar things with you.” Narcissa stood, holding her hand out to Harry, who took it hesitantly. “Let’s start with your address.”
Harry studied the floor and then his shoe, a large hole revealing his dirty sock. “4 Privet Drive… in Little Whinging… Surrey…” He sighed, glancing up briefly. “Don’t tell them that you’re, uh, magical, okay? They don’t like… well…” He trailed off.
Lucius shifted, drawing Harry’s gaze, the man very much a panther full of power and danger. “There is nothing you want from the house? Nothing at all?”
Harry thought for a moment. “It’s not mine, not really. But they have some pictures of my parents… and I would really like those.”
Lucius nodded, padding out the door silently. Narcissa gripped Harry’s hand tighter, smiling down at him. “Shall we go to bed, then? I can give you a set of Draco’s pajamas for tonight and then we can get you your own clothes tomorrow.”
“Oh… you don’t have to do that, Mrs. Malfoy.” Harry said quickly, blushing. “I’m sure my own clothes are fine, and I don’t want to—”
“Harry, you are a very silly young man. It is hardly a bother to dress you. Look around you. Clothing you is not only easy to do, but will actually be fun. I can take you out and we can choose things you’ll like.”
“Well… if you want,” Harry mumbled, meeting the woman’s eye hesitantly. He did not want to wear out his welcome so shortly having gotten there.
“I do. Now come along and I’ll show you the room we’re going to fix up for you.” Harry let Narcissa lead him up the long flight of stairs that led to the bedrooms on the second floor. They stopped before the first door on the right, Narcissa holding her hand out. “This is mine and Lucius’s set of rooms. If you ever need anything, just come by and knock. Don’t be afraid to be loud—Draco comes by at night when he gets scared.”
“I, uh, really don’t get scared,” Harry said quietly.
“Even if you’re not scared,” Narcissa amended. “Even if you just want to talk.” She pulled him down the hall, stopping at the next door on the left. “This is were Draco sleeps and plays. Until we get your room ready, you can stay with him. But then,” and she tugged his hand gently, Harry following beside her. “You will sleep in here.”
They had stopped beside another door, the rooms behind completely unknown to Harry as had been the others they had stopped at. Harry looked up at Narcissa, curious. “Do I get a bed?”
“Naturally. Where would you sleep otherwise?”
Harry shrugged. “I sleep on the floor mostly. It’s not too bad. I think a bed might be too soft… Would you mind if I sleep on the floor?”
Narcissa was kneeling again and Harry took a step back, not certain what he had said wrong. “You can sleep wherever you like. But you will certainly have a bed because you deserve a bed. Harry, does your family not have a lot of money?”
Harry blinked, shaking his head. “Uncle Vernon is always talking about his promotions. They’re really proud that they have so much money.”
“But your clothes… Did you get these from the, uh, apartment where Lucius found you?” Narcissa asked carefully, pulling at Harry’s torn sleeve.
Harry sighed. “They don’t like me, that’s all. I get to wear Dudley’s hand-me-downs, and sometimes his old toys, but he usually breaks all of them. There’s something wrong with me and they can sense it…” Harry pulled away, not wanting to make a big deal about it.
“There is nothing wrong with you, Harry. You are very special, just like the rest of us. You shouldn’t feel bad about that. Your relatives are just ignorant, and that’s not your fault.” Narcissa held both her hands out and Harry reluctantly stepped forward and let her hold his hands.
“You’re not scared of me?” Harry asked, eyes downcast. “For what I did?”
“No. You did what you had to do—What a lot of people aren’t even capable of. You are a very special, very lucky boy, and I am not afraid of you,” Narcissa said evenly.
Harry nodded slowly, a small smile starting to form. “Does that mean Draco’s like me, then? Because he can do magic, too?”
Narcissa stilled, holding Harry’s hands a little tighter. “Not exactly. You’re very special, Harry. Draco has power, like most children his age. But he can’t do what you do. That’s why he couldn’t defend himself.”
“Oh.” Harry looked away. “So I’m different from everyone.”
“Yes, but that’s okay. You have a special power. Not even full grown wizards learn the power you have. What you have is something that comes naturally and it makes you important. You are a very special boy. And you should be treated like one.” Narcissa smiled broadly until Harry finally smiled back. “Come on, now. We’ll get you in some pajamas and tuck you in with Draco for now… unless you’d rather sleep on the floor.”
Harry knew she was teasing, but he really might end up sleeping on the floor.
Draco’s room was huge, maybe capable of fitting all of the Dursleys’ house. He had a bathroom off the side and Harry slipped into the blue silk pajama bottoms and top that Narcissa had charmed larger to fit. She was sitting over Draco while he slept, brushing his hair from his forehead.
Harry stepped up beside her, resting his hands on the large bed. Narcissa sighed, turning to Harry and pulling the blankets down. She patted the space. “You must be tired. It’s late and you’ve had a very difficult day.”
Harry crawled up the bed, slipping between the sheets. They smelled nice and felt cool and smooth against his skin. Narcissa remained, humming softly while continuing to comb Draco’s hair. She looked a cross between content and anguished and Harry felt sad for her. Turning towards Draco’s sleeping form, Harry let his eyes close, Narcissa’s humming slowly sending him to sleep.
“A crawlspace? That’s unimaginable.”
“I’ve dealt with it. Do not waste another thought concerning them.”
“Lucius, don’t tell me… They’re muggles. You know what will happen if it’s discovered.”
“It will not be discovered. It’s a wonder the boy hadn’t destroyed them from such abuse and ended up in an institution. They knew too much. Did too much. It was unforgivable”
“You cannot use that boy as an excuse to—”
“I will not be questioned on this.”
“Lucius, please. He is dead. Don’t make that sweet child his successor. He has a chance to be something more than just… just You-Know-Who’s vanquisher. He is a good boy.”
Harry listened, peering out into the dark, the hallway light shining into Draco’s room where their voices murmured through. Lucius had made as if to walk away only to turn, his form blocking the light from the room.
“Cissa, he is not dead. I didn’t have the heart to tell you, but he lives, somewhere out there gaining power.”
Narcissa gasped, releasing a weak, wailing moan.
“The boy must be trained. He is powerful. Given the chance, he will be the most powerful. We will never fear the Dark Lord again once Harry grows strong enough.”
“I… I understand. I will do what I can.”
“Just care for him, Narcissa, as you have our son. Treat him no different. Those muggles nearly ruined him. We will not make that mistake.”
“No, we will not. Surely we can do better than a cupboard for the boy, at the very least.”
Their voices faded away, leaving Harry to peer at the crack of light. He didn’t fall back asleep for a long time, the new smells of the room, the odd open feel and coolness all combining to leave him confused and alert.
Harry awoke to Draco kissing him, hot persistent presses of lips to lips until he could not hold onto sleep any longer.
In the daylight the room was bright, full of whites and soft blues, Draco’s bedspread patterned in elegant blue tree branches. Harry blinked at the ceiling a few times until Draco blocked his view again, gray eyes intent as he bent down and licked Harry’s cheek.
“Draco, you need to go back to sleep,” Harry whispered tiredly, wishing the boy was not so unlike himself.
Draco shook his head, small fingers curling on Harry’s shoulders and the smooth pajamas he was wearing. “You taste good. I thought I would get breakfast but you taste much better.”
Watching the boy warily, Harry wasn’t sure if Draco had just admitted to becoming a cannibal overnight. “You shouldn’t eat people.”
Not even cracking a smile—which concerned Harry even more—Draco licked his cheek again, then down to Harry’s throat, sucking small red marks into his flesh.
“Stop. You’re not right, Draco,” Harry groaned, trying to ignore how hot he was feeling every time Draco pressed up against him. “You don’t really want to do this.”
“Yeah, I do. I really like you, Harry,” Draco moved back up to Harry’s face, kissing him and running his tongue over his lips. “I want you to like me too.”
Harry whimpered, Draco straddling his waist and rubbing against him persistently. “I do like you… but… but I don’t want to be like that bad man.”
Draco pushed up the bottom of Harry’s shirt, hands moving up his chest. “You’re not. You saved me.”
“Yeah, but—but he made you like this to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry tried to explain, gently reaching for Draco’s questing hands.
“Silly, you’re not going to hurt me.” Draco had such a genuine smile, Harry almost believed him.
“You’re only saying that because of the spell—Oh!” Harry’s eyes widened as one of Draco’s hands got loose and found his nipple.
Draco sighed, bending closer so that he was nose to nose with Harry. “Maybe. Everything feels really hot, almost like I’m drowning… But not about you. I really like you.”
“I really like you, too,” Harry whispered, closing his eyes and biting his lip.
“Then help me feel better. Please.” Draco kissed Harry again, tongue pressing against his lips until he opened hesitantly. Draco lapped at his mouth, caressing his tongue and making Harry think of a cat. The boy kept pushing his hips against him, reminding him just how bad the spell was.
“Draco, do you want me to put you to sleep again?” Harry asked, cupping Draco’s face and pulling it from his.
Draco’s eyes traveled over his face, expression turning hurt. “Don’t you like it at all? Am I doing it wrong?”
Harry winced, not really sure what to say to that. “How the hell would I know?”
“There’s no dead guy now,” Draco continued. “And I’m home, safe, and you’re here with me. Oh, and it feels good,” Draco added with a whisper, Harry looking down to find that Draco had taken his pants off before waking him.
“Draco, I think…”
“Doesn’t it feel good?” Draco insisted, hands sliding down Harry’s hips, a palm pressing against his rising bulge.
“Yes… it does… but that doesn’t mean it’s right,” Harry gasped out. “You’ll be angry with me—You’ll hate me. You’re under a spell and I don’t want to hurt you. Let me call one of your pets to put you to sleep.”
Draco growled, fingers slipping down the front of Harry’s pants to wrap around his hard length. “Don’t want to sleep anymore.”
Harry swallowed hard, grasping at Draco’s arms. “S-stop.”
“Draco.” Harry jumped, head rising and eyes darting to the foot of the bed. It was Lucius, sitting there for god only knew how long, expression unreadable and blue eyes piercing.
Draco turned, not looking surprised to have his dad sitting there. Harry glanced between the two of them, realizing Lucius must have woken Draco up to begin with. “Yes, father?”
Lucius turned his gaze from Harry to his son. “You must respect when he asks to stop. You would wish the same for yourself.”
Draco frowned, turning back to Harry. “Sorry,” he mumbled, hands moving from Harry’s pants to his waist. “I just… god… It’s so hot…” he groaned, rocking against Harry again.
Harry didn’t dare move, glancing from his friend to his watching father. Lucius was a dangerous man who loved his son very much. Harry did not know if he was in trouble but imagined he must be.
“Sir, would you put him back to sleep?” Harry asked after Draco gave a particularly throaty moan and began licking his neck again.
“I’m afraid that is not a reasonable solution,” Lucius said after a moment, the man’s voice a low rumble in the room. “He would be asleep forever.”
Harry was not sure what to say. He did not want Draco to sleep forever but then, he also was not comfortable with the boy constantly humping him either.
“I was hoping you would help us, Harry. Draco suggested the curse might relieve itself if someone were to penetrate him.”
Harry did not understand how Lucius could say that with such a blank face, but he wished he had the ability himself.
“Harry, if you put it in… oh… it will feel better,” Draco murmured into his ear, licking his cheek right after.
“But… but he could have been lying,” Harry said to Lucius. “That’s all the man wanted to do to Draco. He would have said anything to get Draco to agree.”
Lucius nodded. “That is a very wise observation. I have spoken with some individuals that have seen this spell firsthand. They insist that the feeling abates for hours after penetration occurs. It is not a permanent solution but it could give Draco a life until we figure something else out.”
“So it could help him? Maybe even… fix him?” Harry looked down at Draco, who was currently panting into his neck while pulling at his shirt. “But… the man had… had his fingers in him, and Draco wasn’t fixed…”
“No, unfortunately the spell is very specific and the first occurrence set those perimeters,” Lucius said evenly.
Harry just stared, trying to decipher what the man was saying. “He… he already did that… to Draco? He… penetrated…?”
“I’m afraid so. Draco told me what happened, as best as he could.” Lucius let his eyes travel to his panting son, expression still blank. “He likes you. And I can tell you like him as well… I understand that this is not an easy thing to ask of you, but I am asking. I would do anything for my son. Even that, if it would help him. But if you are willing to offer the alternative, I feel it would be a better option.”
Draco had turned his head up, eyes again pinned on Harry, nearly unblinking. The boy’s cheeks were flushed but he didn’t seem embarrassed by any of it, just excited. “Please, Harry? It’ll feel so good, I promise.”
The boy really was lovely, and Harry wanted him to be back to normal. He just didn’t know if he could do what was needed. “I, uh, I don’t really know how…”
“But you are willing to help?” Lucius asked, waiting for the boy to raise his gaze and nod. “Thank you, Harry. I would like to set up some ground rules. Some limitations while we’re figuring this all out. The biggest one is that you do not engage in any sort of sexual activity outside of this room and never in front of Narcissa. She understands what is happening but she is having a lot of difficulty with it. Can you agree to that?”
Harry didn’t have an issue with it, really not in a hurry to be engaging in anything like that anyways.
“The other rule is that I must be present. I do not wish either of you to be damaged by this activity. Draco cannot distinguish boundaries and you are… powerful. I have taken time off from work until we get an idea of his patterns. I will return home when needed. You will inform Narcissa if the timing changes and she will call me. Is this also acceptable?”
Harry shrugged, really not sure how he felt about Lucius watching while Draco pawed at him. The man seemed intent on it though, so he nodded. “That’s fine, I guess… Was there anything else?”
Lucius smirked slightly, the first crack of his expression since Harry had woken up and found the man there. “One final thing. I ask that you don’t engage sexually with anyone else during the time you agree to help Draco. I do not want to risk him catching something.”
Harry was not sure if the man was joking or not. “That won’t be a problem, Sir.”
So this was an old fic I dragged up, and rereading it before posting, I wonder if I never continued it because it might actually be finished. This was written back before I plotted things out. It really feels like an intro, like a prequel to what life would be like if you had a corrupted Harry. It has all the makings of Lucius manipulating things his way so that Harry would be his tool to gain power against Voldemort, and Harry quite happy to play the part if only because of the life he gets to live. Narcissa the perfect doting mother who forgives all. Draco would almost be required to remain simple and childlike as they grew to be the counter, the reason Harry would grow in power to protect his new family. Since killing the Dursleys, Lucius would end up playing whatever role was needed to keep Harry in line from teacher of dark spells, father to live up to, and when Draco’s innocence to Harry’s dark deeds grows guilt in Harry, a substitute lover to find an equal. Harry would be a trophy for the Malfoys to show off to the wizarding world, and a symbol of power to either fear or attain in the eyes of remaining death eaters. If Draco did manage to live long years under the curse, his behavior would eventually change, possibly resentment, attention seeking, lashing out, bitterness with Harry forever forgiving, but at the same time exploiting an emotionally exhausting situation as he looks for ways to be free.
I feel as though I may have reached this point, seen that entire story unfold in my mind’s eye, and thought yeah, I don’t know if it needs to be written. I doesn’t feel like an end, but at the same time, doesn’t feel like it’s not an end. I dunno. I guess we’ll see if I feel like revisiting and adding later.
A little place to share your comments and questions on the fanfic, Natural Magic. Liked it, hated it, interested in seeing a sequel or something similar? Let me know below. I love the feedback.
Mason Pennyworth was thirty-eight, six feet tall, and not a particularly strong man. His dark hair was immaculate, cut short and kept tight to his head, not a hair out of place. His eyes, sharp and grey, had a haze to them that spoke of an abuse of elixirs that were used to enhance magical abilities. Mason was not a very strong magic user, but he was an amazing potion brewer, and he was always happy to visit his favorite teacher at the castle and thank him for the man’s help in that department.
Seeing as it was a Hogsmeade weekend, there weren’t many students there to notice when Mason came visiting, nor was Professor Snape, the Potions Master out for the day. Mason was not deterred, duffel bag in hand as he wandered through the castle halls, checking his small mirror. He had a very nifty trick for finding his cousin when the boy went into hiding in his large manor, and even in the castle it wasn’t difficult to find the unsuspecting Neville, the boy fresh from a late breakfast, face downcast to be left behind when all his classmates had been allowed to go out and adventure.
Mouth splitting into a wicked grin when he caught sight of his beautiful cousin, Mason renewed his grip on his bag. He’d be sure to make sure Neville had other things to think about that day.
Neville had wanted to talk to Blaise, hoping to find a way to just, well, communicate that he wasn’t as unreceptive as the boy might think. Except, he was also a total mess about a lot of things, especially things he liked, and Neville was starting to suspect he might actually really like Blaise Zabini. A lot. Like, maybe almost as much as he liked Harry. And really, it had been hard enough talking to Harry, and he probably wouldn’t have done that if not for the fact that Harry had smelled like absolute sex, and his coyote had gone crazy and just fucked the boy senseless.
Neville was afraid he might actually be the type to be crazy, not just go crazy, and he didn’t know how to talk to someone like Blaise and not have that be a problem. Cus, when you liked someone, that was kind of important, right? Like, you couldn’t just, you know, be with someone. Zabini would figure it out pretty damn quick that there was something wrong with him—Probably had already, and then that would ruin things really fast.
God, why couldn’t he just stop thinking about it? Why couldn’t he just stop caring that the boy always looked angrily at him, but not in a bully way but in a love-scorned way? He was pretty sure that was what had happened, the more Neville thought about it. He didn’t know why Zabini might like him, but he had at one point and Neville had done something very wrong—of what he wasn’t certain—and now the boy was just upset.
He hated this. All these feelings. Feeling was so damn difficulty, so aching and annoying and agitating. God, why did he have to feel? It was like pins and needles but in his heart, making him antsy and crazy. It was the only reason Neville was still even thinking of trying to talk to Zabini. Because he couldn’t handle the feeling, and if he talked to the Slytherin, maybe the feeling would finally fucking stop. He needed it to stop.
“Hey, snookums.”
Neville’s step faltered, his heart slamming in his chest like a brick. He’d been walking down the Slytherin corridors straight from breakfast, hoping he might catch sight of Zabini before the boy went off to Hogsmeade. The voice behind him was not Blaise’s, wasn’t anyone that belonged there. “M-Mason?” Neville whispered, not turning, his eyes squeezed shut as he stood stock still in the hallway.
“Pretty baby. Look at you, so silly in these clothes. And your hair…” A large hand grabbed Neville ash-blond locks, pulling painfully tight as the man stepped up beside him. “Who cut your hair, ickle Nevvy? You look like some ugly boy.”
Neville’s shoulders slumped, something innate inside of him going limp and lax in the painful hold. His cousin pulled his hair harder until he was on tiptoes, the man’s low voice pitched in a sickening sing-song tone, as if Neville were some imbecilic pet that needed to be talked to slowly and sweetly.
“Did you forget, Nevvy? Did you forget it was time to take you medicine?” Mason asked, wrenching the boy’s hair until Neville finally responded, the blond whimpering in pain. “I made the potion especially for you. Made it pink, even added sugar just the way you like it. Pretty girls like you like sweet things, right, baby Nevvy?”
“Go away,” Neville gasped out, finding his voice and breath at the same time, his chest heaving in fast, frantic beats. “Please, go away.”
Chuckling, Mason kept his grip on Neville’s hair, leaning down until his lips were pressed to the boy’s ear. “I think you missed me. Every good girl misses her boyfriend, and you, pretty baby, are a very good girl. It’s visiting day, Nevvy. We have the whole day to play together.”
“N-No,” Neville whispered, ice already creeping in to his veins, his body tingling numbly in anticipation.
“No? Oh, you know what that means, snookums.” Mason stepped away, pulling Neville by his hair down the corridor, the small boy gasping as he forced his legs to keep up in the painful hold. “You know what ‘no’ means, Nevvy.”
Neville grabbed onto the doorframe, not even feeling it, his fingers numb as he scrabbled uselessly to keep from being pushed into the room Mason had open. Clucking, the man used the heel of his palm to smack the boy on the back, Neville stumbling forward and falling to the ground as the door slammed behind him.
Stepping over to a desk, Mason unzipped his bag, unpacking vials of potions one at a time, humming to himself as he arranged them. Neville stayed on the floor, eyes unseeing as he felt the numbness begin to settle heavier in his body. He called it, praying for the cottony feeling, the one that let him forget, let him not feel. Feeling… It had never done anything for him. Never.
A large hand grabbed his chin, a vial of sickly sweet potion pushed against his lips. “Drink, little baby. So you stay sweet and pretty. You want to be pretty, right Nevvy? All girls want to be pretty.”
Neville did not want to be pretty. He let his head be tilted back, drinking down the potion because if he didn’t Mason would make sure it hurt more than it was going to already. He could feel the familiar effects, the room spinning soon after, his eyesight growing dim around the edges. Oh, he might black out this time…
It was better when he blacked out.
“Pink is such a good color on you,” Mason murmured, rubbing his face against Neville’s while the boy sobbed quietly. “Makes you look so pretty…” He ran the tool over the boy’s pale skin again, drawing another pained hiss and streak of tears from the gasping boy. “You look so pretty with all my marks on you.”
“H-Hurts… hurts so much…” Neville whined, trying to jerk away from each touch of the magical instrument that left lines and blotches of red flesh behind. The wig Mason had made him wear was itchy, the long strawberry colored locks of luscious curls agony as they brushed over his wounded skin.
“I know, baby. It’s supposed to hurt.” With his other hand the man pinched the nipple clamp already too tight on the boy’s left bud, Neville choking as he sobbed in pain. “That’s it… Scream for me, Nevvy. Good girls scream. They scream really loud for it to stop, then they spread their legs nice and wide.”
“No,” Neville hissed out, his body shaking in sweat and pain as another long line of red blossomed on his torso from the tool in Mason’s hand. “I’m not… a girl—Fuck!” He howled, the tip digging into his flesh, his skin singeing as Mason pressed deep in retaliation.
“Baby, don’t make me angry.” He pulled the boy tighter into his lap, Neville’s legs looking longer and more slender under the ruffles of the pink and white dress he was half in. “We’re playing so nice. Don’t make me have to punish you for being bad.”
Neville shook his head frantically, gasping around tears. “I didn’t… didn’t mean it…”
Mason ignored him, forcing Neville’s skirt up higher, hand reaching between the boy’s legs and wrapping painfully tight around his balls. “Good girls don’t talk back… And they sure don’t need this, do they, baby?” He squeezed tighter, Neville whimpering loudly. “Don’t remind me just how easy it would be to make sure you’re really a good girl. I know someone that could cut it off and put a nice hole there.” He smirked, kissing the boy’s cheek. “Just think, Nevvy. One more hole could let you fit one more big dick inside. We could even get the scissors now, just to see.”
“Please… I don’t…” Neville gasped, another line of pain slashing across the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. Mason was already tearing at his trousers, the zipper loud in the air as the man shifted beneath him. Neville was almost relieved to feel the man’s hard dick pressing against his bare ass, knowing Mason would never risk hurting himself, all instruments and blades set aside whenever his cousin was actually fucking him. It didn’t do anything for the painful clamps attached to his body and too tight rope wrapped around his dick, but when the man finally pushed into him, unstretched and unlubed because good girls didn’t need any of that, things always got blessfully dark and Neville didn’t have to wonder if he’d wake up missing body parts.
“Fuck, baby… Fuck, you sweet, pretty baby… Cry louder… That’s it…”
Gasping, tears streaming, Neville gladly embraced the darkness when it came, giving in to the void.
“I’m telling you, I fucking saw it firsthand. Malfoy kissed Potter. On the mouth. Fucking tongue and everything.”
“Bullshit. You are so full of shit, jackass.”
“I’m serious! And Potter was totally into it. Didn’t slug the git or anything.”
“They were joking—There’s no way Potter is a poof. He might be a dark wizard, but not a poof.”
“What, but you totally believe Malfoy could be?”
“Pshh, yeah. The kid totally takes it up the ass. Have you seen how he dresses? His fucking hair?”
Blaise raised an eyebrow as a group of fifth years went sailing by, snickers raising up, cheeks flushed red from their long walk in the cold. He took another drag of his cigarette, wondering why the fuck Malfoy would have ever outed himself with Potter when his parents were known Death Eaters. He must have some fucking death wish.
It was just starting to get dark, the sun turning the sky a deep red around him. He had stayed behind, not really interested in going out and fucking around the town. He had secretly hoped to run into Neville, the Gryffindor banned for the weekend when Snape once again became the victim of the small blond’s bumblingness. He had checked out a few spots he’d seen Neville hang around, even going so far as to try the library, but the boy hadn’t been there. Annoying as fuck, seeing as Blaise never had a chance to be alone with the boy as it was, Potter always around the fucking corner and Neville quick to drool over him. Whatever. Fuck his life for even thinking of it.
He was halfway to another brooding mood that was about to spiral into a drink session in the dungeons when Blaise caught a familiar scent. He looked up, eyes narrowing into the wind, cigarette hanging limply between his limps. It smelled like the bunny, but it wasn’t, just some teacher out for a stroll. Huffing, Blaise threw what was left of his smoke on the ground, crushing it beneath his heel while staring moodily at the ground. Fuck, he was being an idiot. Neville was completely caught up in Potter and he really needed to get the fuck over it already.
“Zabini, right? Shit, you people grow huge.”
Blaise stilled at the unfamiliar voice, Neville’s scent again trickling on the air. Sex… It was Neville’s sex scent. “You people?” He repeated slowly, eyes caught on pale fingers as the man pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and lit it with a lighter. A lighter because the wizard couldn’t handle a fucking fire spell.
“What, is that not the politically correct turn of phrase these days? Fucking kids—They have you going to school with mudbloods and I’m the asshole for pointing out the fact that the one black kid in the entire castle is a fucking mountain?” Mason shrugged unconcernedly, his eyes flat as Blaise gave a low growl. “Violent too, so I hear. Better watch yourself, kid. I doubt Dumbledore will put up with a savage even if he does love his disgusting mudbloods.”
Blaise was on Mason before either of them fully realized it, the man’s head cracking hard against the side of the stone wall as he was slammed back. Crushing his windpipe one handed, Blaise snarled inches from the brunette’s face, his rage only growing the more he smelled Neville on the twisted man’s flesh and clothes.
Fingers scrabbled uselessly at his hand, Blaise blinking in confusion as he found the man before him turning purple. What would Dumbledore do to him if he killed Mason Pennyworth? What would Azkaban do to him? Exhaling loudly, Blaise dropped the man, Mason falling to the ground in a heap while grasping at his throat for breath. On the wall was a stain of blood, black in the growing dusk.
Fuck… Fuck. Blaise turned back, his anger still boiling, body tight with rage. He pulled the man up by his shoulder, holding him upright while Mason struggled to stand. He might have a concussion. Blaise stared into the man’s dazed eyes, trying to figure out if he had just broken the fucker. It didn’t matter. None of it fucking mattered.
“Pennyworth, if you ever come back to this castle again, I’m going to fucking kill you,” Blaise snarled, snapping his fingers to make sure the man was paying attention. Mason gave a pained groaned, eyes still unfocused. Fuck.
There was no way the man had the power to apparate. Blaise tore at Mason’s coat, searching his pockets until finding the odd item out that had to be a portkey. The other items, soaked in Neville’s fear and sex scent, made Blaise’s stomach turn. Growling, he threw the man to the ground, handing him the rusted tin of catfood. “Get the fuck out of here, Pennyworth. Don’t ever fucking come back.”
Something must have gotten through, pained expression and all, because after a moment of gasping, inarticulate words, Mason twisted out of existence, swept away by the portkey.
Fuck. Blaise stared at where the man had been, blood pooling on the ground beneath him. Head wounds bled a lot; it didn’t necessarily mean shit. And fuck, you couldn’t pull a fucking memory off a corpse, so if Mason did end up dead, it would be really fucking hard to link it to him.
Fuck.
He spelled the blood clean, pocketing his wand after. Fingers trembling, Blaise lit up another cigarette, his mind strangely blank.
What the fuck was Mason Pennyworth doing at Hogwarts? Besides being a racist bigot. Besides reeking of Neville. Sex… He smelled like Neville’s sex.
Where the fuck was Neville?
A growl rumbling through him, Blaise threw his half finished cigarette on the ground, slamming into the castle, his nostrils flaring for traces of Mason’s trail. The deeper he went into the dungeons, the more his stomach twisted in anxiety. There were so many rooms down there, so many fucked up rooms that most proper people didn’t know about but held so much dark shit. The bunny didn’t belong down there, not in the cold, not in the dark.
Blaise stopped short, Mason’s scent ending at a door, Neville’s scent present on the doorframe. He tried the handle but it wouldn’t open. It was one of Snape’s doors, the man having warded certain rooms to keep students out at all costs. How Mason had gotten in was beyond him.
Pressing his ear up to the door, he listened, his wolf senses growing to adapt. Scent was flooding in from beneath the door, strong and definitely Neville’s. He could hear breathing faintly, a wheeze that set his teeth on edge. “Longbottom?” He called, slamming his fist against the door loudly, then pressing his ear to listen. Nothing. No change, no reaction.
The boy was in there. Possibly hurt. Possibly just looking to be alone. Stepping foot to foot in indecision, Blaise eventually slammed on the door again. “Longbottom, just tell me if you’re alright. I’ll fuck off if you want, just fucking let me know you’re not… fuck… Just say something, bunny.”
Still there was no answer, Blaise holding his breath as he listened. Fuck. God fucking damn it. There was only one man that could open the fucking door and Neville would never ever fucking talk to him again if he got him.
Whirling, growl rumbling unrestrained through the air, Blaise sought out his head of house.
Blaise had been very vague as to why he was certain there was someone trapped in one of Snape’s rooms when talking to the Potions Master. The dark eyed man had seemed far more interested in the fact that it was very likely Neville Longbottom, the man’s scowl seemingly ingrained on his face as he pushed himself from his quiet meal alone in his room to follow Blaise.
“Is there a particular reason you are hovering, Mr. Zabini?” Snape drawled as he pulled out his wand and began to spell the door open.
Blaise kept his mouth shut, only to find Snape had stopped, his head of house turning fully from the door to stare at him. “He’s hurt,” Blaise finally grunted out. “Please, Sir, just get him out of there.”
“I should be asking who hurt him and sending you off to the Headmaster,” Snape grumbled, turning back and opening the door with a flourish. “As it is, I’ll be asking Mr. Longbottom just how he got into this room in…” he trailed off, eyes widening as he caught sight of Neville on the floor.
Gaze following, Blaise surged through the door, unable to stop from growling as he took in Neville’s form. He was laid out like some life-sized doll, hands folded beneath the side of his face in a mockery of sleep. Dressed in a ruffled pink dress and wig of curls, the slender boy’s bruised face was dusted with makeup.
Snape shut the door firmly behind him, stepping into the room, his eyes skimming over Neville, then moving to a desk where three vials lay empty. He crossed the space, eying each glass container in turn before cautiously sniffing one.
“Mr. Zabini, I want a name, and I want it now,” he demanded, holding the vial up.
Glancing towards the man and his piercing black stare, Blaise didn’t answer.
“He has been drugged. If the potions are what I think they are, it’s been going on for a while,” Snape continued, his glower growing. “I need to know if I’m to help him.”
“Can you… Does he need help?” Blaise asked, his gaze straying down. Neville looked so peaceful, face smooth of any pain or fear even though the room was full of both scents. Eyes moving, Blaise stooped, pulling the wig from the boy’s head, hissing as purple and red welts were revealed beneath the long locks. “Fuck, Neville, what the fuck did he do to you?”
“The name, Mr. Zabini.” Snape crouched down beside him, long fingers turning Neville’s face to reveal a large bruise on the hidden side. “I’ll need to get Pomfrey. As it is, there is little to be done to reverse the potions, only treat the symptoms after—and that’s only if the potions were made correctly. I must know who did this.” He forced Blaise to meet his eye. “Mr. Longbottom is facing permanent brain damage, stunted growth, possibly episodic violent mood swings and blackouts. These are serious charges and I need the name of the culprit.”
His heart racing at the list of symptoms, Blaise couldn’t help but think of the Pennyworth brothers. Had Mason done that to them? Had the man broken his own siblings, and then done the same to Neville? Why? Neville… Neville had never done a bad thing to anyone. The little bunny was the damn sweetest boy Blaise had ever known, and that was while being tortured by some sick fuck.
“Pennyworth,” Blaise finally said, raising his head. “Mason Pennyworth, his cousin.” He’d probably hate him for telling. Neville would probably hate him forever for telling his secret and to Snape of all people. But he had to. If it helped the boy, Blaise would do just about anything, no matter how much it was bound to hurt.
Nodding at the name, Snape stood, spelling up a stretcher. “Believe it or not, that might actually be good news. He was a star pupil. Troubled, but skilled. If his potion work is still at that level, Longbottom’s chances are much higher. I’ll have Dumbledore send someone out to check the grounds. The authorities may have to be called in.”
Blaise bit his lip, not saying a word. Mason was gone, wounded, possibly beyond repair. “Sir… Can we change him first? Please. He… He wouldn’t want to be seen like this.”
He almost thought Snape might refuse, knowing how much the man clashed with Longbottom in the classroom. But Snape just bowed his head, pulling the black robe off his back and covering the boy with it carefully on the floating stretcher. “Off with you, Zabini. I don’t want any rumors about this. These sorts of—”
“I’m going with,” Blaise said stubbornly, meeting his head of house’s piercing gaze again. “I’m not leaving him alone like this, so don’t bother asking.” He stepped ahead, getting the door before Snape could refuse. He wasn’t going to leave Neville. He was going to find out everything that had happened to the boy and make sure it never happened again.
Neville wasn’t really sure why he was in the hospital wing. He did know it meant Madame Pomfrey would be fussing over him for a bit, and seeing as he had very few people he let mother him, he didn’t mind that so much.
He wrinkled his nose, a familiar chalky scent tickling at his nostrils. He swiped at his face, groaning when he found a streak of flesh colored powder and pink lipstick on his hand. “Crap,” he mumbled, hissing as he scrubbed at his bruised flesh in the hopes of removing the makeup before anyone saw. Only to yelp, his hand pulled away abruptly, violet jewel eyes glaring down at him. “Z-Zabini?”
“I got you a wet cloth. Pomfrey says any kind of spell can mess up your recovery,” Blaise said abruptly, handing the confused boy a facecloth. He continued to hover over Neville’s hospital bed, staring down at the boy intently.
Lashes downcast, Neville carefully washed his face while trying to remember what had happened and why Blaise would be there. He had wanted to see Zabini, had wanted to apologize for being, well, weird and have the boy not be so angry. Even now Blaise seemed very angry at him. But Neville was washing makeup off his face and there was only ever one reason for that.
Neville peeked around the room, sitting up slowly, his body aching slightly, everything feeling kind of dizzy. He forced himself to sit up, needing to make sure Mason wasn’t there, wasn’t talking to Pomfrey or a teacher and saying how Neville should come live with him. His cousins visits were bad enough—Living with the man would be monstrous.
He couldn’t see past Blaise, the muscular boy far from transparent as Neville swayed and tried to look around him. He was feeling really dizzy, the room spinning and Neville falling sideways and nearly falling back to the bed. “Oh…”
“Stop wiggling, bunny. You’re going to hurt yourself,” Blaise insisted, steadying the boy by his shoulder. His hand was very hot on Neville’s skin, the thin hospital robes doing very little to cover him.
“Zabini, I just… I need to make sure he’s not here,” Neville whispered, his voice sounding strangely hoarse in his ears.
“No one’s here,” Blaise assured him, moving aside so Neville could see the room clearly. “And if that fucker ever comes back here, I’m going to make sure he bleeds out. I swear. I’ll fucking kill him.”
Neville blinked, focusing on the boy for the first time. Not only did Blaise look murderous, but there was something almost sad in his eyes. “What… What are you doing here?” Neville finally asked, feeling uncomfortable the longer Blaise stared at him.
Pursing his lips, Blaise took a step back, shrugging awkwardly as he looked around the room. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I found you in that room and I—”
Neville winced, covering his eyes with his hand. “Please tell me no one else saw.” Mason used to take pictures, which was so bad already. But if his classmates had seen him like that—in that stupid dress and horrible wig—god, he should just jump off the astronomy tower and get it over with.
“No one else,” Blaise said quickly, ducking his head. “No other kids, anyways. And no one is going to tell.”
Neville nodded dumbly, licking his dry lips. Was he supposed to say something to Zabini? Like, explain or some shit? He really didn’t want to do that. He really didn’t even want to fucking think about it, nevermind talk about it.
“Listen, uh, Longbottom… If you, um, want some sort of help…”
Neville wondered if pulling the blankets over his head would be in poor taste. He did it anyways, Blaise trailing off with a cough.
“I meant around school. With the jerks that pick on you,” Blaise added quietly, leaning down over the Neville shaped tent. “I guess what I’m saying is, whether you really want me to or not, I’m going to kick the crap out of anyone that bothers you… So, you should probably know that.”
It was very hot under the blankets, Neville’s breath heating up the small space quickly. He cautiously lifted the edge, his hair all static as he peeked out at Blaise. “What do you want, Zabini?”
“Nothing,” Blaise said gruffly, his gaze intent on Neville’s flushed face. “I’m just tired of seeing people beat on you. You don’t have to do anything, okay? I mean, if you want to like, I dunno, talk to me once in a while… Shit, whatever. You don’t have to do anything.” Why did Neville have to look so ridiculously adorable, his hair sticking up and cheeks red? It was very hard for Blaise to be as aloof as he had planned when the boy just kept being so cute.
“Did you want to… um… be my friend?” Neville asked, his voice a mix of hope and wariness as he pulled the blanket down to his shoulders.
Blaise had very little interest in being Neville’s friend without the word ‘boy’ firmly planted in front of it. But it was definitely a start in the right direction and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip. “Yeah,” he finally said, realizing he was standing there not talking again. “Okay.”
“Oh.” biting his lower lip, Neville gave a distracted nod while pushing his bangs back over his forehead. “Okay.” Neville really didn’t have any friends, and he wasn’t really sure what it meant to be friends with someone, a Slytherin at that. “Um, you know I’m like, a total klutz, right? And I can’t do shit for magic, and, well, yeah, I get my ass kicked like every day… You really probably don’t want someone like me for a friend…” He trailed off, Blaise’s sudden growl making him uncomfortable. “Or maybe you do?”
“I want to be your friend, bunny. For real,” Blaise said, leaning over the bed and looking earnest, if not extremely intense. “See, I have this bad habit of hitting people when I get angry, and I’m really, well, mean at times and everyone is scared of me. But I bet if I had a friend like you, people would see that I wasn’t such a bad guy, right?”
Blinking, Neville nodded slowly. “I guess. I… I don’t think you’re very mean, Zabini. You’re, well, really strong, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do anything really bad.”
Blaise shrugged, not willing to speak a list of all the ways he was a total asshole at times. He wanted Neville to like him, not run for the hills. And he knew when it came to the bunny, he would never, ever be anything but as nice as possible. “So it’s settled, then? Friends?”
Neville gave another nod, smiling haphazardly.
Blaise was wondering if he could possibly convince Neville into thinking it was totally okay for friends to kiss when Snape suddenly walked into the room, something frothing blue smoke in his hand. Neville immediately blanched, reaching for his blanket as if he was going to hide underneath it again. Blaise grabbed the edge, giving the boy an encouraging smile that he had a feeling must have been too scary looking. Still, Neville remained in view even as he stared warily at the approaching professor.
“Mr. Longbottom, I need you to drink this,” Snape said sharply, holding the bubbling vial out.
Staring at the blue potion that smelled rather awful, Neville let his gaze rise to Snape’s. “What is it?” Mason might have been able to force him to drink a million terrible potions but as long as Professor Snape worked for Dumbledore, Neville was pretty sure the man couldn’t hurt him in the same way.
“It is a treatment to help counteract what you were dosed with earlier today,” Snape said flatly, his eyes glancing over to where Blaise was standing. “It is imperative that you take it as soon as possible.”
“What… what did he, uh…?” Neville couldn’t quite get the words out, feeling very small all of a sudden. He tried not to think about Mason, tried not to wonder just what all those potions were doing to him. They made him numb, well, one of them did. The other ones he didn’t know what they did, just that Mason made him drink them, and got angry if he tried to spit it out.
“Mr. Longbottom, you have been subjected to a form of the ‘eternal youth’ potion.” Snape pushed the vial into Neville’s hand, the blond automatically grasping it. “It is not a potion well known, the side effects deemed not worth the risk of the small gains. Someone has been working very hard to keep you young, and given the time in your development, it could have permanent mental and physical consequences. This potion is to help with that, but I’m afraid there is little to be done for the ones you have consumed in the past. Do you remember when you were first given the potion?”
Neville was having a really hard time following what Professor Snape was saying. “Are you… Am I not going to grow any more?”
By Snape’s expression, the man didn’t know. “It’s a rare potion, Mr. Longbottom, and I have never heard of it being used in such a way. All we can do is try and counteract what we can and possibly see if other measures must be taken in the future. Drink the potion… Please.”
It was the please that did it, Neville so shocked to hear such a word come out of his professor’s mouth he had to wonder if he was dreaming. He drank the potions down, shuddering in disgust from the flavor. It was almost a relief—Potions weren’t supposed to taste good. They were dangerous and sometimes deadly and they should never taste like candy.
“How do you feel?” Blaise asked, watching Neville’s face closely as Snape took the empty vial back. Neville looked kind of sick, his face paling, eyes squeezed shut tight.
“Oh no…” Neville whimpered, pretty sure he was going to throw up. He fought the feeling as long as he could, waves of heat and cold moving through him in sickening lurches. “Crap, crap, I think…”
Neville didn’t throw up. Instead he started to shrink, his body folding in on itself until he was a huddled mound under the blankets.
Hissing in surprise, Snape reached across the bed, pulling the blankets away with a snap to reveal a dusty colored coyote. “Animagus! The boy is a damn animagus and I just—Blast! I need Pomfrey, now.”
Blaise grabbed his professor’s arm, his eyes wide. “Sir, you can’t tell. He’ll get in trouble.”
“Mr. Zabini, I may have just poisoned him! Get your priorities…” They both winced, turning when Neville’s coyote form began hacking up the blue potion all over the bedding. Snape’s expression growing more dour by the moment as his very well-made remedy was regurgitated, he eventually gave a great sigh. “Is there a particular reason you are not surprised to see Mr. Longbottom turn into a coyote?” He asked his student pointedly.
“I may have known,” Blaise muttered.
“Is this how you also happened to know he was in a sealed room?” The man pressed when Blaise refused to meet his eye.
“Maybe.”
“For the love of—You know how serious an offense this is, Mr. Zabini. You have a sordid family history of shape-shifters going wrong because of taking shortcuts.”
Blaise rolled his eyes. “My father taught me. My parents know, and that’s all that matters.”
“And Mr. Longbottom’s? Did you lead him down such a rocky road as well when—”
“I have nothing to do with Longbottom. Didn’t even know he was one too until a little while ago.” That Neville didn’t turn into a bunny was still a shock to Blaise as it was. “Please, Sir. He has enough problems as it is. Could you just, like, pretend you didn’t see any of this?”
Stilling, his long fingers tapping on his leg, Snape gave the two boys a calculating look. “We will speak of this when he is well.”
Blaise scowled, knowing what that meant. He wasn’t sure what the hell Snape would want, but the man did not keep secrets or do much of anything, for that matter, for free. “Fine,” he grunted out.
If it kept Neville from getting into anymore trouble or having to deal with the humiliation of the entire world knowing what Mason had done to the boy, Blaise would do it. Hopefully the slender blond would be grateful for it… Once he stopped throwing up.
***
A little place to share your comments and questions on the fanfic, Sleeping Dogs. Liked it, hated it, interested in seeing a sequel or something similar? Let me know below. I love the feedback.