Draco awoke slowly as a strange tickle pulled him from his sleep. Something ran up his leg. Harry’s warm hand gripped him in place while he slid something cool and thin across his skin. Draco sat up slowly. The lights raised in his windowless room let him know it was morning.
Blearily he followed down his leg which was exposed to the cold castle air since he fell asleep in just boxers that night on his warm sheets. His flesh was peppered with light blue pen lines and Draco blinked, and watched as more appeared under the pen Jaz made for Harry.
Harry stopped what he was doing now Draco was awake. He finished with a final flourish and clicked the pen shut. Draco closed his eyes as Harry’s hands moved up his body. He traced words with his fingers and lingered over patches of flesh to breathe hot breath. Draco opened his eyes when Harry lifted his left palm and held it in front of his face so he could read.
“This is the hand you hold yourself back with,” Draco read aloud. He followed down to his wrist and tilted his head to read. “This is your less dominant arms but is strong for all the ways you control yourself. You’re subtle, steady and don’t need to prove anything. You’re just happy to be.”
Harry kissed his fingertips one by one. Draco’s eyes strayed to the sensation and then slipped to his right hand. “You create and destroy with this hand. Build, flow magic and make impossible things happen. This arm strives to be and do, defend and attack and change what can’t always be changed.” Draco bit his lip and his eyelashes lowered when Harry’s breath brushed over his cheek. He caught the sight of writing on his torso down the center of his chest.
“You’re beautiful, strong, full of fire and emotion. You’re able to handle any obstacle with brilliance and grace…” Draco trailed off and shook his head weakly. “I can’t, Harry. I’m not so fucking strong that I can just accept you dying.”
Harry kissed his cheek and pulled away to trace Draco’s hand down to his navel. Draco followed and read. “You’re convincing, alluring, terribly persuasive in such a selfless way. You’re a hypocrite by marrying away your life while demanding I fight for mine.” Draco stopped again and looked away.
Harry pulled his head back gently. He kissed Draco’s other cheek and moved his hand down to his thigh.
“This is the leg you used to run away. This leg took you from You-Know-Who and brought you to an empty world because you were too afraid to live. It took you out the door tonight because you were afraid to see me die.” Draco’s voice hushed to something close to a sigh. He finished with the last line Harry stopped at when he woke up. “This leg is not your dominant leg but it might be your strongest support—Potter, that is a fucking shit thing to say.”
Harry clicked the pen open. He moved to Draco’s bare right leg and slowly wrote over his thigh. Draco read it aloud as it appeared on his skin. “This is the leg that leads you into battle… It brought you from your parents’ house into a new world of magic. It brought you to me full of fire, flight and a whole lot of prat.” Draco snorted and shoved Harry lightly. Harry wasn’t done and moved down his leg and slowly covered Draco’s skin with words.
“This leg will lead you next because you always move forward. You’re compelled as who you are no matter your fear. You survive even if it’s in quiet compromise. When you’re loud, this is the leg you stomp down and demand to be heard and known… and answered.” Draco frowned as Harry stopped. He dug the pen lightly as if not sure whether to continue or not.”
“Finish it,” Draco implored quietly.
Hesitantly, Harry continued and the pen swirled sensation over his skin. I’ll fight to live if you fight to live.
Draco took a slow breath. His brows furrowed as the words sank in. “What are you saying. Do you want me to not marry?”
Draco closed his eyes and sank back down on the bed and his pillow. It would be so easy to say yes while alone with Harry. The real world was so far away as they hid in his room together. He wouldn’t be able to keep such a promise. Not when the first one was made the way it was with his blood and on the brink of death.
“Potter, you make it back here in one piece and we’ll talk about it.”
Harry scribbled on the back of Draco’s left hand. He raised it to read.
“Yeah, well, there you have it,” Draco said with a shrug. Harry grabbed his other hand and wrote slower over the back of it.
Draco blinked. “Hmm. I think you’re a little confused here.”
You are both. Impossible. Beautiful. And very GAY.
“Shut up,” Draco grumbled. He wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed by the pretty words or the gay remark.
Harry just added another ‘very’ on top of the first, then surround the whole thing in a heart. I love all of you.
Draco blushed and tried to look away but Harry kept lifting his hand up. “Fine. Quit it, you pain. You love me; I get it. Thank you—or whatever the hell you’re supposed to say to an idiot who doesn’t know how to be proper and just writes all over a person while they’re sleeping.”
You love me.
Draco scowled. His gaze slipped away again only to jolt back when Harry bit his hand. “Hey! Fine, I might… uh, I might kinda love you.” Harry nipped him again, this time on his arm. “Potter, this is not the way to get me to say things, you bloody git.” If Harry cared, he gave no sign and instead nipped Draco’s arm repeatedly. It was having a queer effect and Draco’s yelps quickly turned into heated moans as he gasped for air. “Stop that… oh, seriously. Git.”
Harry licked up his arm. The flat of his tongue did nothing to smear the ink in its proper realm but it did manage to tickle at Draco’s arm hair. Draco grasped weakly at Harry’s hair but lost his intent to stop him moments into the movement. He tangled fingers into Harry’s locks and puled him up for a very needed kiss.
“How are you being so behaved?” Draco asked distractedly when Harry’s hands ghosted up his sides. It took Harry a moment to answer for the pen was lost in the sheet and there was very little left of Draco to write on.
Need. Yours is different right now.
“Oh?” Draco felt flushed and vulnerable as Harry wrote a final word on his knee.
The pen was once again tossed aside. Harry cupped Draco’s face and his fingers gently traced his jaw and up to his ear. Draco breathed deeply in the hold as he felt a warmth slowly bloom over his skin that made him feel stronger than he had in days. He didn’t understand how Harry could do it but was starting to as he thought of the little his father once told him of the Kalistar.
It was before his first year of Hogwarts when his father went through a list of do’s and don’ts. One big don’t was the Forbidden Forest. If Draco ever came across a white dragon with scales and feathers, he was to run no matter what. But a gold one, the Kalistar, with long spraying horns and feathered wings was very much a protector. Draco was to trust and love such a being and it would turn black and keep him safe. But Draco never saw either. The beings which stalked him at the edge of the forest were always invisible to him, like his pet Karia.
Draco was convinced he would become the murderous beast if his ring was removed and he was allowed to transform, just as his father while in prison. It was the only logical thing given how Lucius feared the Vesper and was also one himself. His father never sensed Karia and called him frivolous for even suggesting she existed. Lucius must have even less senses in the other realm than he did.
“Harry, could you just…?” Draco trailed off when Harry sank down against him and pushed him into the mattress with arms wrapped tight. Except the long swipes with his tongue over Draco’s neck, Harry was a perfect gentleman.
Draco closed his eyes and tried not to think of the sad thoughts of his father becoming a murderous animal to protect him. Instead he drifted as he felt Harry’s weight and heat and slow thump of heart. Each random spark of Harry’s energy was a flash of reminder to pull Draco back from fantasy, back from allowing himself to be fully content.
The clock chimed softly and reminded Draco he only had ten minutes to get to breakfast before class. He moved his hands over Harry’s back and shoulders, not really in a rush to get up while enjoying the comforting weight and press of flesh. Although Harry looked torn, especially on his back, when wearing the glasses, his skin felt smooth and strong. Draco wondered if it was the way of things in that particular realm; Harry’s beast body was injured, but Harry himself wasn’t yet. He supposed as long as Harry continued to feel so comforting and caring, it really didn’t matter much.
Eating was important after not eating for so long; at least it’s what Draco’s stomach was insisting. Draco gently pushed at Harry’s shoulders until he obliged and got up.
“I’m going to have to wash it off, you know,” Draco said softly as he indicated all the pen on him. Harry took his hand and nodded his messy hair into Draco’s palm. With a sigh, Draco turned and walked wearily to the bathroom, still tired and weak from his difficult week.
He started, eyes wide as he caught his face in the mirror. Harry had wrote across his forehead. The words reflected backward and it took a moment for Draco to discern them. “Be my boyfriend? Potter, you fucking idiot. Where are you?” He stormed toward the bathroom door, only to knock into Harry as he was stepping through, the bloody perv.
“You’re invisible! How the hell can I date someone I can’t even see? I have to have some fucking standards!” Draco wasn’t quite sure why he was so angry about it all. He suspected as Harry wrapped arms around him and moved his hands over his back and raised fire in him, Harry’s argument might have some validity. Touching was certainly enjoyable. And hell, they argued much less since Harry couldn’t say as many stupid things. Or at least, Draco couldn’t hear them.
“Hands, you,” Draco snapped warningly when Harry once again grabbed his ass and squeezed firmly. “Have you conveniently forgotten I’m getting married?”
In rebuttal, Harry lifted Draco’s hand and traced the heart which pointed out Draco was very, very gay.
Draco sighed. “I have responsibilities. People are depending on me, and… and I made a promise, Harry. I can’t just go back on my word.”
Harry went further down his arm and traced over how Draco could try to change what couldn’t be changed. After, Harry began tapping words on his flesh while Draco softly repeated them aloud. “Love… changes… impossible…” He stared as Harry stopped and lingered at Harry’s final promise to fight to live if Draco did too.
Draco huffed but didn’t resist the arms that pulled him close as Harry nuzzled into his neck. “I can’t be so easily persuaded, Potter. But… but if you want a boyfriend who is going to be married in less that two weeks, I can agree to that.” It was hardly an ideal situation, and it made Draco’s heart twist even to think.
He hoped Harry wouldn’t be satisfied with such a small part of him. Draco didn’t want to lose his heart to him—a heart if he were in a proper state of mind he could admit was already very much lost and given to Harry—and then have to walk into a loveless, sexless marriage for the rest of his life. Wizards didn’t divorce, not if they were pureblood. One had to look infallible in everything, including matters of the heart when you held so much power.
Harry tapped him once again and Draco glanced down at the text. Impossible.
“I know, but it’s all I can give you. It’s all I have to give right now.” Draco sighed heavily.
Harry seemed to disagree but the words written weren’t enough. Gently he took Draco’s hands and led him to the shower. He reached Draco’s long fingers to turn the spray on. Draco pulled away and charmed the temperature to something agreeable. He kept his eyes downcast and bottom lip worried between his teeth as he slowly pulled his boxers down and stepped out of them. He didn’t look fully in Harry’s direction. His silver eyes slid toward the area Harry’s powerful aura flickered and then returned to the loofah he was soaping up.
Harry wanted to be his boyfriend. Harry loved him. It was a strange feeling. A nearly impossible feeling; Harry had been gone for so long and Draco once dreamed of having a boyfriend just like him. He’d been waiting for someone who got very annoyed with the mean things he said until he had to be a nicer person. Someone who demanded with flashing green eyes until Draco would do the things his body really, really wanted to do and finally shut his stupid, logical mind up that always did as his parents said.
His skin tingled under Harry’s gaze as Draco began to wash the ink from his skin. He watched intently as the words faded along with Harry’s thoughts. “Harry, just… oh. Just behave, please,” he asked huskily as Harry’s hand wrapped around his smaller one and the loofah sopped white bubbles as he tightened his grip. Harry obliged somewhat by just using his hand to help Draco in an unneeded task of washing every spot he could reach. With Harry leaning against him and Draco wet and soapy with much hot breath moving down his throat, it was difficult not to want.
The crazed mating urge was not there but it didn’t mean there was no lust. Even before Harry transformed and even before Draco fully understood what just a whiff of his sex scent could do to him, Draco wanted. He wanted to feel Harry’s hands on him, his strong body pressed close while his mouth rained kisses down. He wanted to be worshiped with demanding eyes until he couldn’t say no. In a lot of ways, it was a more dangerous ache than the mating drive. This one was soft and warm, insidious in its quiet but unyielding power.
Very compelling, Draco thought dizzily when Harry’s free hand moved down his outer thigh. His fingers rubbed into his muscles and dragged up his hip and side.
Draco inhaled through his nose sharply, his eyes wide, body tense as Harry found his nipple and twisted it gently. He rolled it back and forth between fingers and turned the nub red, while he blew soft streams of air over his neck. Draco gasped as he was pulled back tighter against his body and water sprayed down over him. “This is dangerous,” he whispered breathlessly.
Harry’s tongue flicked out, touched his flesh, and was followed swiftly by nipping teeth over his long neck. Harry didn’t seem to care how dangerous things were. He was still the reckless Gryffindor who didn’t give a fuck about consequences; exactly how Draco needed him to be. Harry pulled him even closer, unbalancing him until Draco was forced to rest all his weight on his sturdy form.
Draco closed his eyes and leaned back into Harry’s touch, his wet hair resting on a dry shoulder. Harry ghosted fingers up his torso, over his ribcage, down his stomach to dip fingertips into his belly button. Harry’s touch grew firmer, bolder. He avoided Draco’s straining erection to move down the front of his pale thighs. It was loving and maddening all at once. Draco whimpered when the shower spray touched his twitching cock and for a moment he thought it was Harry.
Draco wasn’t going to wait for Harry to lose his shit and run away again. He reached down his body, grabbed his leaking dick and gave it a few well needed tugs. Breath tickled Draco’s ear in a sudden burst and he imagined Harry must have liked the sight. Harry’s hand covered his to readily assist. “Oh fuck… Oh.”
No, this was far more dangerous. He wasn’t quite sure when it happened but Harry managed to get his hand with the loofah to Draco’s back and was soaping his ass and thighs with slow circles. Bubbles tingled over his balls and crack and dripped between his cheeks in a slippery heat he couldn’t deny moaning over.
“Please, god, please. Don’t leave this time, Harry. Don’t leave me alone with this again,” Draco begged softly when Harry released both his hands and the loofah fell to the ground. Draco stilled all movement and waited to see if he was going to pull away. Harry was just as still, barely breathing as his chest moved against Draco’s back.
Slowly, so slow Draco wondered if he were imagining it, Harry traced his fingers back to his entrance. Draco licked his lips and unconsciously spread his legs a little wider and bent forward. Harry was tentative as he probed the tight pucker of Draco’s hole, almost like he was afraid he was going to run if pushed too fast. His fingers were too dry and unaffected by the soap until Harry coated them in his mouth and tried again. Draco didn’t resist, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth gasping loud pants as Harry carefully stretched him.
Harry’s other arm wrapped securely around his waist to keep him from falling as Draco swayed and whimpered. Draco couldn’t understand how strong Harry could be. He was both holding him upright with invisible arms and body, and yet could touch him so achingly soft. Each push of fingers, tight and hot inside him, burned Draco’s fire brighter and his entire body shook from the touch. In that moment Draco was certain he would do anything, give anything, be anything, just to have Harry be his.
He glared at the ring on his hand. He hated it, hated what he knew would be a far more terrible existence than he could have ever guessed if he chose to be a beast with Harry. He might be the type of creature who would be a murderous, wild thing all year round, and could possibly craved human flesh. That it didn’t totally repulse him was even more terrifying because he knew it was the answer to all his fucking problems. As a beast he couldn’t marry, couldn’t be expected to be anything but mindless and wild. He could be with Harry always and never be afraid again.
Fuck, he could feel alive again. For the rest of his life Harry would touch him, taste him, fill him. Just as long as he lived, Harry would be his. They could be feral together. Wild, mindless creatures out in the woods who hunted and rutted and never gave another thought to what the world wanted. They had both given enough to earn that. Hadn’t they?
Draco closed his eyes to the view of the silver ring and let Harry push him up against the wall and bury his thick fingers deeper inside his clenching flesh. “Hell. Harry, I need you.”
Harry’s mouth moved to his neck and nipped harder until he drew blood. He lapped his tongue over the red fluid in long swipes, breath hot and strained. He grabbed Draco’s hand, the one with the ring, and carefully twirled the silver band on his finger. Draco opened his eyes to watch, his breath caught in his throat.
So much of him wanted to. Almost all of him wanted to give in. Life as it was just wasn’t fucking living.
It would be so easy.
Draco closed his hand into a fist and trapped the ring in place. “I need to make sure you’re brought back,” he said unsteadily. There was a different, dangerous rush of fire running through him at the realization he was moments from taking the ring off and giving in. “I can’t trust them to do it, to not kill you. So I need to be whole until that moment. Until then, okay?”
Harry breathed hot fire over him. His tongue licked over his skin and hard body pushed Draco’s slender form up against the cool tile of the shower wall and trapped him in place. Draco wasn’t certain, but he might have just promised—Harry and himself—if Harry lived, he would live too. He would continue not as he was, but as a beast so they could remain together.
Laughter, hot and bright, bubbled up in Draco at the very thought. God, he wanted to be with Harry. No matter what. He wanted Harry to live and stay and be with him forever. “Ah, fuck, Harry. Be my boyfriend. I wanna be—oh, hell.” Draco moaned and inched his feet wider on the floor to push back onto Harry’s fingers.
Harry’s movements were relentless. Three fingers filled Draco’s passage, stretched him wide, and Harry’s hips thrust against his persistent hand in eagerness. Draco released small, soft chokes of breath. The shower spray spluttered water into his mouth as he shuddered around the feel of Harry’s forceful, eager thrusts of fingers. “Come on… come on,” Draco groaned. He tried to push back but Harry’s body wouldn’t budge. “God, I need you, Harry. Needed you for so long. Stop drawing it out and fuck me—oh, hell!”
Draco’s growl was cut off with a gasp. Harry removed his fingers swiftly, grabbed Draco by the hips and pressed his large cock against his ass. Draco forgot just how big Harry was, and he wasn’t sure if spit was really going to be enough to ease onto such a thick cock without being injured. He closed his eyes and held back a hysterical laugh when he realized he really didn’t give a fuck. He would rather it hurt than not finally have Harry inside him.
He was apparently very, very fucking gay.
Draco let the tension leave his body and turned his head. He found Harry’s face and kissed what turned out to be his jaw. Harry dipped his head down further and kissed Draco deeply while he slowly pushed weight forward into his hips and against the ring of muscles of Draco’s entrance. He was going to be late for class, Draco realized dimly in the back of his mind, the thought disappearing as quickly as it came.
“Harry… oh… oh, god. Fuck.” One of Harry’s hands came out to rub his back and side, and his breath puffed over Draco’s cheek. Draco barely noticed, all his focus on the mix of agony, pain, and pleasure as Harry pushed the head of his cock slowly past the tight ring of muscles guarding Draco’s hole. He felt Harry hesitate when fire shot through his body. Draco tried to fight the urge to push back, push out the huge intrusion filling him so completely and then some. Both of Harry’s hands rubbed Draco’s arms and back soothingly. Harry kissed his neck and nipped, as if he could somehow distract from the unbearable fullness Draco’s body was consumed with.
Somehow, it was working, and Draco’s broken cries receded after long, despairing moments of red fire. The overwhelming became a whelming, and then eventually an ache. Draco shuddered and pushed his hips back, needing movement. Only to stop and gasp, the nerve endings within him waking up as if Harry just sank into him again and skin dragged across skin in almost dry friction. Harry noticed, and licked-wet fingers probed around his stretched entrance again while Draco jerked and moaned against the wall.
In moments everything else slipped away. Harry sank in deeper, the saliva still not quite enough but they were both sweating so much things were getting slicker. Draco couldn’t really care, his mind and body spinning. With eyes squeezed shut, Draco pushed back and welcomed Harry in as deep as he could go. He met each small thrust with gasped cries and quivering knees. Harry mumbled something in his ear and Draco didn’t care that Potter still couldn’t figure out he couldn’t hear him. Harry rubbed his sides, massaged Draco’s ass and thighs while he rested buried deep inside and around him. It was an unbearable throbbing fire that filled Draco, and made him feel so vulnerable and connected all at once.
What a fucking terrible, intimate feeling to have Harry so deep inside and surrounding around him and still he couldn’t fucking see him!
Would it have been better without the ring or with the wild mating ache to steal the pain away? Draco didn’t know. With some slippery soap that actually affected Harry’s realm? Very fucking likely. But it wasn’t bad, not bad, just so much. Not just in his body, but in the emptiness he only recently named. It was empty since he nearly killed himself, and now, somehow, that void too was unbearably full.
Harry again murmured into his shoulder and throat and Draco smiled through the tears streaking down his face at what a fucking idiot he was. The two of them; him for being fucked by an invisible and near dead savior, and Harry for still fucking talking like he could hear him. “Do it, Harry. You’re my boyfriend and you have to do as I say.”
Harry bit him hard on the neck and Draco’s body tensed and tightened somehow around the impossible thickness splitting him in two. He glanced down at where Harry was licking his new wound, knowing what he wanted by it. To claim him. Harry would have him like a beast, like some fucking animal who could be overpowered and brought to knees by teeth and cock. Once the ring was off, Harry would claim him and he would be his. Draco loved the idea of it.
Harry moved and pulled partially out of his tightness. Draco cried out, his hand clamped over his mouth to stop the loud noise from echoing off the bathroom walls. But he couldn’t stop the sounds, not when Harry thrust back in and Draco’s arms went weak and he was unable to lift them any longer. Draco’s legs were next, but Harry was so damn strong it didn’t matter. Draco was held up, pinned to the wall as Harry fucked him as slowly and thoroughly as his cock would allow.
Draco could feel him everywhere, could almost hear Harry’s grunts with each thrust, and soft murmurs between as he licked up his throat and ear and cheek. It was so bizarre and fucking sexy. Draco was wrapped in his scent, warm and near suffocating, along with his flesh and sweat and teeth that kept nipping little sharp jolts of pleasure and pain. Even the annoying sparks over Harry’s skin were suddenly damn good and welcome. They were electric bursts while Harry built a slow rhythm and Draco felt everything.
“Harry… fuck. Harder, come on,” he begged. Sweat mixed with the shower to drip into his eyes and sting and changed the flavor as it flowed into his mouth and he tasted. Harry only moved slower, with long drawn out thrusts that made Draco cry out each time. He gripped blindly at the wall as Harry found a place inside him that burst color and pleasure with each hit. After only a dozen of these amazing, shocking thrusts, Harry pushed into Draco unrelenting and pinned him. One hand came up to wrap firmly, yet gently around Draco’s throat and the other to slowly push fingers into his moaning mouth. Draco’s tongue met the long, hot digits. He pressed to the flat of them, lured them deeper and sucked them down almost desperate as his skin danced with unrestrained energy.
He didn’t know why it felt so damn good to have Harry fill his mouth so saliva dripped down his jaw like some frothing animal. Never mind the thrilling, yet comforting sensation of his throat being gripped the way it was, as if Harry could break him or nuzzle him on a whim. It felt so good, the same way it felt so wild to know Harry was just so much stronger than him, able to take whatever he wanted so easily, yet willing to stop if only asked. God, and he was taking him, so thick inside, so intent to be slow and make sure he felt every inch as his body stretched and opened to his Harry.
Draco struggled to breathe around the fingers dipping down his tongue and felt when Harry changed. His thickness somehow swelled inside even more and Harry’s hot breath broke into small, desperate puffs as his hips jolted forward with shallow, quick pumps, as if he could bury just a little deeper and they would be joined and one. Draco spread his legs as wide as he could and pushed back into the jolting thrusts. His eyes closed as his body tensed and tightened and clenched so fucking good. Harry murmured something into his neck before he suddenly bit down and drew more blood. Draco shouted and jerked from the pain and pleasure. Harry dug nails into his throat and Draco bit down on the fingers in his mouth as he came. Their hips bucked and slammed in rhythm and then in discord, Draco so tight and breathless and lost.
They started to shake as their orgasms faded, almost as if what was left of their fire and strength was drained with their seed. Harry held him tight, still buried deep within, holding him up and breathing him in deep. Draco had no complaints as he caught his breath and moaned unintelligibly against the wall. Harry’s fingers slowly withdrew from between his lips, the digits smooth trailing wet down his lips. Harry panted with him as his chest heaved. His hands slowly moved over his form and pulled tired, hungry sounds from Draco as they rested.
Harry finally pulled away. He carefully extracted from Draco’s sore passage and turned him around to face him. Draco couldn’t see him, which made things once again awkward when Harry just wanted to stare at him and be seen as well. Harry settled for kneeling and licking up Draco’s cum from his tight stomach. His tongue greedily ate up every drop while Draco whimpered and watched the white fluid disappear from view.
Harry moved lower and nuzzled into Draco’s spent cock, not wanting to irritate the likely sensitive flesh. Draco gave no sign of protest, so he lapped at the softening flesh and cleaned more thoroughly than the shower alone. He moved to his balls and pushed Draco back against the wall to rest and lift his thigh over Harry’s shoulder so he could reach his sack and entrance with greater ease. He tasted his new mate and the way Draco’s natural scent and his now pervasive one mixed in his tightness and slowly dribbled out.
Draco gave a low whine when he realized what Harry was doing. He grabbed blindly at his messy, sweaty hair and clutched while Harry continue his deranged, long tongued assault on his sore hole. Harry seemed determined to recollect his seed and suddenly turned Draco and pushed him face first into the wall so he could have better admittance to his entrance and passage.
Harry licked at him with zest; Draco wasn’t certain what it did for Harry, but he imagined it might be just as maddening as when Draco sucked him off and gotten all of Harry’s sex scent on him. Maybe the smell of Draco made Harry fucking mad for him too. Hell, maybe it was the smell of them together, hole and cum joined and feeling so right.
Draco went to reach behind him so he could see for himself. Harry caught his straying hand and bit firmly and licked. He stood and invisible fingers pushed into Draco’s mouth without warning. They were warm, bitter and musky tasting. Draco groaned and his eyes rolled back from the flavor of exactly what Harry was seeking, but now mixed with his saliva. It filled Draco’s senses and made him impossibly dizzy. Still, it wasn’t as overwhelming as when Harry caught him in the hallway. Without Harry to amplify the mating call it didn’t ache the same unbearable way even if it did ache.
Harry turned him again and picked Draco up. He lifted him with ease while Draco wrapped long, shaking legs around his waist. Harry nearly tried to take them through the bathroom door until Draco convinced him to wait a damn moment so he could work the handle. Once in the bedroom Harry threw Draco down on the bed. His shower wet skin prickled cold now out of the steam of the bathroom but he was quickly warmed when Harry climbed up his form. His kisses were desperate as they pressed their bodies together.
With a groan, Draco suddenly pushed him off. Bleary eyed, he stared around his room in confusion. Another loud knock, repeated and worried, sounded from the door leading out to the hallway. Draco glanced at the clock, swore and then smacked at Harry’s returning hands that were trying to keep him bed-bound and beneath him.
Sure, Harry had quieted the fucking mating urge a lot more. Either that, or Harry just wasn’t as dependent on it now he knew Draco would give in without it. It didn’t mean the git wasn’t still determined.
“Quit it. Harry!” Draco snapped. Only to laugh when Harry lifted him off the bed and dropped him down again with a bounce. “Oh fuck, you are so god damn powerful,” he murmured appreciatively as he stared up in Harry’s general direction, his eyes heavy lidded and full of wonder.
The door again pounded, making Draco nearly jump at the sound. “Crap.” He scrambled up and eluded hands he couldn’t see coming but could sense well enough to avoid. He grabbed a bathrobe from behind the bathroom door, slipped it on and cinched the belt securely. He carefully unlocked his door and peered out into the hall.
It was Blaise, his hand raised as if to knock again and eyes wild in fear. “Draco? Are you? Did you?” He pushed the door open without finishing his thought and walked into Draco’s room and looking him over like he didn’t believe he was real.
Draco flushed when he realized he was covered in bites all over his neck. Potter had a damn problem keeping him blemish free. And well, he certainly didn’t mind how the marks were created at the time. “What?”
“You’re late,” Blaise said finally. He seemed to deflate as Draco showed no signs of serious damage. “I was knocking for ages and you didn’t answer. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” Blaise ran a shaky hand through his hair and his fingers tangled in his magically straightened black locks he let flow free that day.
Draco shrugged. He was starting to understand what Blaise must have thought and he didn’t know how to handle it. He shut the door to his room; he didn’t need passersby to gawk while he got ready for class and tried to explain to Blaise he wasn’t going to kill himself. No matter how upset he might seem. He wasn’t that person anymore and there would never be another Voldemort to run from quite so aggressively. Which was all well and good, but Harry didn’t seem to be done with him just yet. Draco groaned as he was pulled from his bureau and clothes and up against Harry’s chest.
“Harry, you’ve had your turn. Now I have to deal with the rest of the world,” Draco grumbled. He wasn’t angry at Harry but more at the daily mundane life which insisted on interrupting them. “We’ll finish this later…” Harry’s mouth trailed over his jaw, hot and compelling. “Damn it, you pain.”
“Shit, Potter, keep it in your pants for five seconds,” Blaise muttered as he turned his head to give his poor pink friend some privacy. “I was worried about Draco. Before Pansy and I left last night, he agreed to have breakfast with us.”
A dark laugh burst out of Draco as Harry’s hands caressed through his robe, between his thighs, over his tightening balls and pressed against his entrance. Draco grabbed Harry’s hair and twisted harshly. His smile was wicked as Harry continued to press fingers right against his hole and wiggled ever so gently to remind him what they could so easily do, audience or not.
“You know what, Blaise? Get the fuck out. We’re in the middle of something and your shit concerns can wait until I’m fucking satisfied for a change.”
“Satisfied? What, are you two shagging now?” Blaise asked darkly. He glared over his shoulder and then quickly looked away. Draco’s expression was a cross between ferocious and lusty. It wasn’t a look Blaise had ever seen on his well-controlled friend and not necessarily a bad look on him either.
“Yes, as a matter of fact we are.” Another odd laugh bubbling out of Draco, followed by a slow exhalation as Harry’s fingers pressed more insistent against his hole.
Blaise whirled, hand covering his eyes with just enough to peek through and find Draco’s flushed face. Once he realized there really was nothing to see, Blaise dropped his hand completely. “I thought you weren’t going to? He’s a Kalistar and dangerous! What has he done? Has he used his allure to snare you, Draco? Do I need to get Snape or Dumbledore down here?”
Harry’s power raised up. With one hand hot between Draco’s ass cheeks, he used the other to push raw magic toward the annoying interruption. Draco snorted and tightened his grip on Harry’s hair. “Stop, Potter. He’s my domain, not yours.”
Blaise watched with brow furrowed as Draco reached his tongue out and seemed to licking Harry from chin to forehead. The sudden pressure and whirl of power in the air stopped and papers settled back again as Harry relented. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”
“Nothing,” Draco drawled. He pulled his attention from Harry to glare at Blaise’s judgmental expression. “As long as no one fucking interferes, we are perfectly fucking fine. Go on to class and I’ll catch up later.”
Blaise shook his head, his eyes narrowed at Draco’s surprisingly harsh tone. “Draco, if he’s really a Kalistar, you shouldn’t be alone with him. Definitely not doing what you two are doing. He could be manipulating you.”
Draco laughed again, the sound less hysterical and more angry. “Funny how everyone seems to know how dangerous the Kalistar are but no one has bothered to say what the fucking Vesper do. I’ve got the fucking ring on, Blaise. And Potter here does whatever I ask, as long as I ask just the right way. Now get the fuck out and mind your own business.”
“So what, I’m supposed to believe you’re manipulating him now? Don’t you see how fucking messed up that is, Draco?” Blaise insisted.
Draco growled when he realized Blaise wasn’t going to let the fucking thing go anytime soon. Shit, he just wanted more sex; it wasn’t some fucking crime. Sure, he was skipping class for it but who the fuck cared? Draco scowled when he felt Harry move away. He thought the sexy beast was giving up, only to realize Harry was seeking out his pen so he could communicate properly with Blaise.
Blaise watched warily as Harry clicked the pen open and floated it toward the nearest piece of scattered blank paper on the floor.
Zabini, I’m trying to have sex with my boyfriend. You’re not invited, so go fuck off.
Blaise glowered and put his hands on his hips. “Fuck you, Potter. Until I know he’s not killing himself and you’re not raping him, I’m not fucking leaving.”
“For fuck sake, Blaise!” Draco yelled and threw his hands up in the air. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“I’m out of my mind? For the last goddamn week Pans and I’ve been trying to pry out what the fuck has gotten you all quiet and dead inside like the last time. All you told us was Potter transformed and has been aggressive with the damn mating call. What exactly do you want from me? All we could assume was that he forced you. Especially since you told us what he was last night, and then kicked us out so we had to research on our own. The Kalistar are dangerous—Like, top level, don’t fuck around with, run away as fast as you can if ever seen! If you don’t fucking communicate, how are we going to be able to help you?”
Draco was about to snarl an angry retort about how he didn’t need anyone’s nosy fucking help, when Harry started writing, the pen drawing Blaise’s eye.
You’re right, Zabini. I should have come to you after Malfoy raped me. It was wrong and I was just so ashamed and hurt. It felt so damn good and
“You’re a fucking sod, you dickweed,” Blaise hissed. He stamped on the parchment but avoided the pen in case he damaged it. “This isn’t some fucking joke. We’ve been worried. Hermione said you were obsessed over Draco before you left school last year. That the beast was just starting to show and it was messed up in the head. You’ve both been avoiding talking to us about it. The whole situation is fucked up and you’re spending too much time alone together.”
Draco heard enough. He was the one miserable the fucking week because Harry hadn’t been spending time with him but hiding outside the door. “You know what’s fucking messed up? I find some fucking happiness and you’re suddenly worried over me. If you’re so worried, then realize just how much better I am today for having Harry, and leave it at that.”
Blaise paused and gave his friend of the last six years a thoughtful look. “Honestly? If it weren’t for the ring, I wouldn’t even be sure you were human anymore.”
Draco stared at Blaise’s very serious brown eyes, and couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of him again. Fine, he sounded fucking crazy. And he felt… god he felt so fucking good and crazy and he really, really, really wanted to finish what he was doing with Harry before his friend decided to take it upon himself to dictate his goddamn life.
Zabini, you say it like it’s a bad thing. Fucking look at him. He’s gorgeous and wild and not putting up with anyone’s shit, including mine. Do you really want him back to before, all gray, quiet and sad?
Blaise’s nostril’s flared as he glared at Harry’s scrawl and bent down slightly to read it all. “Yeah, and what happens when you bite it, Potter? You just going to leave him here, some crazy, out of control version of himself because you couldn’t keep your hands off him?”
Draco snapped his hand up. The lights flickered ominously and everything went very still. His face was stone, just like when he nearly hexed Nott in the Great Hall.
You really might want to rephrase that, Harry wrote. Draco is who he is and I haven’t changed him. I just happened to be around to enjoy as he woke up.
Blaise was only angrier; Draco seemed even more irrational when Potter was blamed. “He shouldn’t be waking if he’s wearing the ring. Why is he getting more like, like some wild beast?”
Blaise was staring at the paper as he waited for Harry to answer but it was Draco who spoke. “Because that is who I’ve always been, before my parents trained it out of me with so much fear and sense of duty that there was nothing left. I am a fucking beast who cries, bleeds, fights and fucks. I feel! And I have been denying it a long fucking time because I was too afraid.”
That’s my dragon, Harry wrote, the words larger and flowing in beautiful script instead of his normal scrawl.
The laughter was bubbling up again, nearly impossible to contain but it wasn’t dark. As Draco let it go he could see, truly, just how joyful it was, this feeling inside. “My control has just been another prison. I’m done playing the fucking good son, good heir, good child, so I wouldn’t be another victim to Voldemort. He’s dead and I’m done. If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise, worry about your own damn problems and leave me be.”
A war seemed to wage in Blaise as anger and confusion swirled in his dark eyes while he stared at his old friend.
“You’re not weak, Draco, I never thought that. If it was weakness, I don’t think I ever would have feared you would go through with it. You’re too strong. You go against the natural order of things to do horrible things to yourself, like what you did last summer.” Blaise looked away and took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s that beast inside you who is the source of it, who can let you do so much wrong out of pure determination.”
Draco’s lips curled into a snarl. “Still, you judge what I do as right or wrong instead of just accepting it was my fucking choice to make. What is right and wrong when you live in a world run by a monstrous dictator who could have killed us all with ease? Your opinion never mattered. No one’s did but mine. What is anyone to say of the value of my life, when it’s my life? I didn’t go against the natural order; I went with my natural order. I’m sorry you still think you have some say in that, but you don’t. I’ll accept you as a friend but not the ruler of my life.”
Draco’s words only made Blaise angry. He couldn’t handle his concern being turned, in Draco’s mind, into manipulation instead of just being the love he had for his friend. So what if he was trying to control Draco by keeping him alive? At least he would be alive! “You’re fucked, Draco. Fine, fight to die. What the hell do I care? You just gave it all away to your mother anyways. Go play beasts with Potter and pretend you’re not getting married and tied in a couple of weeks. I was concerned. We all were.”
“Your concern does not give you the right to run my fucking life,” Draco said steadily. His anger drained with the more conviction he felt. “I’ll deal with my mother when the time comes. In my way because it’s my right to do that as well. I’ll interact with Harry as I see fit and I don’t need your fucking opinions on the matter. And if you insist on continuing with your bloody prying shit, no matter what your intentions are, I’m going to cut you out of my life. Another choice I get to make where you get no say. Do you fucking understand yet?”
Blaise nodded curtly. Anger blazed even brighter in his eyes. “Well I get some fucking choices in this as well, Draco. One of them being whether I want to be around someone who doesn’t give a fuck about my opinions. At the moment, it’s definitely a no.” With a final glare, Blaise left and snapped the door shut behind him.
Draco stared at the door a moment but didn’t feel regretful at all. His fucking friends wasted their goddamn year thinking he was going to kill himself. They had tried to get him to be something alive when they really had no say in the fucking thing. Draco loved them but not enough to bow to them and their wants over his own. He needed to mourn and numb and be as miserable as he did. He was fucking sad; and there was nothing wrong with it. Draco glanced over when the pen clicked and began to write.
You are fucking sexy when you stand up for yourself.
Draco smirked, and ran his hand through his half dried hair. “I’m sure it’s nothing like the way you used to be, fucking burning from the eyes every time I pissed on one of your mudblood friends just to rile you up.”
So that was on purpose?
“Oh yeah, you have very demanding eyes.” Draco wanted to ask then, why Harry hadn’t tried to interfere when he went home to kill himself last year. But he imagined it was the same reason the infuriating Gryffindor pushed back when Draco was fighting Dumbledore and Jaz for Harry to be allowed to come back. Harry understood his own reasons for doing the things he did. Even if he didn’t understand Draco’s, he at least respected them. Draco would have to do the same.
Draco walked over to the papers on the floor and crouched down next to Harry’s body heat. “Here’s my dilemma. If I give up on the whole marriage thing and you die, I’ve got nothing to fall back on. I don’t think she’d do it, mother needs me too much. But being disowned, homeless and with my name run through the mud is really not some fairytale way to live. She’s promised that as the only option to Vellamorn. I need time to figure out how to get around it.”
Harry took a long moment to reply. His left hand moving out to flow over Draco’s bent leg while he tapped the pen on the floor. And what about if I really am fucked around humans? Is that how you want to live, outcast by your mother, tied to a pariah and forced to live in absolute seclusion? Yeah, I’ve got money and shit but is that enough to put up with never being around people again?
Draco shrugged and bit his lower lip. “As long as you’re alive, I really don’t give a fuck. Just, um, maybe we should also consider the possibility that I may be the fucking crazy one around the scent of human flesh,” he added nervously.
I have. I wanted to talk to you about keeping the ring on.
Draco rolled his eyes. “If you live, it’s coming off. I’ll break up with the bitch first thing, maybe get a place in order where we’ll be safe, but then the bloody thing is off and you are all mine.”
Harry tossed the pen aside, wrapped his arms around Draco and kissed him deeply. Draco tried not to think about how moot it all was; Harry was likely dead, and if not, Dumbledore might just finish him off just to be on the safe side. Right now it all felt fucking fantastic and he didn’t want to ruin it with reality.
Harry needed to leave. There was no other option besides staying and taking what he wanted from Draco. Once Harry threw Draco in his room, he started walking and kept going. He jumped out the nearest window, stepped out into the night and walked away from the castle.
While he walked, he yelled. He roared first into the hallways and then to the night sky. “I was fine—fucking fine! I sat hours in that hallway, fucking fine! My god, what the fuck is wrong with me! How does he fuck me up like this!”
One look was all it took. Draco had stepped out Snape’s door, his eyes fixed on the floor, fingers gripped lightly to the door handle as he pulled it shut. Harry watched, unable to look away, even with Draco’s glow dim and his beast confined by the ring. Moments later Draco looked up, straight ahead, his silver eyes fixed right where Harry was resting across the door. Draco’s expression was open and completely unguarded for one short, frozen moment.
It was the look of prey. Just feet away and completely blind to the peril before him, Draco slipped out the door like he didn’t know he was waiting for him. Something hot shuddered through Harry, dangerous. It flared when Draco stumbled and struggled to walk, and had to lean against the wall just to move. Weak prey so easy to chase. So oblivious…
Harry found himself stalking forward. He followed and watched while Draco wavered down corridors. He pressed into Draco’s space just so he could know he was there, sense him, fear like he was supposed to. But Draco wasn’t afraid. He tried to be reassuring like it was concern to bring Harry behind him inching closer, breathe deep of his scent and wait for him to slip.
With just one hand to pin him, Draco finally—finally—understood what strength was before him. His felt Draco’s heart race, the way sweat dripped down his chin, his crystal eyes so wide. Harry drank it in and was nearly lost. His pretty, pale Draco was so eager, so wanton and easy. All Harry had to do was take him, have him and nothing would ever come between them again. Not Narcissa and fiancées, not meddling professors and specialists. Not even jewelry or barrier magic or fucking doors or clothes. Nothing would keep Draco from him after that.
Except, when he bit Draco in his initial quest to taste the blood of his very soon to be mate the flavor was wrong. Draco’s blood was bland, nearly unappetizing, and hardly tasted like him. It was the ring. He remembered Draco’s blood tasted perfectly delicious just the other day when he tasted off his arm.
Harry’s confusion by the lack of connection was enough to pull him from his haze, and let him hide Draco away.
“Fuck, will it matter? I could just go back. Take the fucking ring off of him. It’s not like he’d fight me… Stop. Stop thinking like that! Bad. That’s fucking bad, shit thoughts!”
Harry crouched and touched the soft ground with nothing to slam his fists into. “Not a toy. He is not a toy. He’s a fucking full human being with god damn thoughts and emotions and the right to choose things. I need to stop this fucking thing inside of me who doesn’t care.”
His power bubbled up and roared around him as it frothed in wrathful waves. Harry looked up and watched the bright, dark energy lick the air, jolting with his anger and need. That was the problem, wasn’t it? All those god damn perfectly good reasons for not touching Draco Malfoy did not take into consideration the one intense, undeniable, aching need he had to touch him.
He needed Draco.
Harry took a deep breath and then another, and slowly his body began to relax. Somehow naming it calmed the rage inside. Not the need—that still burned like an inferno—but he didn’t have to rage against himself and the world over it. As long as he could identify and accept he needed Draco and not act on it, perhaps he could continue on. He was already existing without so many things he once thought he needed; air, food, water, sleep, conversation, affection. Hell, some things he’d gone without for much longer than people were meant to, such as love from a family and parents, security from deranged murderous wizards, companionship with someone who truly understood him.
Touch. How long truly had he gone without touching another human being? There were the rare quick embrace from Hermione or a Weasley spaced far between. Before Hogwarts was just his parents. No Dursley had a touch for him besides a punishing one. He survived without these things.
Touching Draco was the only life spark he ever felt and his body kept seeking it out. Even when his mind fought to keep some sort of propriety. He knew he could still survive even without fulfilling this new need.
As if his body was in disagreement, power sparked painfully through Harry’s chest. It was so intense, it was like being stabbed. He clutched his chest and gasped in pain. His eyes fell on movement in the trees up ahead at the edge of the forest.
It was glowing and white, like Draco. But it wasn’t him, not human at all. Sleek and sinewy, it looked like some sort of cross between a deer and a dragon. Its scaled body was dotted with feathers, legs elegant but not as long as an actual deer. The ends were tipped with claws instead of hooves. It was almost dog-like but not quite that either, its body longer. It had a serpentine tail and feathered head. When it noticed Harry staring back, it revealed sharp, deadly teeth and growled menacingly.
Something in him bristled up and Harry growled back. The sound was low, angry and spoke of how much fucking bigger and meaner he was. At the noise, the creature backed away and disappeared into the forest.
It had to be what Malfoy spoke of. Creatures who lived in the Forbidden Forest only he could sense but couldn’t see. Dangerous creatures who could hurt Harry while in his condition and could hurt Draco anytime they pleased. Draco would be blind to them until they were right upon him.
He stared out into the dark for the next hour and waited to see if the thing would return. It didn’t. Harry couldn’t leave, not with creatures like that around as a possible threat to Draco. He would have to find a way to control himself. If not, he’d avoid Draco completely. Maybe… maybe the barrier was the right thing after all.
Harry turned back to the castle and walked slowly and with intent. Was he so weak he couldn’t protect Draco from himself? He was staying to protect him from potential threats when Harry was certainly the most dangerous thing with access to Draco. He would have to figure out something, a resistance to the need. Things couldn’t continue like this.
Draco was nearly asleep as he waited for Harry. He sat sideways in the open doorway of his room, his quill and parchment spilled out on the ground in the hallway. Sleep called but was elusive. His body was still a goddamn mess of want and his brain was quickly spiraling toward mad.
Harry remained sitting across the hall from Draco. He hadn’t moved since Draco stood in his doorway hours too early for breakfast in rumpled school clothes and with hair in disarray. He found if he stared at his bare feet peeking out from the bottom of his jeans, and tapped them on the stone floor to remind him to pay attention, he wasn’t overwhelmed by the urge to run across the hall and molest Malfoy. It was more a need to take a leisurely walk before fucking him senseless. It seemed some sort of improvement after all these hours.
“Damn it, Potter. Fucking talk to me,” Draco growled wearily. He’d been sitting there a good twenty minutes now. As much as Harry pretended not to be there, Draco could tell how his invisible aura was much stronger than before. Harry’s power flickered and disturbed the magic in the area.
“What, exactly, am I supposed to say to you, Malfoy?” Harry growled right back even though Draco couldn’t hear him. “I’m sorry? I don’t even fucking know if I’m sorry. And if I am sorry, I’m not sure for which part. Is it what I couldn’t seem to stop, or what I didn’t get to fucking finish.”
“I need your goddamn help. Please, just fucking try. Please.” Draco sighed dejectedly, his head lowered to meet his hands. “Just talk to me.”
“I can’t, you stupid prat!” Harry yelled in frustration. “I can’t fucking touch you. Didn’t you used to be smart? I’m pretty sure Hermione said you were competing with her for top scores last year. How are you so fucking dumb?”
Somehow, Harry’s one sided argument was only pissing Draco off more. “I know you’re there, you pain in the ass. I can feel your fucking power. Potter, get over here. I’m not afraid of you, so get the fuck over here!”
Harry moved from his sitting position into a crouch. He kept his eyes on the ground, determined to look anywhere but at Draco. “You ever think I might be afraid, you idiot? There is something fucked in my head right not. You fuck me up, Malfoy. Shit… it’s really good. Really fucking good.” He carefully raised his gaze when Draco huffed loudly.
“I can wait just as long as you can. Where the fuck are you going to go, Potter? Who the fuck are you going to talk to? Just… Just come over here, okay? Take my hand and stop being a child about all this.” Draco held his hand out in Harry’s direction. His gray eyes peeked out at the seemingly empty corridor. “Come on,” he called softly and wiggled his fingers in invitation.
It was the damn stupidest thing ever for the situation, but Harry couldn’t help and slowly sidle over to Draco. He reached his hand out and carefully brushed his fingers to the pale, outstretched ones before him. Draco felt the soft touch. He suddenly wrapped his hand around Harry’s and pulled sharply. Harry’s eyes went wide and he swore loudly when he lost his balance and crashed into Draco’s prone form. “Fuck! Malfoy!”
“Caught you, you stupid ass.” Draco used his free hand to figure out the tangle of invisible limbs before him. He found a messy pile of hair, released Harry’s hand and pulled him up by his head. “Do I strike you as the forgiving type, Potter?” He asked silkily while wrenching Harry’s thick locks hard.
“You’re out of your fucking mind. Shit!” Harry gasped when Draco pulled his harder. If he was trying to hurt him, he was fucking failing. Harry was pretty sure he never experienced anything quite so amazing as Draco hissing in his ear while he twisted fistfuls of his hair.
“Do you even understand how you left me? I went through hours of torment just because you ran away.” Draco found Harry’s mouth, his warm breath puffing over his face. “It was fucking rude of you. Do you understand, Potter. I do the teasing in this relationship, not you.” Draco closed his eyes and moved to the source of Harry’s gasping breaths and kissed him soundly.
Certain Draco had lost his mind, Harry kissed him back. He groaned when Draco insisted on wrenching his hair whenever he put too much force into the kiss.
“I needed you, you ass. Fucking needed you,” Draco whispered between hot kisses. He held Harry in place the best he could when Harry grabbed him by the waist and pulled him closer. “The ache… Harry, it’s going to kill me. Even now…”
“Sorry. Really sorry, Draco.” Harry was full of need for him but he hadn’t expected Draco to need him back just as much. The idea made him hot, fire roaring inside of him. Hell, maybe Draco even more than needed him. He was shaking so much just from his touch. “Fuck… fuck, tell me you feel it too,” Harry demanded against his lips. He pulled from the kiss so he could lick and bite down Draco’s neck. “Need you to fucking need me…”
Draco moaned as Harry’s mouth moved over his skin. He twisted Harry’s hair again and pulled his face back up. “Keep your hands above my waist and that fucking tongue off of me, you perv,” Draco insisted heatedly. He kissed Harry again, deep and hungrily. Draco was either very compelling, or Harry really liked it when the annoying prat told him to do things. Harry obeyed and moved his hands up from where he was squeezing Draco’s firm ass, and refrained from licking him in all the lubricious ways he really wanted to.
When Draco was satisfied he was behaving enough, he released Harry’s hair. He leaned back on the ground and grabbed quill and paper. With his feet, he pushed into his bedroom, hampered slightly when Harry crawled up his body and continued to kiss him. “Slowly. Gotta talk to you.”
“Later,” Harry grumbled. He bit at Draco’s bottom lip; his teeth clamped and then released while Draco whimpered.
Draco refused to be deterred. He grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled hard until he stilled his movements. “I fire called Jaz. He said you’re confused. Out of control, like me.” Draco kicked at the door to his room and managed to shut it once Harry moved his legs out of the way. “Said… said I could fix it.”
Harry closed his eyes and thought of all the many ways Draco could fix the ache burning through him. It made him burn hotter, the need pulse ever stronger. Harry slid a hand down Draco’s thigh. He massaged the tense muscle and dragged fingers up.
Draco growled and grabbed the straying hand and placed it back at his waist. “Focus, Potter. I need to tell you what I want. And then you… you need to give it to me.” Draco smiled wickedly. His head fell back on the floor and he peered up through heavy lidded eyes and loose strands of hair.
He licked his lips, his gaze focused on where he could feel Harry’s breath puff against his shoulder. “As long as I don’t ask for, god, for that fucking delicious thing you were doing to me in the hallway—which is why your tongue really needs to stay in your mouth,” Draco said shakily. “As long as we keep tame, but with you still fulfilling my needs, Jaz thinks it will satisfy the mating drive.”
Harry grasped Draco’s hand and pulled it to the discarded quill. Once Draco picked it up, Harry scrawled out just how flawed the plan was.
I already know what you want. What you need.
Draco raised himself up onto his arm to read. “Fuck, I’m pretty sure you’re an arrogant sod who doesn’t know shit. So you better start listening to what I say,” he said sternly. “Right now I want you to kiss me and keep your hands at a fucking respectable level. Got it?”
Harry stared at Draco’s flashing silver eyes and swollen pink lips. He slipped his vision into the fifth dimension so he could see the pretty feather and shiny scales on Draco’s bare flesh. He loved the variations of hues on his bright skin, glowing and otherworldly. He really wanted to kiss him. If he could prove just how good a kiss could be, he might convince Draco to stay with him. Hell, he might convince him he wanted so much more.
Yeah, he could do that. He’d kiss Draco until he begged for more.
Draco felt the shit almost immediately when the ache in his body changed to reflect Harry’s intent. Jaz called Harry a master when it came to the mating call. He was able to manipulate his chosen into just about anything by amplifying the ache associate with mating. During courting, the aggressor would look for challenges and respond to what he perceived his mate’s needs were to make sure he fed them properly. Since Harry had caught him in the shower, he must have become fixated on just how much Draco would enjoy anal sex. To remain intact, Draco needed to get Harry to focus on something else.
At the moment Draco no longer felt the unbearable ache to be filled by Harry. Instead now he just felt an impossible need to be kissed by him. It was still overwhelming but at least it could be remedied much easier and didn’t involve him bending and begging for Harry to fuck him.
“Come on, Potter. Fucking kiss me… fuck, please. Get over here.” Draco closed his eyes a moment. Well, he wasn’t bending at least; begging seemed just a little beyond his control at the moment. He pulled Harry’s hair and growled when Harry insisted on hovering. His hot breath was lined with Draco’s mouth but he refused to descend and cross the distance. “Oh, you just love to draw this out, don’t you?” Draco murmured and tilted his head invitingly. “What happens when you give me what I want?”
“Then I fucking own you.” Harry ran fingers through his hair and gently twisted the silky strands. He flicked his tongue out and lapped over Draco’s lips. Draco moaned and tried to get closer, but Harry held him still. “I already do, Malfoy. You’re mine. You just need to figure it out still.”
“Come on,” Draco whispered. His breath caught when Harry slowly pressed his lips to his. He opened readily, his lips parting to Harry’s questing tongue which me met with his own. A shudder took Draco’s entire body and he fell back flat on the floor. Harry kissed him deeply, slowly, his lips sliding hot over his. Draco’s head felt too heavy to lift. “Stop,” he moaned. He arched, his body grinding against Harry’s. His hard flesh felt too hot to touch everywhere they met.
Harry kissed his cheek and let Draco breathe and pant, and make all the desperate noises he liked. “I can make you come like this, beautiful. I can make you scream like this, beg like this. All I have to do is ask and you’ll give me that stupid fucking ring and be mine.” His mouth plundered Draco’s again, swallowing down his gasps. Draco whimpered hungrily. His fingers grasped at the back of Harry’s neck and pulled him closer.
Harry slid his hands down Draco’s sides. He reached down his long legs and pulled them up so he was settled between his raised knees where scales were even larger on Draco’s bright skin. “You want me. You want to be mine, Draco. Even before when I didn’t have enough sense to tell, you were begging for me. You lured me in with your fucked up, erratic behavior and then cut me to pieces with that cruel tongue of yours.” He licked up Draco’s chin, then plunged into his moaning mouth to taste him thoroughly.
“Harry… I think. Oh, fuck. I’m gonna…” Draco shuddered and his hips bucked up against Harry’s body. Harry continued to lick and suck his swollen lips while Draco rocked against him and rode out his orgasm.
Draco moaned weakly with his eyes squeezed shut as he realized what happened. Just a kiss. A kiss had got him off. “Oh, fuck.”
“Fucking told you, you bloody tease,” Harry rasped out. He bit Draco’s lower lip and held it between his teeth. Draco jerked and groaned as teeth broke his skin blood filled their senses.
“Yes… fuck, I could have you right now and you wouldn’t fight me.” To prove his point, Harry grabbed Draco by the thighs and spread his legs wider so he could press his throbbing erection against his entrance. Draco cried out, his fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders. “You lured me over here just to do it to you, Malfoy. You held your hand out so I’d come back and fuck you. All you have to do is admit it, beautiful.”
“Oh god… oh fuck… Get your hands above my waist, you fucking opportunistic pervert,” Draco growled out. His protests were lost with the way he rocked his hips down and rubbed against the searing flesh pressed against his hole.
Harry chuckled. With one hand he grasped Draco’s narrow waist, and with the other, twisted his nipple. He rocked his hips forward with a groan. His lips sealed to Draco’s and muffled the rude swears being cursed at him.
“Potter, you sick fuck… stop,” Draco growled. His eyes closed when Harry rubbed his cock against him, this time with enough force his entrance yielded ever so slightly to the pressure. “Oh fuck, that’s good. So fucking good… I’m going to fucking kill you,” he mumbled heatedly.
“You want it, you gorgeous prat.” He bit Draco’s ear, then licked to the soft flesh right below. His thumb rubbed over Draco’s other nipple he was twisting a fetching shade of red. “Beg me, and I might stop. Fuck, beg me and I’ll fuck you so hard, Draco. I’ll give you everything your body needs.” He bit Draco’s bottom lip again and licked the blood beading there.
Draco’s entire body was trembling with want. He reached up and grabbed two fistfuls of Harry’s hair. With a twist, he pulled himself up and pushed Harry down so he wasn’t moments from being fucked senseless. “You will fucking kiss me and that’s it. If you don’t fucking listen to me, you don’t get to fucking kiss me!”
Draco lost his train of thought with a moan when Harry’s mouth pressed to his tender nipple. His hot tongue flicked out, tickling and tormenting all at once. “Damn it.” Draco shook himself and tightened his hold on Harry’s hair. He twisted until Harry’s mouth stopped its torture. “Listen and fucking do as I say!”
Harry moaned shakily. Something about Draco being so forceful and commanding made him dizzy. “Alright, you fucking pain in the ass. Fine. Kiss, fine.”
Draco sighed in relief when Harry kissed him once again and soothed the fiery ache that built whenever he wasn’t being kissed. Between the long, delicious wrestling of tongues and nibbling of lips, Draco tugged and Harry’s hair and demanded softly until Harry found some sort of control in his mating call. Eventually, he was able to extinguish the madness burning between them.
“Oh, thank god,” Draco panted as the intense ache finally left him. He grabbed Harry more forcefully and pushed his larger form off of him. He grabbed the quill, which was now bent and leaking black ink on the ground, and the crumpled piece of parchment. “How do you feel? Better? Saner?” Draco pulled at Harry’s hand until he responded.
Yes. I still want to fuck you, but just in a normal way. Not a deranged, dying if I don’t way.
Draco nodded and pushed his blond hair from his face. “Alright… okay. We can make this work, Harry. All I have to do…”
Harry interrupted him by gripping Draco’s hand tight as he wrote. No, we can’t. The beast is too powerful and I can’t depend on you to stop it. And I can’t seem to stop myself.
“Fuck you,” Draco snapped. “Get some fucking self control and stop making shit difficult.”
I’m trying but it’s too hard. I need to stay away from you.
“What, and take away the one fucking amazing thing in my life right now? Fuck you, Harry. No! It’s just fucking sex and there’s no reason to go running for the hills every time you want me.”
It is not just sex, you gorgeous idiot. It is me making you mine. Stealing that stupid ring, fucking you, biting you and keeping you. Harry stopped and glared at Draco while he read. Fuck. And stop moaning like that. This is not going to work. I can’t keep holding back.
Draco’s eyes were hazy and his lips parted to pant. He didn’t answer right away. “But I miss you. All day today. Yesterday when you practically ignored me. And now, now you’re not even in the same room but hiding outside the door.”
Harry pressed his palm to the side of Draco’s glowing face. Draco leaned in and let his eyes close. He kissed him softly, then pulled back to write. It will only feel worse when I die.
Draco scowled, his eyebrows furrowed in sorrow. “You fucking ass, you’re not going to die. We’re going to figure this out.”
It’s getting worse. My heart stopped earlier. I can’t have you just to leave you. I won’t do that to you. The best I can do is avoid spending
“No!” Draco hissed. He smacked his free hand over the quill and ink sprayed everywhere. He pulled his hand from Harry’s grasp and with clear intent, pulled the silver dragon ring off his finger. “I don’t fucking care if you’ve given up. I haven’t. I fucking refuse. It was months of you being lost and suddenly you find me when you need the most help. I’m not fucking playing, Harry. I’m going to right you and get you back, no matter what.”
Harry licked his lips and watched Draco’s eyes flash in a familiar, enticing way. “You’re being irrational, you stupid prat. Fucking crazy and throwing your life away for someone already dead.”
“I know how this works now.” Draco eyes were downcast as he stared at the ring. “All I have to do is tell you what I want. Pull your hair or pinch your side. It just takes a little pain mixed with a command. You won’t be able to stop yourself.”
“You’re fucking out of your mind.” Harry groaned and got to his knees to escape the crazy idiot. “I’m dying. You can’t fucking compel me to live. All mating will do is fucking hurt you when I die.”
“Get over here, Potter.” Draco held his hand out. “It’ll be quick. Fuck, it’ll be good, too.”
Harry glowered. It was a threat, even if Draco didn’t understand. He wouldn’t do something that would hurt him in the long run. Harry’s power rose up. “I won’t do it, Malfoy. You can’t make me; I’m not that weak yet.” His magical aura flooded the room, whipped papers around and Draco’s hair into his face. Harry surged forward and grabbed the magic imbued ring and placed it on Draco’s finger. He kissed him once, and lingered, staring into the sadness Draco did nothing to hide.
It would hurt more if he stayed. He knew it. They both knew it.
Harry whirled. He used his power to open the door and refused to look back when he shut it behind him. This was the only way.
Draco stared at the closed door. A numbness settled over him without Harry’s hot presence to keep him feeling alive. “Fuck.”
It was clearly the wrong move given Potter was once again running. “Damn it.” Draco sighed heavily and buried his head into his hands. He just kept fucking it up.
Without the damn insufferable mating ache, he found something underneath, something empty and yawning inside of Draco beyond anything he ever felt. It was a hidden pain no longer hidden, now exposed and raw and fucking terrible as he bled inside.
Was it hope? Was it what was left of those flashes of potential growing inside when he heard Voldemort died trying to kill Harry? Was it that fucking retarded, childish dream of when he came back to school Harry would be there with nothing left to separate them, now torn to shreds after months of him being dead? God, he was such an idiot.
Draco groaned and curled up on the floor. He stared blindly at the pattern of stone blocks as he waited for the hour to tick by when it would be time to go to breakfast and class. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He didn’t want to marry Serene, raise a family of monsters and once again be surrounded by people and still be so fucking alone. He wanted Harry. He wanted to fight and kiss, and maybe one day fuck as long as he felt so amazingly alive with the one he missed.
This feeling now, without Harry, was certainly more dead than the morning Draco woke many months ago. He was determined that day, full of anger and pride for a life still his. But Lucius caught him. Draco was nude, blade in hand, blood already flowing scarlet across his skin and to the floor.
There was understanding in his father’s eyes with his anger and Draco wondered now if he knew because of the beast chained inside. Lucius didn’t try to convince him to take the dark mark. He offered a solution to keep him alive. Draco still didn’t fully know why he took it, except… except he failed. So many months of planning and he failed in his one chance to own his life. And maybe being reborn as some family puppet wouldn’t be so terrible, as long as he wasn’t Voldemort’s puppet.
“What can you do if you’re dead?” Lucius asked when he twisted the blade out of Draco’s hand. He grabbed his arm and pulled him up to stand. Draco bled out around the healing spells struggling to keep up with his spraying wounds.
In that moment, Draco was certain the answer was ‘live.’ Now it was clear all he could have done once dead. He just wasn’t alive anymore. It was backwards and crazy, but Draco knew being dead would be more alive than how he spent the last of his life since after that moment when he sliced his arteries with determined precision.
Draco got up shakily and stared at the ring once again on his finger. If Harry was so afraid of him becoming a beast, then he would have to leave it on. Harry might never touch him again otherwise.
He went to the bathroom to clean himself off. He tried not to look like he stayed up all night unbearably horny wondering if he was going to die without relief. For those moments he felt alive, when he feared he was going to die. Draco got his school things together, then cleaned up the mess of ink and threw out the parchment on the floor.
He stopped at the door, leaned his head against the wood and breathed deeply. He made a fist, stepped back and punched the door as hard as he could. Draco grimaced from the pain, his knuckles bleeding and sore. He took another deep breath. When he punched the door again, a laugh exploded out with his gasp of pain.
Waking up was a struggle through heavy water with limbs weighed down by soaked clothes. Kyle fought for consciousness. A few times his eyes opened but the brightness of the room made him close them again immediately after. His arm felt weak as he lifted it, his hand heavy as it landed on his face and blocked the light from his eyes only to slip down by the weight of gravity.
It took longer for his thoughts to make sense. He could feel them, a buzz beneath the dryness of his mouth, grit of his eyes, the throb of his head and backside. As he clawed his way to awareness, Kyle found fear. His heart began to race, adrenaline flooded him and his pupils expanded. His chest heaved in a gasp of breath. Kyle grabbed at his throat, struggling to breathe as he was flooded by the echo of memory that knocked him out.
“Fuck… Fuck.” He broke down into a fit of coughs, heaved sideways and fought valiantly not to vomit. His head pounded, his body jittery. The light bouncing off the white tile of the bathroom was an assault on his senses.
Kyle fumbled to his knees. He stopped and grabbed the wall as the room spun and the urge to throw up again hit him. His hand was moving before he could fully discern his thoughts. He searched his pockets blindly and hissed in agitation when they didn’t reveal his phone. Eyes squinted, he looked around him on the floor, his dread growing.
“Joshy.” He grasped the wall and forced his trembling legs to stand. His shoulder hit the wall hard and Kyle rolled and gasped as he leaned against the cool tile. Fuck, what the fuck did Nick dose him with? Darkness edged his sight like he was moments from passing out.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, using the wall as a support as he tried to get his confused thoughts to focus. Eventually he noticed the counter and the way things were lined up along the edge. A wallet, watch, pocketknife, two pens, car keys and a cell phone. Kyle reached a hand behind him and patted his back pocket. No, that was definitely his wallet on the counter top.
He reached for his watch, his brow furrowed when he found the glass front cracked. Nick stayed long enough to strip him of his possessions and lay them out, like he wanted him to know just how fucking helpless he’d been. Kyle started carrying a knife with him but hadn’t even thought to use it when actually in danger. It felt like a slap on top of everything else as he pocketed it. He opened his wallet and frowned grimly when he saw nothing missing but all his cards and cash removed from their respective spots and thrown in the middle. On top was a picture of Joshua, the one he kept in the wallet behind his license.
Anger pulsed through Kyle and spurred him into action. He stuffed his wallet into his back pocket and grabbed his cell phone. He snarled when he saw he had no reception in the bathroom. He never got a signal in the fucking building and today was no different. He grabbed the rest of his things and pushed from the wall only to clutch the counter desperately when the room rocked dizzily. Fuck. He didn’t have time for this bullshit.
His steps were unsteady and body hunched forward for balance as he made his way to the doorway. The handle didn’t budge when he grabbed it. Fear tightened in his gut until he saw the simple turn lock at eye level. He fumbled and spun the metal latch until the door clicked open. When he wrenched it open, he found a set of keys still in the lock hanging from the door.
Kyle stared at the janitor keys as his thoughts tripped in his head. Why would Nick leave his keys? Did he not need them anymore? Had he stolen them to begin with or just realized he’d be hunting the fucker down through every personal record he could get his hands on until he found him?
No closer to an answer, Kyle pulled the keys free and pocketed them. It was then he noticed his shirt was torn and cum stained his t-shirt beneath. His belt buckle was undone and hanging loose. He tried to tidy himself as best as his tilting perspective would allow. Not that it mattered. The windows looking outside were growing dark as the sun set. Kyle had lost an entire day.
The moment Kyle started moving again, his knees threatened to give out. He considered his options as he stumbled to the elevators. Nick was hours ahead of him. Joshua’s college was over three hours away by car. Nick would have made it by now, if he left the moment he knocked him out. But that didn’t mean he had Joshua, not yet. Joshua was smart, he was resourceful, and he would know enough to keep a look out for the psycho who broke into their house.
Fuck, he hoped so.
Kyle mashed the elevator button and growled under his breath as he waited. His eyes didn’t want to focus no matter how much he blinked. He wanted to call the police. He wanted to call them and have them get ahead and find the fucker but he couldn’t trust Nick to not hurt Joshua if he did. Nick wanted his loyalty. From the very beginning, it was clear the man wanted him as an accomplice, someone to seek approval from. For whatever reason, the man picked him and he needed to use the position the best he could. There was no way he could protect Joshy by gaining Nick’s trust if he went to the cops.
There was no one at the security desk when Kyle left. He wasn’t sure if it was a good omen—surely George would make him go to the hospital if he saw the bruises on his neck—or something more worrying. It was late; he was probably just grabbing a quick dinner before the night shift. He’d worry about it later. Once he had Joshy safe and sound, then he’d give a fuck about everything else.
The parking lot felt massive, every shadow full of danger as Kyle stumbled his way to his Jaguar. His fingers shook as he got his car keys out and clicked the door open. Once he was in his car, he looked at his phone again and this time checked his messages to make sure Joshua hadn’t called. The text blurred before his eyes. Kyle held the phone closer to his face, but it did no good. He could see the symbols but they just weren’t getting through to his rational mind.
Gasping for air like he ran a mile, Kyle slumped back in his seat. He reached up on the door and clicked the door locks in place as he remembered Nick’s threat to jump him in his car. How long was he watching him? How long was he planning this? Drugged but left him… Nothing made sense.
Kyle blinked, his eyes focusing on the glowing blue clock of his car dashboard. He thought he turned the car on, but it wasn’t running. His arms felt heavy as he scooted forward and tried to get the key into the ignition. After two attempts, the keys fell to the floor. Kyle groaned, a part of him worried at just how hard it was to even think about bending forward and finding them among his feet.
It was at some point bent over, his head jammed against the steering wheel, hand seeking his keys on the floor mat, that Kyle passed out again.
Wylie’s feet just hit the tile of the Academy floor, when he jolted to discover they weren’t alone. Theodore and Michael stood in the arrival chamber as if they’d been waiting. The two looked pissed.
“Shit.” He adjusted Dante in his arms while he tried to come up with what to say. Was he going to end up in Daiker over this? Five dead at the pier. Fuck, probably. Fuck.
Dorian stepped up beside him and fixed the two instructors with a bored look. “Wylie, could you take the kid to your room and get him cleaned and in a change of clothes? We’ll meet you in Master Howld’s office.”
Wylie blinked and looked to Theodore questioningly. His teeth grit, Theodore nodded his consent. “We’ll talk once you arrive. Bring the kid.”
The three left and Wylie stared after them in confusion. Dante shifted in his arms and he glanced down to meet his sleepy green eyes.
“Um… I really don’t have anything your size.”
There was no way Wylie was letting the small kid go until he was clean of the days of filth and dusty crate clinging to him. Dante grumbled the entire time he was scrubbed down while determinedly trying to fall back asleep. Why Dorian couldn’t have just cast a cleaning spell was beyond him, but Wylie suspected it was so he could talk to Michael and Theodore alone. What they were talking about Wylie was dying to know.
He was right; he owned nothing that would fit Dante. Staring in frustration at his bureau after throwing a clean shirt on, Wylie eventually turned, and fixed his sights on the sleeping fox shifter he shared a room with. Fox was half a head shorter than him. He wasn’t as small as the diminutive Dante, but a lot closer than he was. He tiptoed to his dresser and pulled out the first warm sweatshirt he found. He tossed it and a pair of clean boxers at Dante, who was watching curiously from the bathroom doorway. Fox wouldn’t mind. Probably.
Wylie grinned at just how ridiculous Dante looked in the sweatshirt that reached down to his knees. He held his hand out and Dante quickly took it.
He led him down to Theodore’s office; the dragon shifter preferred the lower levels of the Academy. Dante peered into open doors curiously and only swayed a little as he fought off sleep. The building was quiet but the peace didn’t last when they pushed into Theodore’s room.
“I don’t need a fucking collar,” Dorian said tightly to Michael, who continued to hold a null-collar up in front of him. “You’re supposed to be monitoring me. Can’t you tell? My magic is fine!”
Michael stepped back at Dorian’s tone and raised his hands defensively. But of course, no sparks followed. Dorian just glared. Michael exchanged a look with Theodore and then took a seat on a black-leather chair.
“Sit,” Theodore ordered Wylie when he insisted on hovering in the doorway. “I want an explanation for whatever the hell has happened tonight.”
Wylie sat on the couch next to Dorian. Their eyes caught when he looked at him sideways. They hadn’t discussed if they were going to hide anything about what happened. It seemed pointless given Theodore’s ability to force the truth out of anyone. Dante tried to climb into Wylie’s lap. He failed twice before Wylie picked him up. Theodore and Michael both watched the small boy with twin looks of concern on their faces.
“It’s my fault,” Wylie finally said. “All of it. Dorian followed me but he couldn’t have known what he was getting himself into.”
“And what exactly would that be?” Michael pressed. His anger was more than evident as he turned his glare to Dorian. “We could feel your energy across the state! Do you even understand the risk you caused to yourself and to so many others—to the Academy—by leaving without a collar? If even one person died from your power outburst, we could be looking at a judge deciding the Academy isn’t equipped to help you guys anymore.”
Dorian glared back and only sat up straighter. “They were going to kill Wylie. What the hell did you want me to do? Let them?”
Michael growled and snapped his mouth shut. He folded his arms over his broad chest. His handsome features were currently red with anger.
Theodore leaned against his desk, and spoke when Michael seemed at a loss for words. “Are any of you hurt?”
“No,” Dorian snapped, only to reconsider and look at Wylie and Dante. “Wylie was shot a couple times but he healed himself. The kid needs help. He was locked in a crate for who knows how long. He’s a long way from home and I’m sure his parents are worried.”
Wylie leaned down when Dante whispered against his shoulder. He looked up and met Theodore’s gaze. “Dante doesn’t have parents. He was living with some relatives in Italy when his uncle took him away and told him to get in a car with some foreigners. He didn’t want to. He tried to run away but a man got a nullifier wrapped around him. They locked him up in a cage for a long time, then they put him in the crate. He’s not sure for how long.”
Michael was already reaching for his cell phone. He was well aware of what needed to be done next. “What’s his last name?”
“Salvador.” Wylie leaned down again. Dante’s voice was soft and full of sleep. “He lives with his uncle and two aunts but he’s not sure if they’re actually related to him.”
“Do you know how long ago this happened, Dante?” Michael asked while flipping through his contacts. “What’s the last date you can remember when you were home?”
It took a long time for Dante to answer. He breathed quietly against Wylie’s shoulder. “The seventh.”
“That’s nearly a month,” Wylie whispered. He unconsciously held Dante tighter.
“Well, it’s something to go on.” Michael got up and headed for the door. He glanced back with the phone up to his ear. “Make sure he gets to Dr. Rob if I’m not back in time.”
“Wait,” Dorian called. Michael stopped and held his hand over the receiver. “The kid took out five guys at the pier. Dead. One spell.”
“Fuck.” Michael nodded sharply and slammed the door as he left.
“Probably should have started with that,” Theodore observed blandly. He gave Dorian an assessing look. “Is there a particular reason you’re able to sit here with your magic in perfect control after I’m certain every magic user in the state felt your power flare?”
Dorian shrugged. He bit his lower lip and glanced hesitantly at Wylie. “I’m not sure, actually. Something happened and… well, I don’t know what. I don’t even know why it worked and…”
“My dragon ate his energy,” Wylie broke in. He met Theodore’s gaze challengingly. “Not all of it, just the extra power to keep him from being taken over.”
His expression blank, Theodore was silent for a long minute. “How, exactly, did your dragon do that?”
“By mating with him.” Wylie ignored his exasperated growl. Theodore threw himself back into his chair.
“Of all the foolish, selfish, inconsiderate—”
“I don’t care what you think,” Wylie growled with eyes narrowed. “He’s my mate. I knew it the second I met him. And apparently my dragon can help him with his power.”
“For how long?” Theodore gritted out. “Do you think magic runs out when you use it? His power will just grow back to the same dangerous levels. Given Dorian’s strength, it will be only hours from now. What are you going to do, mate him every time he’s out of control?”
“So what if he does?” Dorian snapped. He glared at the both of them. Theodore and Wylie seemed very comfortable talking about mating him like this wasn’t the first time. It was annoying as fuck to not be included in such a conversation when he was the one being mated.
Wylie shrugged and pursed his lips. He wasn’t willing to state such a claim to fixing Dorian’s energy until he had a chance to discuss it with him first. “Maybe.”
Theodore sighed in exasperation and waved his hand. “I want to hear about what happened tonight from the beginning.”
Wylie shifted Dante when the kid slumped sideways. He was fast asleep, with his head now heavy on his shoulder. He wasn’t sure how much to tell Theodore. He trusted him. Not because he had to but because he’d grown to respect him. But Dorian was there and Wylie felt awkward about many of the things he didn’t know about him yet.
There was no point hiding anything if he was serious about mating Dorian. He was. To see Dorian follow after him blazing with power, so emotional when he thought he had died…
Wylie had never felt more serious about anything in his entire life.
His decision made, he raised his head. Theodore’s violet eyes bored into him. “I got an email from Adam.”
“Yeah, the one I was with when I robbed McPherson’s house a month back. The kid that got us through the gate. Turns out he can use magic.”
Wylie was exhausted by the time Theodore determined Dorian and his account of the events were complete. Tiredness hit him quickly. His body was pulling him towards sleep in a way he’d never felt before. He still had to get to the hospital and Dr. Rob. Dante was a thin drooling lump in his arms, who breathed evenly against Wylie’s neck while he walked through the empty halls of the Academy.
It was strange; he hadn’t held someone like this since he was a kid. Sarah used to cuddle, with sticky fingers and soft blond hair every night when they all watched TV together. It was so long ago. He spent his years after the Andersons hating touch. He was afraid to be hurt, and afraid to hurt others. Something changed in him recently and holding Dante felt comfortable, not awkward.
There was something familiar about Dante he couldn’t help but respond to. Maybe it was the absolute need in him. Dante was lost and alone. His own uncle had sold him. It didn’t matter that Dante had killed those men, amazing as it was to have so much power at such a young age. He was still just a kid in a terrible situation and Wylie was going to do everything to help him out.
Dr. Rob was up and waiting for them. His easy smile dimmed when he took in Dante’s frail form and shallow breathing. “Leave him on the bed, Wylie. How are you feeling? Theo told me you were shot.”
Wylie carefully arranged the small boy on the bed and straightened. “I’m fine, really, just really tired. I think my dragon form is fixed, actually.”
“You had a full transformation? Is that how you healed?” Dr. Rob bent over the sleeping Dante. His hands hovered above him while he read his energy.
“Yeah. I thought I was dead,” Wylie admitted, but his yawn muffled the seriousness of his words.
“Well, you’re probably going to sleep like the dead.” Dr. Rob glanced over his shoulder to look at Wylie. “Healing wounds like that can take a lot out of a body, as can your first full transformation.” Turning back, he carefully pulled back the collar of Dante’s shirt and found red splotches on his pale skin. “This looks like it was made with a nullifier.”
Wylie peered down at him and exhaled heavily when he saw just how raw Dante’s skin was. “I found him wrapped in a chain made of that stuff. He was in it for as long as it takes for a boat to get from Italy to here, plus however long he was on the wharf.” His expression was grim. “Is he going to be okay?”
“It’s hard to say,” Dr. Rob answered honestly. “He’s young and young people tend to bounce back faster. But he’s been through a lot. He’s very thin and that just doesn’t happen in a few weeks. Theodore told me he’s been killing with his magic?”
“Yeah. He took out five guys with one hit.” It seemed unbelievable that anyone had captured Dante now that Wylie understood how powerful he was.
“It sounds like an emotional disturbance. Magic responds to its wielder. Dante didn’t choose to incapacitate or push away; he was so afraid that all he could do was kill.” Dr. Rob walked over to the glass cabinet and pulled a null-collar free. He returned to Dante’s bedside. “It’ll take some time to see if he can learn to keep from killing, but he might end up in a null-collar for the rest of his life. It depends on if he can distinguish between everyday stress, and life and death circumstances, and act accordingly.”
Wylie hadn’t realized just how sophisticated the null-collars were. He had no fear that the collar would burn Dante’s flesh like the pure metal had as he watched Dr. Rob click one around his narrow throat. He was grateful. He knew Dante was going to be scared enough when he woke up without his magic again. At least he wouldn’t be in pain.
If Wylie learned anything the last month, he knew the Academy would do right by Dante. He had faith in Dr. Rob and the master sorcerers and shifters, and he was certain the small boy would learn to trust them as well.
A sudden yawn interrupted his thoughts. Wylie’s body again demanded he sleep and soon. Dr. Rob looked at him sympathetically. “Better hurry off before you pass out on your feet.”
“Right.” Wylie turned to go, but stopped before he reached the door. “Call me if he needs me. I don’t care how tired I am.”
Dr. Rob smiled to himself and just nodded. There was no way Wylie would be up at all the next few days. He’d learn soon enough.
Wylie shuffled down the quiet halls. When he got to the lounge he found Dorian curled up in his favorite chair. Damn, he was beautiful.
He crouched down when he got to Dorian, and whispered in his ear, “Come on, gorgeous. You need to get to bed.”
“Was waiting for you,” Dorian mumbled. His arms slipped around Wylie’s neck and he leaned against him. “Wanna be with you.”
Wylie’s eyes closed at the words and his breath came out in a sigh of relief. He’d been brutally honest about his connections with Roth and the gang. He even worked in how Diego, the same guy who threatened Beck, was also the one to shoot McPherson. Wylie revealed everything about the terrible incident yet Dorian wasn’t running from him. His chest felt tight just thinking about it.
Wylie knew he was tired when he lifted Dorian and nearly fell sideways. There was no way he was going to make it to his dorm room and bed. He picked the nearest couch, and pulled his groggy mate down on top of him. Dorian was quick to wrap his arms around him. He settled half on Wylie, half in the nook of his arm. It was another thing Wylie wasn’t used to but felt oddly comfortable with as Dorian nuzzled against his side.
Beck always wanted him to be the cuddling type but Wylie could never feel comfortable. He told himself he was just afraid to wake up and find his scales sprouted and Beck bleeding, but the truth was he just couldn’t stay still long enough. He never truly felt comfortable except when alone. He was always waiting for the moment to sour with Beck. For some reason that feeling was gone when it came to Dorian.
Dorian mumbled something and his head tilted up toward him. Wylie bent down and kissed his sleepy pout gently. He sighed when Dorian pressed back.
He combed clumsy fingers through Dorian’s hair while his tired mind clicked things together. It didn’t matter how hard things got, how complicated it might get with Dorian’s parents or their different pasts. None of it mattered. He was going to pursue him properly. No more holding back.
He had been. Wylie thought it was because he didn’t know what he really wanted but his dragon was quick to point out that lie. He knew he wanted Dorian the second he saw him. Denying it was just telling of how much he denied all the many things in life he wanted. He pretended he didn’t want family and friends and a place to call home. To lose those things was to hurt all over again. It was easier to never dare want and chase after his dreams than risk feeling that pain.
He’d been afraid to break his heart. It wasn’t an irrational concern; it would be so easy for Dorian to break him. Dorian understood him. He saw him when so many others only saw his fucked-up demon arms. It would be so easy for Dorian to hurt him because Wylie didn’t know how to shield himself from the beautiful, brilliant, damn amazing sorcerer. Dorian could destroy him and he didn’t care one bit.
He loved Dorian Black and he wasn’t going to shy away from it anymore. Even if it hurt. Even if he failed. For once he was going to hold onto the things he wanted and not let them slip passively through his fingers.
It wasn’t difficult to find Wylie through the maze of towering shipping crates. The power radiating in the area was a beacon and any sorcerer in miles probably sensed it. Which made him wonder just what the fuck kind of idiot sorcerer would go through the trouble of protecting a crate and not mask his signature. It was just begging for a cocky bastard to come along and steal whatever was inside.
It wasn’t a sorcerer trying to get into the crate, Dorian soon discovered when he stepped up behind the gang of punks loaded down with weapons. No, it was some snot nosed amateur magic user and a bunch of gangsters, all of them human. They were camped out in front of the crate as if the thing was going to suddenly rear up and attack them. Seriously, what a bunch of idiots.
Although he wasn’t in a hurry to meet the arrogant sorcerer who spelled the canister, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Wylie get caught up with the powerful stranger either. Any sorcerer who could raise such a spell would know the worth of a dragon shifter. It was dangerous shit.
Unfortunately, Wylie was in the crate and Dorian had to get past the idiots with guns first.
He pulled a cigarette free and lit it idly while taking in the formation of men. The weirdo in the green jumpsuit looked like he ran the show. Someone was bleeding, a guy about his own age, and a tougher guy stood over him with a gun. It seemed like a good place to start. Dorian walked forward without bothering to camouflage himself.
His choice was correct. Dorian picked up on Wylie’s scent the closer he got to the guy swaying on the ground. He turned his gaze towards the large metal crate and wondered what the hell was inside it. But people were shouting at him now and the sounds of hammers being cocked were surprisingly distracting.
“Who the fuck are you!” He dismissed the man covered in scars and tattoos, who was waving his gun like it was going to do shit. Dorian turned to the guy on the ground. He offered him a hand and helped him to his feet.
“You know Wylie?” Dorian finished his cigarette and dispersed it with a puff of smoke. That got the angry yelling to stop. The men around him grew tenser when they realized he wasn’t just some powerless teenager wandering in.
Beck nodded slowly in answer to his question. He watched as the beautiful stranger moved so he was between Beck and the many men with guns. Dorian touched his face and he jumped. Dorian just raised an eyebrow at his reaction and pressed fingers again to his cheek. Heat radiated from his touch and soothed away the pain throbbing in the bruises Diego gave him.
“He a friend of yours?” Dorian wanted to make sure he was helping the right guy. Probably. Beck was sweet looking and lacked the resolve to kill, unlike the hard-eyed men around them.
“Dating,” Beck muttered while he touched his face gingerly. When no pain came, he quickly wiped the remaining blood away. His hands were shaking, likely from having a gun at his head for so long.
“Ah.” Dorian didn’t know what to say to Wylie’s ex—or what, current? Had Wylie gone there just to get back together with the guy?
Dorian licked his teeth and tried to push the stab of jealousy away. There was a mini army of punks with guns and Wylie was in some crate with god only knew what. Now was not the time to start feeling sorry for himself.
“What’s in the box?” Dorian asked while inconspicuously studying Beck, who was pushing his hair from his face. He wasn’t bad looking beneath the bruises. He had a sweet face if not a bit innocent. Of course Wylie had been dating someone before he came to the Academy. Hell, maybe they were still dating. For all he knew, this guy was waiting patiently for Wylie to get his dragon form under control so the two could live happily ever after in their white-trash gangster ghetto.
Nope, he was totally bitter as fuck. Damn it.
Beck stared warily at the large metal crate and gave a shrug full of uncertainty. “Not sure. Something worth a lot of money but it’s supposed to be dangerous. Wylie went in there over ten minutes ago and he hasn’t come out. I don’t… I hope he’s okay.”
“You should mind your own business.” Adam walked over to the two and met Dorian’s gaze challengingly.
“Fuck off, Adam,” Beck snapped. “Go lick Roth’s boots like the little bitch you are.”
Adam folded his arms over his chest and continued to glare at Dorian. The kid was short with mousy brown hair and wide, frightened eyes. He had power but it wasn’t flowing properly, which meant he had no clue about what the fuck he was doing. Hardly a threat to someone like him.
“I’m here for my boy, Wylie. I really don’t give a fuck what’s going on.” Dorian turned and took in the array of gangsters still pointing guns at him. “Except, seeing as you all seem to be ready to go on a shooting spree aimed where my friend is, I might have to step in just to prevent that.”
“Maybe we can help each other out,” Roth spoke up with a fake smile plastered on his face.
Dorian watched as the weirdo in the green tracksuit approached. For someone with absolutely no magical power, he managed to look confident. “Oh?”
“Yes. Doe has gotten himself trapped in that crate over there and we can’t get through the magic locking him in.” Roth looked him over with an assessing gaze. Dorian’s eyes narrowed in response. “But you seem to have some power, kid. Either that or you’re really fucking brave. If you get that barrier down, we’ll be able to set Wylie free and the two of you can be on your way.”
Dorian wasn’t an idiot. If there were men more manipulative and terrifying than his own grandfather and father, he had yet to meet them. The poorly dressed gangster wasn’t even close to their league. Dorian glanced at Adam’s closed expression and then to Beck’s wide, fearful eyes.
“Don’t,” Beck pleaded under his breath. “They’re gonna kill him.”
A spark jumped off of Dorian’s fingers. Beck stared at him in shock but he didn’t notice. Dorian’s magic was bubbling up in response to the sudden emotion rising in him.
They were going to kill Wylie? Fucking kill him?
“Fuck,” Dorian growled. Two more sparks shot free while he struggled for control.
“Are you—oh!” His eyes wide, Beck stumbled back when Dorian grabbed him. He hauled the shorter boy to the crate. Dorian sliced his hand down, tore a temporary hole in the barrier and shoved Beck through before he could protest.
“What are you doing?” Beck pressed uselessly at the invisible barrier.
“Stay here. It might keep you alive. Wylie can shield some magic.” The barrier plus Wylie’s abilities might be enough. Maybe, if anything was ever enough.
It was getting hard to think. Dorian felt the magic surge up and try to take him over. It wanted blood and he, well, he wouldn’t mind killing these stupid, arrogant fuckers who thought they could just take Wylie away.
Wylie had left the Academy for these freaks. Had left him. No, fuck that.
Beck blanched from the expression on Dorian’s face. Jolts of light sparked across the sorcerer’s body while Dorian’s eyes changed. His once expressive hazel orbs turned black along with the whites of his eyes. It was creepy as fuck, somehow more so because he was so beautiful. Beck held his breath and was relieved when Dorian finally turned away.
Dorian hazily took in the gang of men. The shipping crates were stacked high around them and formed a bizarre metal canyon. It might be enough to contain his power. It might be enough to keep him from taking out more than just the area and the fuckers around him.
His eyes fell on Adam, who was so small and scrawny among the bulked and muscular gangsters. He smiled and felt his lips stretch in a more than psychotic way. “Are you looking to kill my Wylie too?” His voice was deceptively calm as he stepped towards Adam and more sparks flared from his skin. “Are you planning on skinning him? Stealing his fucking magic for some shit dark spells?”
Adam shook his head wildly and stumbled away from Dorian. He cringed when he saw the blackness of his eyes. “N-Never. I’m self-taught. I don’t know anything about magic except what I learned on the web. I’d never kill someone for a spell.”
Dorian’s smile grew. “Then you better get the fuck out cuz once I get started, this whole place is going down.”
Adam licked his lips nervously and glanced at Roth. If the gangster let him go, it would be riddled with bullets. But Dorian had damn monstrous power. If he were to choose between guns or the sorcerer, it would be Dorian. Adam slipped around the sparking sorcerer and headed to the crate Beck and Wylie were in. He swiftly moved down the length and ducked behind the makeshift shield.
“Do I give you creeps the same choice?” Dorian’s voice was unfamiliar in his own ear. It sounded smooth and controlled as he stalked forward. “You’re pointing guns at my guy.”
“Chill the fuck out, kid.” Roth hardly looked impressed with his power even though Dorian’s clothes were smoking and flames just started to lick up his shirt. “You’re getting worked up over nothing. The guns are for what’s in the crate, not Doe.”
“Wylie’s in the fucking crate!”
“Stupid kid.” Roth sighed resignedly and looked over at Diego. Diego raised his gun, pointed it at Dorian’s chest, and three bullets exploded out in succinct explosions.
Dorian didn’t bother moving. The bullets didn’t hit, not that Diego’s aim was off. They hovered in midair in front of the now flaming sorcerer where they were suspended inches from his body. Moments later, they fell with a metallic clatter.
“You guys might want to start running like the little bitches you are.” Dorian’s teeth bared in an expression he couldn’t comprehend. He felt wrong, twisted. It was the first time his power hadn’t immediately exploded outward and he wasn’t himself.
Roth glared back at his men who were staring at the sorcerer like they were facing the devil. “Come on, you pussies. It’s just a fucking kid. He can block one gun, but there’s no way he can block us all. Fucking shoot him!”
Dorian glared when two dozen guns immediately clicked in preparation to fire. Wow, they were really fucking stupid. What did he have to do, start flying for them to take him seriously? Fucktards.
A vicious smile twisted his lips. Let them shoot. They had no idea who they were fucking with.
The shooting grew louder. Wylie gasped when he got another centimeter open on the chain now coated in his blood. It was nearly done. With a growl he gave a final pull. He roared triumphantly when the chain snapped apart in his hands.
“Did you…?” Dante blinked back tears and whimpered as Wylie moved to untangle him. It was overwhelmingly loud after so much silence. Metal struck metal as each freed loop landed on the floor of the crate. Dante sat up unsteadily with Wylie’s help. The chain was wrapped so many times around him Wylie swore under his breath.
“You’re like a fucking mummy.” Wylie hissed when metal burned into the cuts on his hands. The chain gave a final ear piercing clatter and fell flat on the ground in a heap.
Wylie licked his palms to heal his bloody cuts. He let Dante sway in his sitting position and get used to being unbound.
“You’re really strong,” Dante finally whispered. His rail-thin body shook uncontrollably. “Are all dragon shifters like you?”
“No clue.” He held his hands out and Dante fumbled for them the instant he made contact. “Try not to be scared when you see me, okay? I’m covered in black scales and I’m sure I look scary as hell. Can you stand?”
Dante tried. He clutched Wylie’s hands when his knees gave out.
“Damn.” Wylie’s anger grew to see how weak he was. “How long have you been in this crate?”
“I… I’m not sure,” Dante whispered. “It’s so dark. I couldn’t tell the time. I… I got sick…” he trailed off and blushed when his hand brushed over his damp pants.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like they gave you a bathroom.” Wylie tugged his hand and Dante nearly fell again. “I’m going to carry you, okay? We might have to run really fast and I don’t want you to fall and get hurt.”
“Okay.” Dante let himself be lifted. He wrapped his arms around the back of Wylie’s neck as scaled arms engulfed him. “You’re really strong.”
Wylie couldn’t answer. His rage was too great. The kid was thin as a straw and weighed barely anything. Who the fuck would have chained a little boy up in the dark and thrown him in some fucking crate? He didn’t know but if he ever met the person, he was going to make sure they suffered even more than little Dante had.
“We’re going to get you home, Dante. First, I’ll take you to the place I live. There are lots of good people there, and they’ll protect you. Then we’re going to find your parents and get you home. Just remember, I’m not going to look like a normal guy when you first see me. I have lots of scales.”
“I know.” Dante’s breath was too cold against his neck. Wylie had a chilling fear that the kid might be losing the last of his energy while in his arms, even though he was now free of the chains. He quickened his pace and headed for the door to the container. Wylie stopped short when he caught sight of an arm framed in the narrow gap leading out. He breathed deep and his confusion only grew from the familiar scent.
Beck didn’t answer. He barely glanced at Wylie when he pushed his way out the door with Dante in his arms. “Holy fuck, Wy. Your new boyfriend is fucking awesome.”
“Boyfriend?” His gaze followed to where Beck was staring. Wylie almost dropped Dante when he saw Dorian. “What the hell? When did he get here?” Better yet, why was he there? After the bonfire incident, he could have sworn Dorian wanted nothing to do with him.
Wylie jerked when he realized the bursts of magic shooting off of Dorian were just powerful versions of the sparks he had a habit of letting loose around him. “Shit. B, I need you to watch Dante. Don’t let him out of your sight.”
He carefully lowered Dante to the ground. Dante was transfixed as he stared up at Wylie’s scaled form in wonder. “Who is he?” Beck asked when he finally noticed the kid.
“Roth’s fucking treasure,” Wylie growled bitterly. “Be gentle with him. He’s weak, and probably starving and thirsty. I need to help Dorian before he loses his shit.” Wylie went to leave but Dante’s hand suddenly clutched his.
“I don’t want you to go.”
Sighing, Wylie crouched down and smiled grimly. “Don’t be scared, okay? I’m going to be right back.”
“They have guns,” Dante whispered.
“It’s okay. I’m going to be fine. Beck’s a good guy and he’s going to watch you until I come back.”
Pursing his lips, Dante reluctantly released Wylie’s clawed hand. Beck held a hand out to the boy and smiled encouragingly until Dante tentatively took it and stepped closer.
Wylie could sense where Dorian previously sliced the barrier. He pushed through the thin tear faster and with much less pain than last time. Noise immediately roared around him when he crossed the threshold and Wylie was momentarily stunned. He hadn’t realized how the barrier muffled all the sound until on the other side.
Shaking himself, he headed towards the sorcerer alight with magic and fire. “Dorian! Stop!”
At the sound of his voice, Dorian whirled. “Wylie!”
Wylie couldn’t help but stop and stare. Dorian was backlit with orange and surrounded in flames. The wood around them had caught on fire from the sparks jumping off of his form. Peering closer, he found a pile of guns at his feet. Dorian had collected them one by one with simple flicks of his wrists.
He was fucking beautiful.
A smile lit his face and Wylie reached a hand out to Dorian. He’d taken on the entire fucking gang for him, and didn’t even break a sweat. Well, besides his burning clothes, anyways. Wylie’s dragon had stopped its aggressive stance just on seeing its mate’s amazing power.
“It’s not worth it, Dorian. They’re just a bunch of dumbass scum. Not worth the guilt you’ll feel if you lose control of your power. Not worth ending up in Daiker—”
Dorian’s eyes went wide. Gasping, Wylie stared down at his chest when he was pushed back a step. Two small, perfectly round holes dotted his flesh beneath shattered scales. Blood slowly trickled out of the wounds.
“Shit.” It didn’t hurt. Being shot was supposed to hurt. Wylie’s body shuddered and tilted sideways. Against his consent, he slammed down heavily to his knees. “Shit.” He lurched forward. His face hit the ground hard and everything went black.
Dorian couldn’t breathe. Wylie was bleeding out, with his blood thick and black as it poured down his beautiful scales. But for some reason he was the one who couldn’t breathe. He felt lightheaded and no longer attached to his body. All he could do was watch Wylie gasp for air on the ground.
There was an explosion as his magic reacted to another array of bullets. Dorian turned slowly and looked blankly at the men remaining. Twelve were left. Roth’s lime-green tracksuit was lost in the dark while his men formed a shield to keep him from being harmed. It didn’t matter. Once his magic finished its quickly spiraling climb, anyone within a mile would be dead.
The moment the thought hit, it was a dam breaking of the numb wall blocking his emotions. His shirt was char and the wind swept it away. Smoke billowed up with his power. Dorian raised his hands and spread them wide. He pulled his arms down in a sweeping motion and the men before him fell, pinned flat to the ground even as the fire continued to burn higher.
They could have been something. They could have been something amazing. It was why it was so fucking hard to let Wylie go. Wylie could have been his damn life if his fucking magic hadn’t gotten in the way of everything.
God, he hated it! Years a slave to his grandfather’s ideals just because he was born with magic. And once he found a way free—at the sacrifice of Alastor’s life—he allowed himself to forget. He chose his terrible, cursed magic over a real future. He picked power like his heartless family would have instead of the one he loved.
Now the option was gone. He had chosen wrong and there was no do-over.
“Just so you know, you’re all going to die.” Dorian’s voice was hoarse from the smoke. He stepped forward and stood over the closest of the men who struggled and failed to move. It was the one covered with tattoos who threatened to kill Wylie’s friend. No, Wylie’s boyfriend.
Sparks flew from his body. Dorian embraced the feeling of jealousy. It was easier to focus on than the hollowness threatening to consume his heart. Ever since the accident with Alastor, he did everything to keep his emotions in check. Now he was doing everything to let them flow free. He wanted them to die. He wanted to see everyone die and there was more than enough pain inside to make it happen.