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Fox knew it was the worst day of his life. The universe, for whatever twisted reason, wanted to prove it.
“Damn it, Fox!” Magic charged smoke clouded the air of the underground classroom. In moments it was impossible to see, never mind breathe.
“Shit. Sorry, guys.” Loud coughs shook Fox’s short, slim form as he jumped to his feet. His tanned skin was coated gray as he raised his arms up and tried to catch pieces of the falling ceiling. Dust and stone showered down on the class of snarling shifters and sorcerers despite his best efforts.
“This is the second time today,” Wylie growled from where he was glaring through the smoke with face covered in dust and soot. He was crouched protectively over his boyfriend, Dorian, who simply sighed in annoyance at the chaos. A piece of ceiling had hit Wylie’s back before his scales sprouted free, and his blood was a scarlet contrast to the layer of gray dust.
Fox’s gut tightened with guilt when he saw his roommate was hurt. “Damn, I didn’t mean to—crap!” The unstable slab of ceiling he was holding cracked and crumbled down in a dangerous clatter around his narrow shoulders and sneakered feet.
“Silence.” Master Theodore pushed his way through the mess and waved his hand. Jagged pieces of ceiling tile froze midair, and stone and dust stilled and floated around the patients’ ducked heads.
Theodore was a shining gleam of perfection in the middle of the turmoil. His waist length red hair was still sleek in its neat ponytail, and his violet dress shirt crisp against coal-gray slacks. Even his leather dragon-hide boots were scuff free in the midst of an explosion. Dust and smoke parted to the immaculate instructor as he turned and addressed Fox. “Sit down and let me focus. All of you,” Theodore added sharply to the rest of the coughing group.
Fox let his arms fall to his side, and he plopped back in his seat. Theodore’s accusing glare felt like a weight, and Fox slumped forward with a dejected sigh. His huff of breath sent a broken piece of tile across his desk to shatter on the floor. “Damn it.”
When he first arrived at the Academy, the walls of the Body Magic class were decorated with diagrams of the magical centers of the body. After Fox’s first explosion and the many that followed from his unpredictable power, the posters were removed one by one until the room was stripped of all adornments. Now the stone itself was trying to escape.
Fox jerked when his pocket vibrated. He scrambled to pull his cell phone out before the noise could be heard by Theodore. Fox squinted at the screen and pulled it to his face as he blinked through the stinging smoke to see who texted him. “Raider?”
“Scheisse! That damn arsch!”
Fox’s gaze snapped to a fog shrouded desk where Vincent Frost was swearing in German. “Oh no.” Fox jumped up and his phone clattered to the desk. He didn’t care he was half blind and his nose useless with all the dust. Fox tripped and maneuvered around a broken desk and pieces of fallen ceiling tile like his life depended on it.
It might have. If anything happened to Vincent because of his uncontrollable explosions, he might just kill himself. Fox covered his arm over his mouth as he coughed and stared down at where Vincent was sitting and gingerly touching his shoulder.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Fox reached for Vincent’s arm when he saw the blood soaking through his sleeve. “Damn, you’re really hurt. Let me…”
“Go away, idiot.” Vincent growled and yanked himself back before Fox could touch him. He hissed from the sudden motion and held his arm close to his chest.
Fox couldn’t help but stare at Vincent’s stunning, dust streaked face. The anger flashing in his silver eyes and the grim set to his mouth did nothing to make him any less beautiful. Fox’s heart twisted painfully when Vincent glared at him through the smoke.
“You’re making things worse. Master Howld said to sit.”
“Oh, uh, right.” Fox tried to smile but failed. Vincent would rather hurt himself than touch him. Today was definitely the shittiest day of his life. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, even if you are trying to kill me.”
Fox inhaled sharply to deny it and ended up with a lung full of smoke. He turned his head and hunched over as coughs raked his body.
“Go! Stop skulking, Zorro.” Vincent waved his good hand at Fox in a shooing motion that sent smoke swirling around him in a soft mist. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
“No one cares if we talk,” Fox muttered once he could stop coughing long enough to speak. “I just wanted to know if you were okay. It’s not a fucking crime.” He rolled his eyes when Vincent glared at him like he was breaking some sacred freaking rule by standing next to him. “Fine. Whatever. Sorry to bother you.”
Fox shuffled dejectedly back to his desk. He brushed off the thick layer of grit from his chair and sat heavily. He felt far too old for his nineteen years. Vincent hated him. Everyone could see it including himself, but it didn’t stop Fox’s stupid heart from crushing every time he was near the guy.
“Dumb. I’m so fucking dumb,” Fox muttered under his breath. His gaze fell to his phone on the desk, but his attention was across the room where he could still hear Vincent bitching.
Damn it, he was bleeding. He could have seriously hurt Vince…
“Uh, Master Theodore?” Justin called out, his voice full of uncertainty. “I think my book is on fire.” Through the thick, white smoke, the orange glow of flames flickered to life.
Fox firmly planted his face against the desk and groaned. “Fuck.” There wasn’t enough smoke in the world to hide the angry scowls sent his way.
He just had to say it in front of the entire pack. He just had to open his mouth and promise like a total dumb ass. Twenty bucks. He bet twenty bucks just to shut Leo up, and now he was paying for it.
Today was the day Fox promised to man up and finally ask gorgeous, crazy, shifter hating Vincent Frost out on a date. It was officially the worst day of his life. He should just get it over with and blow up the Academy. He had a better shot at bringing the whole building down than ever winning a date with Vincent.
“Stupid, flea-ridden, clumsy arsche. Every class. Every damn class. He’d find a way to explode water.”
Fox ignored the scrape of grit on his cheek as he turned his head and peered through the smoke for the source of the angry muttering. He tugged his yellow bandanna up and sighed wistfully when he found Vincent. The guy was seriously hot, even when covered in soot and dust. Maybe extra hot. Vincent’s blue black hair, formal button down white shirt, and dark slacks were covered in light gray dirt. He looked like someone dusted him in powdered sugar, and Fox wanted more than anything to lick him clean.
“Reckless, idiotic bastard,” Vincent growled down at his ruined backpack. His hands were clenched so tight, he looked like he was going to break his desk in retaliation.
Silver eyes flashed his way and Fox froze in Vincent’s familiar death glare. It lasted a second, maybe two, but Fox’s body lit up and his blood felt like it was boiling by the time Vincent looked away with a hiss and slammed his backpack on the ground.
“Fuck.” Fox breathed out carefully and licked dust coated lips. “Fuck, this can’t be healthy,” he rasped against the desk as he tried to will his erection away.
The things he would do to Vincent Frost if he wasn’t certain he’d be cursed dead an instant later. He made him crazy. Like, crazy crazy. Fox couldn’t be in the same room as him without feeling flustered as fuck. And when Vincent swore at him, usually in sexy German while looking ready to murder? Hell, it made him want to be a total bastard just to get Vincent to hit him, touch him, glare until he saw him and only him.
“I’m so fucked.” Fox pulled his bandanna down to cover his eyes. Looking at Vincent was torture. The guy was impossibly sexy in a way that said he didn’t even care. All the sorcerers at the Academy looked like models, but Vincent—fuck, he looked like an emo prince straight out of a magazine. One who seriously needed to get laid.
He was pretty sure Vincent had never been with anyone, and not just because he had that whole unattainably hot thing going on. No, it had more to do with how angry and defensive he was, not to mention oblivious as fuck to any and all social situations. When Fox considered the many cutting words that fell from Vincent’s lush, sexy lips on a regular basis, he doubted anyone would hang around once he opened his mouth.
Vincent might actually be a really terrible person.
“Doomed. I’m totally doomed,” Fox groaned.
“Dude, you’re whining.” Forest leaned sideways and elbowed him on the shoulder. “Stop sulking. At least he didn’t hex you.”
The smoke was starting to clear enough so Fox’s dejected expression was visible to anyone who looked his way. Forest’s desk was right next to his, and had received the brunt of the latest magical explosion. The wood tried to light, but the anti-fire wards placed on the furniture only allowed the tabletop to char black. Unlike Justin’s book, which hadn’t survived but disintegrated into curls of ash before Theodore got to him.
“I’m doomed,” Fox sighed dramatically and with feeling.
Forest silently rolled lamp-yellow eyes. The unique leopard spot pattern colored over his skin was marred by dark soot, but he was otherwise unharmed. “It was just one explosion,” Forest offered after a moment. He met Fox’s orange eyes when he huffed. “Fine, this hour. So what if you’re a little accident prone today? He’s still got all his hair. Eyebrows too.”
Fox wrapped his arms around his desk, ducked his head, and groaned in misery. He immediately coughed as dust filled his lungs. “Damn it.” He clunked his head on the desk and hid within the darkness of his arms. Fox stared at the clawed butterfly tattoo of his family’s goddess on his forearm, and carefully wiped the soot off the inked flesh.
Body Magic in general was his worsts, and not just because it was the only class he took with the sorcerers and sexy as fuck Vince. Fox wasn’t really good at magic. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to be good at magic, except to keep from exploding things. Vincent, in comparison, was perfection with every spell he attempted. It was a reminder, one Fox hated to face. Some things were hard to get over when you grew up with family who were hunted down and killed by sorcerers.
Fox gritted his teeth and glared at the tattoo of Itzpalotl. She was a mix of horror and beauty, destruction and protection, and it felt all too much like his heart lately. Most sorcerers weren’t about to start hunting down shifters and tear them open for their magic soaked organs. That was messed up horrors that happened in the past and the world knew better. Fox just wasn’t sure if Vincent knew better. When Vincent first arrived at the Academy and started learning English, he had said a lot of fucked up shit, things he only learned later not to say. A lot of it contained knowledge of what spells shifter organs would be needed for.
Unhealthy. Crushing on Vince was seriously unhealthy. Fox pressed his palm over Itzpalotl’s skeletal face, but the feeling he was betraying his entire pack and every ancestor who ever lived wouldn’t leave him.
Forest sighed when Fox’s pitiful, dismayed howl reached his ears. “Dude, just get it over with. I hate seeing you like this.”
Fox lifted his arms and peered at him with eyebrows furrowed. “Like what?”
“Pathetic,” Forest spat with a scornful expression. “Really fucking pathetic. You can do so much better than him.”
“Shit, it’s just a date,” Fox muttered and slumped forward again. But it wasn’t just a date. If it was just a fucking date his heart wouldn’t feel like it was twisting in half just thinking about Vincent saying no.
And if he said yes? Fuck, that might even be worse.
It wasn’t like Vincent was pure evil or anything. Well, not really. Fuck, okay, he really hoped the guy wasn’t evil. Fox groaned and buried his head into his palms. Even if Vincent was the evilest, craziest sorcerer out there, he couldn’t stop liking him. There was just something about him, something that was probably going to get him killed.
Forest was tired of watching Fox lament. “Hey. Tell him.” He reached over and nudged Justin, who glanced cautiously in Theodore’s direction. The smoke was mostly gone, but Theodore was more interested in keeping the ceiling from falling down than if they talked at the moment. Justin leaned over and rested his elbows on Forest’s desk.
“So, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to make you nervous and all. I have a feeling that doesn’t matter at this point, though.” Justin smiled ruefully and spun his finger to indicate the ruined room.
“What?” Fox raised his head and pushed his dusty bandanna back. He paused when he saw Justin’s eyes. Normally a warm brown, they were currently gold with an otherworldly, feral glint. “Shit, I’m sorry. We never should have planned this for today.” Fox sighed heavily. “Are you okay? Did I freak out your wolf?”
Justin’s smile was terse. He put on a strong front, but his psycho werewolf frightened Justin just as much as it did everyone else. “I saw Michael spell up a bed before class.” Justin ducked closer and pitched his voice low. “Go for it now before some new guy snatches him away.”
“Wait, we’re getting a new patient?” Fox gaped. “Are you shitting me? Today? Today, today? Fuck.”
“Yeah, so stop freaking out and go for it,” Forest muttered. “We’re all going nuts waiting. Just do it already.”
Fox blinked in surprise and looked around. All the shifters in the class grinned back knowingly. It was practically impossible to keep secrets from the pack with their hyper sensitive hearing. Even Wylie had gotten over his anger to shoot Fox an encouraging nod from where he was leaning in his seat talking to Dorian.
“Well, fuck.” Fox hadn’t expected this. He knew Vincent wasn’t really anyone’s friend with his bitchy personality and all, and most of the shifters didn’t trust him. Fox was suddenly really proud to have his pack. They might think he was fucking up his life, but at least they supported him to the bitter end.
A new patient. Fuck, he needed to do it soon. Fox didn’t want more competition when it came to Vincent’s very cold and potentially absent heart. It was hard enough when he thought Vince might like Wylie for a while. Vincent was everything Fox wanted, even if there were tons of moments when he couldn’t actually stand the guy.
Fuck, this was such a bad idea.
Fox sat up straighter and looked to where Vincent was scowling at his soot covered notebook. He had spelled his hair and clothes back to immaculate order already, and looked as gorgeous as ever. He also looked angry as fuck, which Fox was certain only made him extra sexy.
It was just one date. It wasn’t like the world would fucking end if he scored one date with Vincent Frost.
“Ask him now. Just get it over with,” Forest prodded under his breath.
“Come on, Fox,” Justin whined softly. “The anticipation is killing me.”
Fox licked his teeth and tore his gaze away from Vincent’s fuming form. “I’m not asking him in front of everyone. He’ll say no.” Fox narrowed his eyes when Forest snorted. “He’s shy.” Fox grinned and flashed a fang as he glanced at Vincent again. “He’ll think I’m teasing him if I ask with all of you watching. I’ll ask him after class.”
“Wuss,” Forest called while pretending to cough.
Oh, Fox knew he totally was, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He didn’t need any witnesses to his heart being broken and possibly spelled to ash depending on how pissed off Vincent got at the prospect of a date.
“Pussy,” Fox shot back. He snickered when Forest stopped his antics and hissed in warning. He might turn into a giant, deadly leopard, but that didn’t mean Forest appreciated being called anything pussy related.
“Shit.” Fox jolted when his desk vibrated. He scrambled to grab his phone and quickly silenced it. When he thumbed the screen on, he paused as Raider’s text came into view.
‘Listen, I fucked up. It’s bad. You might not hear from me for a while.’
Fox stared at the screen in silence as his mind raced. What exactly did that even mean? Was Raider grounded, or did something serious happen?
He never knew with Raider. Sometimes the simplest shit was the end of the world to his friend back home. He hadn’t heard from him in a while, either, which only made it worse. Actually… it had been almost a month now.
Fuck, how had he not noticed Raider hadn’t spoken to him in that long? Was he that caught up in his own life he completely ignored his friend? Guilt churned in his stomach, and Fox quickly texted a reply.
“Fox.” Theodore’s voice cut through the chatter of the patients, and silence immediately fell.
Fox gulped when he saw the instructor staring at him from his desk at the front of the room. He swiftly thumbed his phone off and slipped it into the back pocket of his jean shorts. “Yeah, Master Howld?” he answered as innocently as possible.
“Come up here so we can go over how that last spell went wrong.”
“Crap.” Fox winced when he realized he spoke out loud, and his inner fox whined when Theodore’s violet eyes pierced into his.
Theodore Howld might look like any other impossibly beautiful man in his thirties, but he was actually a dragon shifter, a really powerful sorcerer, and on most days intimidating as fuck. Seeing as Fox had blown up his classroom twice that day, Theodore’s normally grumpy tones were extra surly.
Fox’s shoulders slumped, and he reluctantly pushed up from his seat. He really wasn’t in a rush to fuck up in front of everyone. He dusted off his long jean shorts and brushed some of the soot from his arms but didn’t spell his clothes clean. Fox’s gaze flickered to the other patients as he made his way to Theodore’s desk. At least no one looked badly wounded. The four sorcerers in the class were already sleek and shiny again in contrast to the ruffled, dusty shifters content to wait to shower.
Fox stopped next to Theodore and tried to ignore the anxious gazes fixed on him. He wasn’t great at magic, but Fox was determined not to make an ass of himself while everyone was watching.
Theodore threw his long, red ponytail over his shoulder and waved impatiently for Fox to start.
Fox’s eyes darted to where Vincent was sitting. He relaxed slightly when he saw Vincent looked more bored than vengeful at the moment. The guy was a hard read. Oh, he was pretty sure Vincent hated him most days, but sometimes… Sometimes they could hold a conversation. Some days Vincent looked at him like he was a person. Sure, he didn’t see him as one he necessarily wanted to talk to, but a person nevertheless.
Vincent pushed his hair from his face, and Fox bit his lower lip. Damn, he was hot, and so out of his league. Vincent was absolutely beyond anything he could ever hope to reach.
“Focus,” Theodore snapped.
Fox jolted and blinked back to reality. He fixed on Theodore’s scowl and couldn’t help but grin. “Hey, I totally got this.”
He turned his cocky smile to his classmates, who only grew more unsettled as he straightened and puffed up with bravado. Fox stared down at his hands with brow furrowed in concentration and deliberately brought them together in front of his body. Power sparked, and a white current of energy moved from the tips of his fingers and arced between his palms.
“See? Fucking cake.” Fox beamed, oblivious to the way everyone was holding their breath.
Theodore stepped forward with a book in hand. “All this requires is for you to direct the energy circling in your body to flow through another object.” He raised the book and placed it so the spine was nearly touching the current flowing between Fox’s hands. “Don’t let the object cut the power stream. You need to feel the book with your magic and then allow your power to flow through. Carefully,” Theodore added sternly. “You’re trying to create a safe current so your power can leave your body and return, not destroy everything you touch.”
Someone scoffed, and Fox’s attention jumped from his hands to where Vincent was sitting. He watched with narrowed eyes when Vincent mouthed under his breath, “All he does is destroy everything.”
Bastard. He tried really fucking hard not to blow shit up. It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose.
“Pull it back, Fox. You’re spiking power levels again,” Theodore warned.
Fox started and focused back on his hands. A drop of sweat trailed down his forehead as he fought to get his power back under control. There was a collective sigh of relief in the room when his magic balanced out.
Fox looked up and grin triumphantly at the other patients. “Told you I got this.”
“Focus,” Vincent called with a frustrated growl. “You’re going to fuck it up.”
Fox’s gaze again drifted his way, and he swallowed hard when Vincent’s sharp, silver eyes locked with his.
He couldn’t stall anymore. He had to ask Vince out before some new guy came in and stole him right from under his nose. Vincent was gorgeous, talented, and could turn his insides into pure mush with just one glare. It didn’t matter how much of an ass he was, Vincent was his, and he was going to win a date.
“For the love of…” Theodore huffed in exasperation and raised his hand to shield himself when Fox’s current of power arced out toward the class. Fox continued to stare dumbstruck at the now wide-eyed Vincent Frost who was about to be hit with his magic. “Focus!”
Fox jumped and scrambled to pull his magic back before he lost control completely. His power was quickly spiraling in a way he was all too familiar with, and he wasn’t sure he could stop it.
Forest ducked under his desk, and Jake quickly followed while Dorian swore loudly.
“Damn it. Fucking damn it,” Fox hissed. He crouched down and covered his head with his arms right before the room shook with a deafening blast.
Raider couldn’t pull his eyes away from the gate. It was tall, imposing, and dread twisted like a knife in his stomach when he saw the coil of barbed-wire glinting at the top.
Shit, he was so fucking dumb. He never should have trusted Joseph. All that bullshit about getting him help was clearly that, bullshit. He knew a trap when he saw one.
“Is this really…?” The question died on Raider’s tongue when the gate suddenly shuddered and opened on mechanical tracks. He searched for cameras he couldn’t find while his mind raced.
Couldn’t Uncle Joe see it was a trap? Raider dared a glance at his uncle’s profile. Joseph’s jaw was set and shadowed with two days worth of stubble from their cross country drive. His multi-toned gray hair was in a ponytail at his nape and flowed down the back of his worn jean jacket. His eyes were fixed ahead as he waited for the way to clear, and Raider had the distinct impression he was trying really hard to act like none of this was as terrifying as it was.
Raider stared back at the black metal gate with his lips pursed in an anxious frown. What if this was Joseph and Vicky’s plan all along? Were they leaving him there to die? There would be no escape from this cage.
He could smell it on the metal bars set so close together he’d never be able to squeeze through in his raccoon form. It smelled like death. Raider couldn’t say exactly what magic smelled like; it was sort of a mix of ozone, impossibility, and absolute terror. The gate opening in front of Joseph’s pickup truck reeked of sorcery.
Raider clutched his seatbelt hard enough for his tanned fingers to turn white. Not only was Joseph kicking him out, but he was putting him in a magic cage. Why the fuck did he agree to this? No escape. There was no escape from a magic cage.
Was this why Joseph took his phone from him at the rest stop when he caught him texting? Why turn his service back on if he wasn’t going to let him use it? What if he wanted to make sure he was locked up with no possible way for help to get to him first?
Why the fuck was there magic and barbed wire on the gate?
The beige, worn interior of the truck felt like it was closing in on him. Raider’s fingers twitched as he fought the impulse to throw the door open and bolt. His breath came out in desperate gasps he valiantly tried to keep under control. He had spent the majority of his life pretending he wasn’t freaking out. Most days it was the only way to make it through, but this time it was really hard. This time he knew he was being sent to his death.
Raider grabbed the seat cushion to keep from reaching for the door handle. His fingers bit sharply into the cracked vinyl and he gripped hard to hide the tremor of his limbs.
He promised to try—it’s a trick. They’re locking him in—but he promised. For Joseph. For Vicky. He promised. He fucked up and he wanted to make it right.
Tall conifers swarmed around them and encased the pickup truck in cold shadows. Raider huddled in the passenger seat as the gates shut behind them and locked them in. Small tremors shook his body that had nothing to do with the freezing temperatures outside. Joseph was oblivious as he maneuvered around snow ladened pine trees and fallen branches that littered the rarely used road. The dark of the forest felt it like an oppressive weight on Raider’s chest.
They didn’t believe him. No one believed him. Aunt Vicky said he could come home once he was better, but there was no fixing a fucking curse.
Raider felt the familiar sting of tears, and he forced his gaze to the window. The whole thing was such bullshit. He didn’t do anything. That asshole sorcerer cursed him and now his life was over. What did they want him to do, just let Helu kill him so Joseph could see how things really happened?
Raider felt a fresh wave of shame as he remembered how Joseph had to tranq him. Cursed or not, he fucked up bad. If Joseph hadn’t gotten to him first, the cops might have, or worse, the shifter patrol. It didn’t matter Raider hadn’t hurt anyone. No one cared he didn’t have fangs or the killing instinct like a predator shifter. If he’d been caught by the authorities acting the way he had, he would have been shot just because he could shift.
Raider had foolishly given the cops a reason to go looking for him. He was lucky he wasn’t killed. He was lucky no other shifters his age were killed just for looking similar to him. He put his entire class at risk when he lost control of his raccoon.
Raider huddled further down in his seat. He wasn’t sure how Joseph could be in the same space as him when could barely handle being with himself.
“Do not embarrass me, Angel. Not with these people.”
It was Joseph’s first words to him since the rest stop and their tense lunch. Raider scowled at the use of his real name.
“These people understand us. They understand why you’re like this. Don’t make them regret the help they give.”
There was a hint of pleading in his uncle’s gruff tone Raider couldn’t ignore, even though he stubbornly tried. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” Raider said flatly. He kept his gaze trained on the blurry wall of white trees. He didn’t dare meet Joseph’s eye. He couldn’t stay there. There was no fucking way he could see this thing through.
The barbed wire flashed in his mind’s eye, and Raider quickly grasped his hand and spun the silver ring on his forefinger. He was going to die there. No shifter ended up in a magic cage and lived. The wire would cut him up, but his raccoon was already judging the climb and how he was going to scale the gate to reach their goal. It was a buzz of animal thoughts Raider could barely distinguish from his own.
“You know there will be others like you. Shifters.” Joseph turned his head Raider’s way a moment, then looked back to the road. “Just, I didn’t tell you everything.”
Raider’s stomach clenched, and he shot a wary glance over to find his uncle holding the wheel too tightly. The road wound around lots of trees, but there was no ice to warrant Joseph’s death grip.
“There are shifters, plenty of them. I guess they even have a pack,” Joseph continued carefully. He drew the words out so slowly, Raider was anxious just listening to him. His uncle could be so damn slow at times.
“It’s not a formal pack. I guess it’s how they get along. We’re good in groups. It lets us protect each other. Support. We all need support.”
Raider nodded and waited impatiently for his uncle to get to the damn point.
“The things is they’re all flesh eaters,” Joseph disclosed with a sigh.
Raider rolled his eyes even as his stomach clenched in terror. “Whatever.”
“I’m not saying they’re going to hurt you,” Joseph added quickly. “But if it comes down to it and one of them loses his temper, I don’t want to see you hurt. I can only assume they’re here for aggression issues. You know how the predator types can get. Just keep an eye out.” Joseph glanced his way and nodded at Raider’s throat covered in tattoos. “With all those tattoos and piercings, sometimes even I forget you’re not a thug. Some of the guys in here might see you as a threat. It’ll be hard on you when you don’t have the nature to back up your appearance.”
“You’re worrying over nothing.” Raider really wished Joseph would stop talking before he got sick. He was about to be caged inside an institution with the craziest carnivores around. Fuck, he needed to get out.
“I might have also intentionally left out another thing,” Joseph added after the silence had a chance to stretch again.
“Uncle Joe,” Raider growled in exasperation. “We’ve been driving for over forty hours, and this is when you drop all this shit on me?”
Joseph coughed awkwardly and glanced to where Raider was scowling. “I wanted to make sure we were on the grounds so if you made a run for it, I wouldn’t have to chase you again.”
Deep, fathomless black eyes glared Joseph’s way. A spark of terror flashed in the silent depths right before Raider turned back to the window. He didn’t want his uncle to see his fear. Uncle Joe knew him too well, and right now that terrified him more than anything.
When most people looked at Raider, they didn’t see a scared twenty year old. They only saw the tattooed thorns covering his throat and arms, his pierced eyebrows, the row of silver dotting up one ear, and the rings on his fingers. Living as a scavenger among predators forced Raider to put up an intimidating front to keep other shifters from targeting him. He got a lot of shit for his dad being in prison, and no matter how quiet he was, trouble followed him. He had lifted weights to exhaustion and covered as much of his skin as he could afford in ink to help encourage people to back off and let him be, but under his muscle and dour expression, Raider felt like the same anxious, lost kid who ended up on Joseph’s doorstep with nowhere else to go.
He once trusted Joseph implicitly. Now he knew that trust was going to be what killed him.
Raider pushed himself up in his seat. His expression was alert as his eyes darted across the maze of snow covered trees, and he considered all the very logical reasons he should run. “I’m not going to run.”
Joseph huffed under his breath and slowed the truck as they came to a tight bend. “The thing is, son, most of the staff at the Academy are sorcerers.”
Raider ran a hand through his black hair and ruffled the short spikes in silence. He kept his head ducked to hide the thoughts warring on his face.
Joseph had to know about the magic gate. He had to know he wouldn’t be able to crack it, not without something powerful. He probably thought he couldn’t get through at all, that he’d be too afraid to even try. Raider bit his lip and inhaled slowly as he forced his himself to remain calm.
It took even longer for Joseph to continue as the truck filled with Raider’s fear scent. “Also, although they aren’t in the majority, there are a few young sorcerers attending to gain control of their powers.”
“Shit.”
Raider stared with blind eyes out the window. Wire cutters. He needed to find wire cutters. Could his raccoon’s hide survive barbed wire? Fuck, did it matter when he’d be up against flesh eating predators and psycho teen sorcerers? Raider knew people his own age and he didn’t want to mix magic into that temperamental mix of hormones and cruel apathy. Why the fuck did the magic cage have to have fucking barbed wire at the top?
Aunt Vicky said it was an institution for shifter’s in need. The Academy was supposed to be a place where out of control shifters could get better with therapists and stuff, not this. They lied. His aunt and uncle fucking lied.
Raider made himself exhale slowly and unclenched his trembling fists. He focused on keeping his breathing even and watched as each puff added another layer of fog to blur the view outside his window. Everything was white, nondescript, and blinding. Death. Uncle Joe was leaving him there to die.
“You know I wouldn’t send you somewhere that wasn’t safe, Angel. You know that.” Joseph reached over and clasped Raider’s stiff shoulder. “I respect these people. The masters at the Academy don’t care where you’re from, or what kind of shifter you are, or if you have any magic in you. They’re here to help you get better, and I’ve been assured they don’t allow any behavior from patients or staff that would make you uncomfortable. They would certainly never put you in any danger.”
Raider could feel his life coming to an end. This was it. He was going to die. He was twenty years old and he was going to die in a magic cage surrounded by paranormal fuck ups.
Light sparkled on the hood of the truck, and Raider’s eyes were drawn to the large clearing up ahead where he could see a pristine white building centered among snow covered fields. It had to be the place. The Academy. He watched silently as he accessed the prison he knew he needed to escape.
The rehabilitation center was a sprawling plantation style mansion divided among low building that stretched wide but barely took a dent out of the acres of untouched field and forest surrounding it. Two single story wings flanked the center building with long rows of windows that faced the driveway. The main building was taller, two stories, and had pillars that dotted the wide staircase that led inside. Above was a balcony that followed the length of the front of the building and was strewn with green and purple vines of ivy. Even in the winter months, there was greenery and flowers spelled to stay alive all year round.
Raider’s teeth buzzed the longer he stared. He wasn’t close enough to say for certain, but even from the distance of the driveway, he knew he sensed magic. The Academy was a magic cage inside a magic cage.
Joseph parked the old pickup and turned the engine off. He joined Raider in staring at the intimidating structures. When he finally spoke, his words were weighted. “I know this is hard on you, but you need to trust me and the masters. They can help you, Angel.”
Raider had to grit his jaw to keep down the sob rising in his throat. He clenched his fists in his lap and stared at the way the tattoos on his fingers were hidden by the thick silver rings he wore.
“Uncle Joe, what if I promise? I mean really promise to never do it again?” The words wanted to stick in his throat, but Raider choked them out. Admitting just how much he wanted to go home felt like a betrayal to the raccoon quaking in terror inside him.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t just stay and die in this place.
Joseph sighed as he stared at Raider’s bowed head. “Son, if I thought you could do this on your own, we wouldn’t be here. But you can’t. I know it and you know it. You have a problem bigger than you, and you need help from people who understand.”
Raider swallowed hard as he felt Joseph’s eyes on him. Neither of them mentioned Lucus, although they were both thinking of him. Raider swore he wouldn’t end up messed up like his dad and addicted to the bottle. He stayed out of trouble the best he could. Just… just some things weren’t always in his control.
“It’s your nature, Angel.”
“Which makes this entire thing pointless,” Raider whispered bitterly. “You should have let them shoot me. I can’t stop what I am.”
He was always going to be his father’s son, a fuck up to the very end.
“Raider…” Joseph sighed again and slowly pocketed the keys. “This place is going to prove you wrong. I know you’re afraid, but the masters aren’t like the sorcerers back home. I promise you.” Joseph pointed to the windshield and the Academy on the other side. “Every person in that building is going through something similar to you. This is just people helping people. There aren’t sorcerers or shifters in there, just people like us.”
Liar. Raider glared at his clenched fists. Joseph was lying to him with a straight face and it somehow hurt more than the fact he was locking him up and leaving him there to die.
The truck shifted and an icy breeze swept in when Joseph opened the driver side door and stepped out. Raider stared stonily at his hands, and felt more than saw his uncle walk around and open up his door. The air that blew in was chilling and full of strange, frightening scents.
“Grab your bags. I’m going to go up and give a knock on the door.” Joseph left the door open but Raider refused to move. Joseph waited a few moments and eventually stepped away.
Raider desperately grasped for a plan. Did Joseph still have his phone? Could he get it from him before he was dragged inside and then make a run for the gate? He was already locked in and Joseph would have sorcerers to help hunt him down. He needed to find a way out that wouldn’t…
He could hide in the truck! Raider’s gaze darted around the enclosed space. He could shift, tear open the seats, and burrow into the foam and padding to hide. If Joseph thought he ran for it, he wouldn’t think to search the truck, and eventually he’d have to give up and drive home. Just, his raccoon was too big. Maybe he could fit underneath. The ninja movies always made it look easy to hold onto the bottom of a car.
He didn’t have to get far, just to the other side of the gate. No one knew him there. No one would even look for him…
A hand fell on his shoulder, and Raider jumped. His eyes flew up to find Joseph holding his duffel bag with a stern expression in his eyes. Raider felt brittle, like he might shatter from the simple touch.
“We’ll go in together,” Joseph said reassuringly. “These are good people, and I’m going to stick around so you can see. You don’t need to be afraid.”
Tears stung at his eyes, and Raider quickly pushed past his uncle and out into the cold before he could see.
Fuck him. Fuck him for throwing him away and then pretending to give a fuck.
Raider stared down at his sneakers as he tried to get ahold of himself. The wind bit through his thin, blue and white t-shirt and he wrapped his arms around his torso. He wasn’t dressed for winter, used to a much hotter climate. The big hole over the knee in his jeans allowed the freezing temperature to seep in, and goosebumps raised all over his skin. He ignored Joseph’s persistent sighs as he heaved the last of Raider’s bags out of the truck bed. Raider grabbed the strap of his duffel bag left at his feet and shouldered it as he suspiciously glared around the area.
He’d never been up North before and he already hated the bone chilling cold and strange white flurries in the air. There were no brambles or cacti to protect him from hunters, and the untouched snow made everything visible to sharp predator eyes even if the uneven terrain offered more possibility of hiding places. The snow was the worst. It had already found its way through the holes in his sneakers, and now his socks were full of water and his toes freezing. Raider already hated everything connected to the Academy including the weather.
Raider’s steps were heavy with reluctance as he dragged his bag up the driveway and onto the wide expanse of white stairs that led up to the main entrance. There wasn’t any snow here, not even a flake to mar the surface of the steps, and he sniffed the air suspiciously for magic. The wind shifted and Raider stilled while his raccoon curled up tight within.
Shifters. Predators. They were unfamiliar to his nose, but there was a similar hue to the new musks that screamed fangs, death, and blood. What Raider was seeking he found as well, and his raccoon quaked when they recognized the spine tingling scent of sorcery. The reality of his situation hit him hard as he stared up at the large double doors. He was going to be rooming with sorcerers and flesh eaters. He was going to be trapped in an institution for an unknown amount of time, cursed with a spell that made him completely vulnerable, with no claws or fangs to protect him from the beings stronger and more deadly than he could ever hope to be.
Run. He needed to run or curl up into a ball on the concrete until he woke up from this nightmare.
Raider turned back and his eyes sought the road through the wall of trees Uncle Joe’s truck had taken when they drove in. The forest looked darker from his current vantage, and the trees blocked all signs of the gate he needed to find a way over if he was ever going to get free. He didn’t know where he’d run once he got out of there, but it had to be better than the death trap he was walking into.
“Are you feeling okay?” Joseph stepped up beside him and pressed the back of his hand to Raider’s forehead before he could duck away. Joseph frowned and peered worriedly into his glassy eyes. “You better see the nurse once you’re checked in. I think you caught the shifter flu going around.”
Raider groaned and heaved his bag higher on his shoulder. Could the day get any worse?
He slogged after Joseph, his legs feeling heavier and heavier the closer he got to the Academy doors. He glared at the ornately carved wooden doors and the old fashioned door knockers in the center of both. If the Academy wasn’t an evil mansion of doom, they sure as fuck were doing all they could to make him expect a vicious, slavering beast to great them the moment the doors opened.
Raider sneered as he studied the elaborate molding, pillars, high tech buzzer system, and every aspect of the doorway that screamed wealth. It was just like a bunch of self-important sorcerers to open a fancy ass rehab center for the shifters they terrorized. If he had known it was a furry charity center, he never would have agreed to this. Fuck, if he knew any of the shit he learned the last ten minutes, he would have never gotten into the truck back in Arizona.
“There’s one other thing I failed to mention.” Joseph shot Raider a long side glance as he pressed the buzzer next to the door.
“Damn it, Uncle Joe. Seriously?” He was as good as dead, and Joseph just kept piling shit on top of it all.
Joseph grinned sheepishly and gripped the back of his neck. “This one isn’t that bad. Actually, I think you’re going to be pleased. I happened to have a chat with the Alvarezes before we headed out. They were surprised to hear just where you were going.”
“Wait, you spoke to Fox? When? Why?” Raider narrowed his eyes. Why would Fox ever talk to his uncle? Or had Joseph been screening his calls? Was this why he took his phone, just so he could keep his friends from talking to him?
“His father. Rafael needed some fencing, and we got to talking about your situation.”
Oh no. Raider winced and gritted his teeth. “Why are you telling the Alvarezes I’m being sent to an institution for idiot shifters who can’t control themselves? I thought you didn’t want me embarrassing you with all this?”
“Hey, you are not an embarrassment,” Joseph insisted as he met Raider’s glare. “You coming here is a good thing, Angel. Vicky and I are really proud of you. As long as you give it your all and do right by yourself, I know you’re going to be just fine.”
Raider huffed and turned back to the door. If Joseph and Vicky really gave a fuck, they wouldn’t be leaving him there to die.
“As I was saying, about the Alvarezes…” Joseph trailed off when one of the solid, wooden double doors clicked and started to swing open.
Raider tensed and his senses flipped to hyper alert. Magic. Through the gap he smelled magic. The door creaked as it opened wider and revealed a sorcerer standing on the other side. Raider barely got an impression of the man before his raccoon reared up in terror.
Run. Now. Run and survive.
Raider bristled as electricity charged through his nerves, but his legs were frozen in place. He said he’d give it a shot. He promised he’d try—but Uncle Joe lied about everything!
Flesh eaters. Sorcerers. It was an actual building of death! They wanted to cage him with killer monsters where there would be nowhere to hide, no way to protect himself…
“Master Whiteheart?” Joseph hesitated only a moment before reaching out to shake the instructor’s outstretched hand.
“Please, call me Michael. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Michael’s smile was welcoming and warm. His tanned face took to the expression easily with his perfectly white teeth and sparkling blue eyes. “After so many phone calls, I feel like we’re old friends.”
Michael turned his friendly grin to Raider, who stared horror-struck at the hand now reaching toward him. “And you must be Angel. I was just getting your room set up. You’ll be able to put your bags in there and meet the other guys once their class gets out.”
Raider couldn’t get his legs to move. They lied. His aunt and uncle lied. What if this was a money thing? What if they were just sick of taking care of him and this was how they got rid of him for good? Did they sell him to these sorcerers to be killed? Was there a fake report circulating that he died at the museum and that was why he wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone? His dad was in jail and his mom left years ago. There was no one to give a fuck if he disappeared and was murdered on the other side of the country.
Raider’s breath caught, and his each inhale was quicker and sharper than the last. His legs, once so frozen they couldn’t move, began to quake. The world tilted sideways as he managed a faltering step back.
Run. He needed to run. Run and survive and get the fuck out of the magic cage of death.
Michael grasped Raider’s trembling fingers and everything slammed to a stop. His hand was burning hot, large, and had calluses not first seen. From far away Raider heard his breath draw out in a slow expulsion of sound.
The hand holding his pulled Raider right out of his terrified raccoon mind and left him blinking at the startling white world. Chilled air prickled his flushed skin and cement was solid beneath his worn sneakers. When Raider inhaled, all he could smell was the stranger in front of him. Not his magic, but something that permeated deeper. Raider’s brain clicked with each identification: cinnamon, slow roasted coffee, old books next to a fireplace, brisk cedar.
“Angel, I’m Michael Whiteheart. I’m one of the live-in caretakers at the Academy.”
Everything felt unreal, too real when Raider looked up and met Michael’s intense eyes. There was something in those blue eyes that made Raider want to run and push forward all at once. He could see him; Michael could see him. The jolt of connection twisted something in Raider’s chest to damning to bear, and his vision blurred.
Raider wrenched free with a gasp and turned away. He quickly wiped his confusing tears away with the back of his wrist. Holy shit, what the fuck was wrong with him?
Michael tilted his head in concern. “Are you…?”
“It’s Raider, uh, sir. Only my family calls me Angel,” Raider muttered and tried to cover his fluster. He glared down at Michael’s hand and took a deliberate step back so it couldn’t reach him.
It had to be a spell. Michael fucked him up with just a touch. Raider felt completely off balanced. It was like the world around him had changed colors but in a way he couldn’t discern. Everything was brighter, sharper and more vibrant. It had to be a spell, but what he had no clue.
Raider scratched at his hair anxiously while he cautiously moved his gaze up Michael’s arm. He took in pieces of the sorcerer as he tried to come to terms with just what the hell happened.
Michael was weird looking. He was tall, muscular, and practically glowed with magic. His short, golden hair had a soft curl that teased at his forehead in contrast to his piercing, deep blue eyes, and he had the most perfect white teeth Raider had ever seen. Ever. Michael was a demigod with a fantastic model smile, breathtaking and relaxed, and it set every nerve Raider had on edge.
Most people didn’t look like gods, most people who weren’t sorcerers, anyways. Raider grew up knowing to be wary of unnatural beauty the same way to fear eyes that spoke of death. All shifters looked at him like he was prey. Michael’s eyes didn’t have the familiar death glare that set his raccoon off, though. No, something about this man made Raider’s inner raccoon calm in a way nothing had before.
Dangerous. Whiteheart was a sorcerer. Even if his eyes appeared normal, Raider still felt like prey in his gaze.
“Raider, I’m the human reintegration specialist for the Academy,” Michael informed him calmly.
At the use of his nickname, Raider met Michael’s gaze and immediately looked away. Michael didn’t seem phased at his erratic behavior and continued with a smile. “I have a few different jobs around here, but the big one is being available to talk. Now Theodore is in charge of the shifters. As a shifter himself, he can offer a much needed insight I can’t always provide. But that doesn’t mean you can’t come to me if you have any questions or concerns.”
Michael nodded to Joseph, who was watching Raider intently. “Your uncle informed me about your lack of exposure to positive sorcerers in your life. It’s my hope I can help you see we’re not all bad.”
Raider nodded silently and avoided Michael’s eye. This guy was totally going to kill him. No one could look so perfect and act so fucking nice and not be about to stab a knife in his back.
Warmth radiated from where Michael had touched his bare skin. Raider curled his fingers into a fist as he looked around the too white landscape. His raccoon was unnaturally quiet and full of curiosity instead of its overwhelming fear. It was wrong—everything felt wrong. Raider fumbled and twisted one of the rings on his fingers as he dared a glance at Michael. “Did you, um… Did you just cast a spell on me?”
A surprised grin flashed across Michael’s handsome features. “Nope, that’s just a handshake. You’ll find I don’t cast magic unless it’s a necessity. You’re not the only one wary around sorcery, and we make an effort to respect that here.”
Michael opened the door fully and stepped aside to reveal the large entrance hall behind him. “Shall we?”
Raider peered into the echoing hall of smooth tile and white walls and was hit full force with the scent of predators. His raccoon cringed, and the overwhelming urge to run the other way heated through him again.
Wire cutters or maybe a thick blanket. It wouldn’t take much to get over the gate, he just needed dark to hide in. One day. He just needed to survive one day.
Raider jolted when Michael’s hand brushed his shoulder and lingered. His dark eyes opened wide and then squeezed shut. Beneath his human terror, he felt his raccoon melt into a content puddle and begin to purr. The part of Raider who wanted to pull away, to snarl and tell the sorcerer not to touch him, couldn’t compete with the loud, internal vibration of peace inside him.
Death, Raider reminded his raccoon desperately. There were flesh eaters, sorcerers, and certain death.
It was no use. The animal’s purr grew louder, and Raider knew he was alone, trapped once again because of his raccoon’s overwhelming will.
Joseph cleared his throat. He was the first to actually step forward into the building. He flashed a reassuring smile at his nephew, but Raider could read the trepidation in his brown eyes. Even a fully grown coyote shifter like Joseph was afraid.
There was good reason to be afraid.
It left Raider with a small flicker of hope. Maybe once Joseph saw how bad the Academy really was, he’d change his mind. He couldn’t really want to have him die. Sure, he fucked up, but Uncle Joe wouldn’t want him dead.
Raider swallowed down the choking sensation in his throat as he took his first step through the Academy doors. He just needed to be brave for a little longer and hopefully he’d live long enough to escape.
Once they were inside, Raider could see how terrifying a cage the Academy truly was. Magic was everywhere. Every door, every window, and every wall had traces of unnatural power.
Raider’s back teeth buzzed as he followed reluctantly into the immense entrance hall. His steps echoed on the sleek marble floor which had suspicious scents of animal blood clinging. Raider’s eyes roamed the large space and followed the tall curved walls unadorned except for a few lush potted plants placed around doorways.
Raider jolted when he caught movement to the side and saw his startled face staring back. There was a mirror hanging on the wall so big you could fall in. It was hidden in the shadow of a sweeping staircase that curved up to the floor above. He looked up and pursed his lips as he sensed even greater magic somewhere on the floor overhead. Raider looked to his uncle, but Joseph didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. Raider was starting to get the impression his uncle might be completely blind to the dangers he was planning on leaving him in.
Too busy staring up at the ceiling, Raider didn’t notice where he was wandering until he reached a glass door on the other side of the entrance hall buzzing with magic. He wasn’t dumb enough to touch damn thing. He stared through at the corridor that seemed to go on forever. He wasn’t sure just how big the Academy was, but clearly it was larger than his first impression he got from the outside.
“Did you want to explore?” Michael reached for the handle and Raider jumped away to keep from being touched. Michael smiled patiently as he held the door open. “Most of the guys are in class at the moment. It could give you a chance to get a feel for things on your own.”
Fear flashed in his eyes as Raider searched the room. He found Joseph and looked pleadingly his way. The last thing he wanted was to be alone in this terrifying cage with psychos lurking at every corner.
Joseph cleared his throat. “I have some time, and I’d like to the see the Academy while I’m here. I’m sure Angel wouldn’t mind the company.”
Raider’s shoulders sagged in relief. Thank fuck. Surely once Joseph really saw the death trap he delivered him to, he’d rush to take him back home.
Michael nodded agreeably at the suggestion and let the door swing shut. “Alright, then, we can start with a view of the grounds. Let me just point out where these two corridors lead first. Both are going to be pretty important in Raider’s day to day life here.”
Raider edged toward Joseph while Michael walked back the way they came.
“Down here is the lounge right off this short hallway.” Michael waved to the door opposite the large mirror. “This is where you’ll be sleeping, hanging out, and taking your meals. Back there,” He pointed to the door Raider was hovering next to, “leads to the classrooms, offices, and gymnasiums. We have two fully equipped gyms to ensure your shifter animal gets all the exercise it requires. And of course, the hospital is down this corridor.”
Michael stopped in front of a doorway half hidden by the staircase. “I believe Dr. Rob is out at the moment, but it’s always good to meet the healer who’ll be in charge of any serious injuries. Broken limbs and flesh wounds are a guarantee with shifters in small spaces.”
“Oh, I know it.” Joseph chuckled and stepped over to talk to Michael. “Me and my cousins got into more than our fair share of trouble. I’m amazed we all managed to keep our limbs attached.”
Raider scowled at the way his uncle was laughing like they were all friends or some shit. He glared up at the ridiculously beautiful vaulted ceiling high above. Everything about the Academy screamed elitist sorcerer. Two gyms? He was lucky to have found the little hole in the wall place back home that didn’t charge him an arm and a leg to lift weights. It was frequented by humans, though, who noticed he was too strong to be anything but a paranormal. He ended up having to lift rocks, tires, and even an old hunk of rusted car to get exercise most days.
Raider’s steps slowed as he passed the corridor that led to the lounge. He sniffed warily at the air and abruptly slapped his hand over his nose and mouth when he was hit with a barrage of scents.
“Whoa. Just, whoa.” Heat flushed through Raider like wildfire, and he grabbed the wall to keep from falling sideways.
Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.
The hallway spun around him while Raider gritted his teeth and fought to keep control of his body. Of all the residual scents he was expecting—predators, magic, hunts, blood—it wasn’t this flood of sex scent. Someone was fucking someone a lot.
Raider nipped sharply at his palm as he tried to get ahold of himself. Mating predators were extra deadly. A normal conversation could turn into a killing rampage depending on just how alpha the shifter in question was. This particular scent was imbued with strong magic as well as testosterone.
Dangerous. Dangerous… and kinda sexy.
“Angel? Mr. Whiteheart is a busy man, and we have a lot to see.”
Raider jolted at Joseph’s voice. He quickly bit his finger and mashed his teeth into his flesh until he could get his rising erection to die down.
Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him? Whatever this scent was, it was doing strange and extremely embarrassing things to his body.
The guy had to be an alpha. Somewhere in the Academy was an alpha looking to mate.
Raider took a breath that didn’t settle with the way his stomach was all twisted. He needed to escape. There was no way he could get caught up in a scent like that. Just one sniff and he was all messed up.
Raider’s gaze darted to where Michael was waiting by the door, and then to his uncle. Joseph merely raised an eyebrow at him and stepped into the corridor that was supposed to lead to the classrooms and gyms. Raider kept his eyes fixed on the large bank of windows as he followed behind, and made sure there was plenty of space between him and the adults.
He was in no rush to explain what was wrong with him at the moment. He hadn’t expected this at all and didn’t know how to deal with it. He knew some smells messed him up, he just hadn’t expected it in a place like this. Definitely not when he was certain death was right around the corner. How the hell could he get hard over a damn scent?
Raider’s steps slowed when he saw something dark out in the blinding white afternoon on the other side of the window. There was a man out there… A shirtless man. The guy was bulked and siting in the snow, and Raider turned and squinted his eyes to see clearer. He jumped when something flashed by the window.
“Holy shit,” Raider yelped as a giant, black maned lion bounded up and took off across the field. Snow flew up around the monstrous beast and blurred the landscape. Raider pressed his face against the glass as he looked for the human who had been there moments before.
“Shit, please be a shifter.” Raider’s breath fogged up the window and he scrubbed his wrist on the glass for a clearer view. No matter how hard he looked, he could only find the now lazily stretching lion and not the man who was there moments ago. Either the guy was a lion shifter or he was the meal of that van-sized lion. Both possibilities were equally terrifying.
Raider bit down on a ring while he hummed anxiously. He was so fucked. That lion out there was too big and too magical looking to be anything but a shifter. Raider’s raccoon would be an easy meal for a beast like that. Fuck, if a shifter were crazy enough, he might think his human form was a meal. That giant lion could probably eat a person. Easy.
Raider held his breath when Michael stepped up behind him. He kept his eyes locked on the lion while he silently wondered if the sorcerer was going to use this moment while he was distracted to kill him.
“That’s Leo,” Michael supplied as he stared out at the lion. “He’s not really a joiner, if you get my drift.”
Raider blinked and his gaze darted to the side where Michael was leaning his shoulder against the window. “Really? Leo the lion?” he asked scornfully.
Michael smirked. “Yup, it’s a bit of a running joke. His real name is Leonard and he hates it. As you can see by looking at him, we all call Leo whatever he wants to be called.”
Raider turned back to the window and whimpered into the flesh of his palm. Leo was a fucking monster. There was no way he was going to survive a day in the Academy. He needed to run. He needed to get the fuck out before…
“Hey.” Michael reached up and touched the hand trapped between Raider’s teeth. “You’re not going to have any fingers left if you gnaw them all off.”
“Uh…” Raider felt frozen as Michael carefully extracted his hand from his death grip, and his raccoon’s running mantra of death and escape abruptly silenced. “You don’t need to…” He could only stare as Michael held his hand in his. Raider’s finger was red with imprints of his teeth and more than a little wet, and Michael was just holding his hand like he wasn’t completely disgusting.
“There you go.” Michael squeezed his hand reassuringly before he released him.
Heat flooded through Raider and his raccoon gave a throaty purr. He quickly ducked his head and tried with all his might to ignore the way his dick had twitched.
This was crazy. This place was making him crazy.
“We can meet Leo, if you like. I can’t promise he’ll be friendly, but he’s usually civil enough.” Michael tilted his head at the window with an inquiring look.
Raider stepped back in alarm and shoved his hands into his pockets. “N-No. Er, that is…” He hissed out a breath and stepped around Michael to put space between them. “I just want to get this over with.”
Michael pushed from the windows and beamed. “Alright then. Let’s start with the offices.”
Raider nodded mutely. He hesitantly raised his head when Michael started walking and couldn’t help the way his gaze flowed along the man’s broad shoulders, trim waist, and lingered on his muscular ass.
Damn it. Raider bit his knuckle and tried to squash the fresh wave of heat rushing through his body. It had to be that sex scent. It was making him insane, apparently.
Michael turned back to see if he was following, and Raider’s gaze skittered over his handsome features as he fought a blush.
Yeah, he was totally going crazy. He had to have lost his mind to be checking out a sorcerer. Raider bit his ring and forced his legs to move.
Everything about this place was wrong, and it was messing him up. As the minutes ticked by and large, fancy rooms blurred past, Raider started to wonder if it was intentional. What if Michael was trying to freak him out and confuse him? What if he was using a lust spell? Raider wasn’t sure if they were real, but he knew magic could do just about anything if you had the power. Michael seemed like he had a lot of power.
The guy was sharp, really fucking sharp. Even when he wasn’t looking his way, Raider could feel Michael’s attention on him. Oh, Michael pretended to be caring, to be calm and collected, but Raider felt that same buzz he felt around predator shifters. Whiteheart was dangerous.
Raider dragged behind as they toured the Academy and refused to be pulled into conversation. His main goal was to find a way out, but his prospects looked bleak as he scented magic down every hall. He needed to know how many sorcerers worked at that Academy, and if they all lived there. He knew even less about the baby sorcerers who were the attending patients. He was certain any delinquent sorcerer in training would rat him out in a second if they discovered his plan, or worse, they might try to steal pieces of him for a dark spell. How the hell was he going to escape this giant place when surrounded by all these sorcerers?
The Academy was a maze, an elaborate, expensive, spine tingling maze. Raider wasn’t even sure how they ended up back at the entrance hall. They didn’t come back the way they left, or at least, he didn’t think they did. Raider glared around the room before following his uncle and Michael down the side hall that led to the lounge and sleeping quarters. He breathed shallowly and this time the scents didn’t have as strong as an effect. Raider glared around the lounge and twisted a ring nervously while Joseph and Michael talked about him like he couldn’t hear.
Raider couldn’t get comfortable. The room might have been full of couches and chairs, but the air was full of the scents of predators. And when he turned toward the line of doors opposite the long wall of windows, he was bombarded with that dizzying alpha sex scent. Raider crossed his arms tightly to his chest and stalked the length of the room like a caged animal. He noted the couches, tables, computers and multiple televisions with a scowl.
The place was money and everything smelled wrong: predators, magic, alphas, sex. He felt so out of place and he hated it. But…
There was nowhere else for him to go.
“This is fucking bullshit.” Raider hissed under his breath and stomped back to the entrance hall to escape the cacophony of unfamiliar scents. He had to get out. There was no way he was going to survive in this place.
He paced around the front entrance while his mind raced with half formed plans of how to get over the gate and barbed wire in his way. He almost missed the sound of the door opening, but it was the secretive footsteps that stopped him cold. Raider froze, his head down and lip trapped between his teeth as he listened to the stranger who had stepped into the entrance hall behind him.
It was a shifter. No human walked that carefully, that quietly. He sniffed the air cautiously and breathed a sigh of mild relief to know it wasn’t the giant lion. Raider stiffened on his next inhale. No, it wasn’t the lion but it was something similarly deadly. Cat. The shifter was some kind of big, deadly cat.
Raider’s fingers twitched as he quickly considered his options. His uncle was in the lounge, moments away. If he tried to make a break for it, he might just make it. There was time. If he judged by the footfalls, the newcomer was almost halfway across the room. He could make it.
His shoulders felt stiff as Raider turned and briskly headed for the side door. He was considering running and if it would make him a target or buy him the time he needed, when he inhaled deeply and his lungs filled with a new scent. Raider missed a step and gasped as he stumbled to a stop and came face to face with his first patient.
“Hey.” Forest blinked in surprise from where he stopped short before Raider could knock into him. “You’re the new kid, right? I’m Forest.”
Raider gulped, his knees locked and face quickly turning red. Forest was shorter than him, slender with tight muscle, dark hair, and smooth movements. Everything about him screamed killer to his raccoon, including Forest’s fang filled smirk that appeared the longer Raider gaped. There was a streak of soot on his cheek, and his hair was mussed with dust as if he was fresh from a fight. Raider barely noticed any of it beyond Forest’s intense scent.
The smells of magic, smoke, and dust did nothing to mask the musk coming off the leopard shifter. It was a deep, dark tone that curled through Raider with each inhale and left him flushed, dazed, and breathless. Sex. It wasn’t the scent of whoever was mating on every available surface of the Academy, but it was undeniably strong and confusingly enticing.
Forest tilted his head curiously when Raider continued to stare at him with wide eyes. “You have a name, right? I guess we’re bunking up.”
“No… m-maybe. What?” Raider’s mouth felt impossibly dry as Forest’s words sank in. Bunking up? With a predator? He was sharing a room with a predator?
Raider’s lungs felt like stone as he dragged his next breath in. He fought another wave of dizziness as he drank down more of the overwhelming sex scent.
Forest was hot. Like, seriously sexy. He was dangerous and hot, and he really needed to get away if he wanted to be able to think again.
Forest scratched some dust from the tip of his nose and glanced awkwardly to the side.
“I’m Raider,” he blurted out, then snapped his mouth shut. Raider knew he was probably acting like a total freak. His raccoon did lots of stupid things, and this seemed like one of those moments. Being aware of it didn’t mean his tongue was about to untie or his feet move anytime soon.
“Hey, Raider. Um… if you need me to get them, I can,” Forest offered when he met Raider’s gaze again and found silent panic. His ears had no problem picking up Michael and Joseph talking in the lounge down the hall. “Is your dad like you? I mean, uh, no one said you were… Not that they should have.”
Forest exhaled unsteadily and his odd, yellow eyes darkened for a moment. He took a step away. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to be so….”
“No.” Raider swallowed down the lump in his throat and tried to answer properly. “He’s my uncle, sort of. We’re not actually related.” Joseph was a coyote shifter, as were all his relatives, and Raider was prey among them.
Forest nodded solemnly, and it took Raider a moment to realize what he revealed to an absolute stranger.
“My dad’s not dead,” Raider said briskly. “Joseph just took me in to make sure I stayed in school and stuff.”
“Hey, it’s cool.” Forest held his hands up reassuringly. “It takes all types, man.” He hesitated, and Forest’s glanced toward him sideways for a moment. “So, you missing someone?”
“Huh?” Raider blinked, distracted. Forest looked like he was fighting with his inner cat about whether they should eat him or not. His eyes kept flashing his way like he was just looking for a weakness or opening to strike.
“You know, did you leave your, uh, sweetheart back home or some shit?” Forest elaborated with a quirk of his eyebrow. “A hottie like you, you’re probably dating someone.”
“Uh. I’m not really…” Raider blushed hotly. He met Forest’s searing gaze and quickly looked away.
Fuck, this was weird. Was Forest hitting on him? Raider was pretty sure he was a total spaz, and once anyone got to know him, they gave him a lot of space cuz he was so weird. Raider glanced Forest’s way another quick second. Forest would probably be the same way. And really, it wasn’t like he wanted a psycho, flesh eating shifter living in an institution for crazy paranormals to be interested in him. Even if Forest was kinda, totally hot.
“No. I’m not missing anyone,” Raider finally got out, his throat too tight.
Forest’s smirk was full of sharp fangs. His bangs fluttered over one of his eyes when he shrugged in a clearly practiced move and edged closer to Raider. It made him look roguish and more than a little sultry, and Raider had to swallow hard to resit the urge to take a step back.
“Cool. That’s cool. That’ll make your stay easier, right? It always sucks to be missing someone.”
Raider nodded silently and watched as Forest’s eyes drifted over his chest like he was a meal he was sizing up. Forest might be cute and seem harmless, but he still had an inner cat that could eat him alive.
“Are you, you know? Missing someone?” Raider looked away before the question was out, half afraid he just made the biggest mistake of his life.
Forest grinned wickedly. “Nah. Even if I was, I got here months ago. No one waits around that long.” His yellow eyes glinted a deep gold as his stare lingered on Raider’s tattooed bicep. “But, you know, if you do find yourself missing someone…”
Raider held his breath when Forest took a step closer and his sex scent swam around him. “Yeah?”
“The Academy is a small place and some of us are here for a while. So, you know, if you’re ever feeling lonely and you want to talk…” Forest inhaled deeply as his eyes fixed on Raider’s parted lips. “I’m around, you know?”
“T-Talk?” Raider was really confused as to what the hell they were talking about now, never mind what Forest wanted to talk to him about later. Forest didn’t look like he wanted to talk. He looked like he was getting ready to hunt him down and maim him, or maybe just kiss him. Both options seemed terrifying in their own right at the moment. Raider had never kissed anyone and Forest’s fangs looked sharp.
“Yeah, talk, or something. Whatever you need.” Forest sounded breathless and his fangs glinted as his gaze seared down Raider’s heaving chest.
“Uh… that is…” Raider eyes skittered away as he tried to rise above the strange heat swimming in his head and body. One of his knees unlocked, and he took a cautious step back and breathed in fresh air. “I’ll, um… I’ll think about it.” He was pretty sure it was all he was going to be thinking about until he found a way out of the Academy.
“Right. Yeah, cool.” Forest shook his head and combed fingers into his hair as he stepped back. When he looked up, there was a hint of confusion in his dark eye hazy with lust. “Have you seen the gym? It’s kinda the main place to be for the shifter pack.”
Raider had, but he couldn’t find his voice. His eyes had wandered at some point and he was staring at the way Forest’s navy blue polo was stretched tight around his biceps and chest when he shoved his hands into his pockets. It highlighted the sleek, compact muscle underneath. Raider bit his lip as he tried to figure out just what Forest looked like without said shirt in the way. He glanced up, only to jolt and blush when Forest flashed him a wicked smile.
Damn it. Whatever. Fine. The guy’s scent was impossible to ignore, and he was really hot. It didn’t mean Raider was falling for any of it though. He could still smell death beneath Forest’s sex scent. Forest was all predator and he had no interest in ending up as his prey.
Raider scowled and stood up straighter in an attempt to look intimidating. He might only be a raccoon shifter, but he was strong for a human. Forest, unfortunately, didn’t look impressed by his size, muscle, or tattoos. No, he just seemed, well, into him. He was the first patient he met at the Academy, and if Forest or anyone else decided he was really weak, he could be dead by nightfall. Raider couldn’t believe he was even thinking it, but he was kind of hoping Forest would be more interested in hooking up with him than hunting him down dead.
“Come on, I’ll show you around.” Forest clasped Raider on the arm briefly, only to raise his eyebrow appreciatively as he squeezed his bicep. “It’s way better than listening to them talk about you,” he said with a knowing nod toward the lounge where Joseph and Michael were still talking. “The guys are all out in the yard running off some steam. You should meet the pack.”
The last thing Raider wanted to do was meet a pack of fucked up, psycho shifters.
He glanced Forest’s way only to find him staring expectantly. Raider didn’t feel bold enough to actually refuse. It would look weak, and he couldn’t look weak. The moment anyone figured out just how terrified he really was, they’d attack, no hesitation.
Raider gritted his teeth and nodded silently. When Forest started walking, Raider reluctantly followed. His feet felt heavy as if his limbs even knew he was walking to his doom.
Michael was doing his best to show Joseph there was nothing to fear when it came to leaving Raider at the Academy. He was trying not to act as rushed as he felt. The tour had turned into helping Joseph set his mind at ease more than anything to do with Raider. It wasn’t unusual, but there were only so many hours in the day, and Michael knew Theo was going to be coming up at any moment to rave about his classroom being blown up once again.
“Just how long will this program take?” Joseph spoke in low tones like they were sentencing his nephew to prison instead of a wealthy rehabilitation institution. His eyes kept jumping around the lounge as he took in all the new luxuries Raider would have at his disposal. “Angel’s already been held back in school, and I’m not certain he has what it takes to pass a GED in his current state. This whole thing came at the worst possible time.”
“That depends completely on him.” Michael did nothing to quiet his voice. The illusion of hiding things was never a good way to start with a new patient. “We offer a GED class for anyone interested.”
“Long, then? You think he’ll be here months?”
Michael leaned back against a couch thoughtfully. He was used to shifters being extra concerned about the safety of their young pack mates while under the guardianship of sorcerers. Joseph didn’t come off as frightened, though. He seemed consumed with guilt about leaving his nephew behind.
“These thing don’t have a set time,” Michael finally answered while Joseph idly explored the lounge. “At the Academy, we don’t promise results. We aren’t here to ‘fix’ Angel, but to help him gain the skills needed to live life as a shifter. All we can do is create a welcoming, stable environment so paranormals in need can find ways to deal with the challenges they face daily. We’re as much a safe haven as we are a learning institution and medical facility. What the young men attending the Academy choose to do with our resources and guidance is completely up to them.”
Joseph’s tanned face pinched with tension, and his gaze flickered along the line of empty chairs at the dining table facing the windows. He turned to Michael with a frown. “He’s going to need more than just an environment. Angel was nearly killed. He was unable to keep himself from the circumstances that led up to it and was unable to control himself after. He’s not in control.”
“Yes, the incident was difficult on your entire family. Angel is here to learn control. There is no set time for something like that.” Michael straightened and followed to where Joseph had stopped by the lounge exit. “This is up to Angel now. He’s an adult with adult sized problems. No one, no matter how powerful, can do this for him. We can be here to help, but that’s all. If he doesn’t want to deal with his problems, he’s not going to get better. I’m sure you understand that.”
Joseph sighed heavily. The lines on his face appeared deeper as he ran a hand over his brow. “It’s his father all over again, isn’t it? I watched Lucus take every wrong step, and for what? To leave that kid all on his own? To drive his wife away and leave the boy parentless? The boy’s going to end up in jail right next to his old man.”
“Angel is not his father,” Michael replied evenly, while fighting a surprising surge of anger. How many times had Raider heard that particular prediction from the people who cared about him the most? How many had decided he wasn’t worth helping just because of the man who raised him?
“Some people take longer to get to the place where they’re ready to take responsibility for their actions.” Michael tried to lighten his tone. “Just because it doesn’t appear to be happening the way you expect it, doesn’t mean it’s not happening. This is normally a time of change for kids Angel’s age as it is. There’s a lot being demanded of him, a lot he’s trying to figure out. It can be easy to miss all the ways he’s trying to figure things out because of the many mistakes that are naturally going to happen on that journey.”
“I guess I could see that.” Joseph nodded dully, his voice gruff.
Michael took in Joseph’s tired expression and worn clothes. “You’ve been trying to pick up the slack for him for a while now. As valiant as that is, you’re keeping him from making those mistakes. Without messing up, Angel can’t learn. At the Academy he’ll be able to make mistakes and not destroy the lives of everyone around him. That means you can go home, take a break from trying to save him, and start taking care of your own needs again.”
“He’s a good kid,” Joseph said after a pensive pause. “Just… He’s a lot of work. His father left him a mess and…”
“And now he’s his own responsibility.” Michael clapped his hand on his shoulder warmly and led Joseph down the corridor to the entrance hall. He looked around, but Raider wasn’t in sight. “It looks like he feels comfortable enough to explore on his own. That’s a good sign. Are these his only bags or do you need help bring the rest in?”
“No, that’s all of them.” Joseph stared down at Raider’s two duffel bags, clearly reluctant to leave just yet.
Michael shouldered a bag, and reached for the next. “After a month’s time, Angel will be allowed to contact you beyond letters. Your life is going to change a lot by then, and so is his. If you need someone to talk to, please call me. I know this isn’t always an easy transition.”
Guilt flashed across Joseph’s worn features and he frowned grimly. “Unfortunately, you’ve all made this far too easy. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.”
“Think of it as a vacation,” Michael said gently as he led Joseph back to the lounge and Raider’s waiting room. “A well needed one.”
If anything, Joseph looked more guilty. “These shifter instructors, they understand what Angel needs, correct? I’m not sure his father even talked to him about it. And I… well.” Joseph sighed heavily, his gaze fixing anywhere but on Michael. “I don’t even know how to start the conversation. I’ve taken care to keep him separated, and Angel has a knack for pushing people away his own age, so it’s made things easy in that regard. I’m just not sure he understand…” he trailed off, unable to voice just what Raider didn’t understand.
A furrow appeared between Michael’s brows as he tried to understand what Joseph was leaving out. “What, do you mean he doesn’t know he’s a prey shifter? I find that hard to believe.”
Joseph shook his head and his streaked gray ponytail tumbled over his shoulder. He finally met Michael’s eyes with a worried frown. “You’re a sorcerer, so I’m sure you don’t come across this much. Hell, it’s unusual among shifters as it is. It’s one out of 100 odds, maybe even lower. The boy is damn special, but it just seems to cause more trouble than good. His prey genetics are a whole different situation; it makes him afraid all the time.”
“Actually…” Michael cautiously sought the right words. Explaining to a shifter that he was wrong about what it meant to be a shifter rarely went over well. “Being a prey shifter has little to do with the level of anxiety of an individual. A healthy, well-adjusted prey shifter innately knows other shifters won’t hurt him. I understand non-predator shifters are rare, so you may not be too familiar with their behavior. We’ve had more than a few prey shifters come through the Academy with varying temperaments, and little to no anxiety among them.”
Joseph slowed his steps, his features sharp as it clicked just what Michael was saying. “None of them were afraid?”
Michael nodded as he stepped into Raider’s new room and deposited his bags onto his bed. “Angel’s level of fear isn’t normal for his situation. Have you noticed if this is new behavior since the incident?”
“No, he’s… he’s always been like that since I took him in.” Joseph stared at Michael with wide, worry filled eyes and shook his head. “You mean all that fear, it has nothing to do with his biology? Angel’s father… Lucus was never a nervous man, but I just assumed…” Joseph looked stricken, his eyes unfocused as he thought back. “Did something happen to him? How did I not notice this? Angel’s been living under my protection for five years and his fear only kept growing.”
Michael raised his hand up and guided Joseph back into the lounge. “Are you a mind reader? Some sort of seer?” He kept his voice compassionate but steady. “Can you control the chemical imbalance in someone else’s brain? I’m a master sorcerer, and I have no idea how to magically fix an anxiety disorder. The Academy will have plenty of time to get Raider’s situation sorted out.”
Joseph looked absolutely harried as Michael led him by the elbow toward the entrance hall. “If something happened to that boy while under my protection…”
“Whatever happened in the past is in the past,” Michael interrupted smoothly. “There’s no changing it, and no point dwelling. It’s Angel’s turn to care for himself. Don’t take his ability to get better from him by putting that responsibility on your shoulders. He needs to have the power to choose his path, and that gets difficult when well-meaning individuals keep making decisions for him.”
Joseph harrumphed but the tension in his shoulders lessened. He stepped side by side with Michael as they headed for the exit.
“I’ve protected Angel a lot back home. He’s very… he’s inexperienced in just what his biology is outside of being a prey shifter. I thought I was helping him. I thought I was protecting him and the other shifters from him.” Joseph looked at Michael meaningfully. “Angel has a scent that affects his own kind, and he has no idea. I’ve kept every shifter who was remotely susceptible away from him to keep him safe. It’s practically everyone with a nose, alpha or not. He had a few friends with a natural resistance, but that’s all.” Joseph sighed under his breath. “His scent is powerful, dangerous.”
Michael’s mind ticked as he began to put things together. Joseph took Raider in five years ago, which meant he couldn’t have been more than fourteen at the time. Had Joseph been isolating the boy ever since because of this scent? He gave him no explanation, no reason as to why Raider had to be kept from the others.
“I’m sure you can see how that could be a problem for Raider now he’s out on his own.” Michael offered quietly even as his mind raced.
Joseph nodded grimly as he sniffed the air of the entrance hall. “He just got here, and his scent is already permeating. He’s an adult with a power he has no idea how to use. Yes, I’m seeing how my wish to protect him has made this more difficult. I tried my best to stay atop of all this. Just…”
“You’re only one man, and you have your own life, Joseph. There’s nothing wrong about that.”
Joseph stopped and turned to Michael. There was more than guilt haunting his next words. “The anti-shifter badges were by the house. The shifter patrol, I guess you would know them as up here. I saw them staking out my land when I was packing Angel’s things in the truck. Angel doesn’t understand the consequences of even the smallest mistake when being a shifter. The entire coyote pack is in danger just because Angel’s raccoon flipped, that sorcerer got involved, and the incident ended up in the papers. That’s all it takes.” Joseph’s brows twisted as he tried to get Michael to understand.
“I know it’s not the boy’s fault, but that doesn’t change the danger he created. We’re all at risk, and he can’t come back if there’s a possibility he’ll repeat this kind of behavior.”
Michael kept his features trained as he heard the ultimatum on the tip of Joseph’s tongue. “Maybe you should give it a few months before you make a decision like that. As I said, these things don’t fix themselves overnight, but I’m sure Raider wants to be in your life.”
Joseph nodded gruffly, but his eyes were full of fear for the future. “He needs a father. I’m not going to stop trying to be that for the boy, but this is too much for me and Vicky. We’re not prepared for any of this, not at this level. Not when their are men sniffing around my house looking for shifter blood to spill.”
Michael grasped Joseph’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. The two made their way to the double doors Raider and Joseph stepped through a little less than an hour ago.
“When Angel is ready, he’s going to know how to carry that weight on his shoulders instead of placing it on you and your wife. You won’t need to protect him, you won’t need to keep others from him. Give him time. He’s going to learn a new way of living here, and that starts with leaving his old ways behind.”
“Right… that’s right.” Joseph took a steadying breath as Michael pushed the door open and they were hit with a wall of cold winter air. He fixed his gaze on his worn pickup truck. “He needs more than I can give him. It’s not that I don’t want to; I’m just not capable. And this Academy, well, that’s why he’s here. For help. Help I can’t give him.”
“Exactly.” Michael’s smile was full of confidence. “We’re going to show Angel how to supply what he needs for himself. Now, you just need to go home and remember what it’s like to do the same for yourself.”
Joseph smiled wanly as he made his way to his truck and the long, arduous drive home. Michael stood framed in the doorway as he watched him warm the engine up and pull down the drive. He took a few deep, thoughtful breaths of the refreshing air as he thought.
There were things about Raider Joseph hadn’t disclosed in their initial interview, and he wasn’t sure just how he was going to be able to contain it. He had thirteen patients living at the Academy, fourteen now Raider was included. Two were alpha shifters and two were borderline in their alpha tendencies. There was no way to know what Raider’s mysterious scent was going to do to his shifters.
Michael frowned as Raider’s dark, angry eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. The kid was defensive, terrified, and dangerous on levels he didn’t even understand. One mistake had cost Raider his home and nearly his life. Whatever problems Angel Valdez might bring with him, Michael already knew it was going to be up to him to keep the new raccoon shifter safe at the Academy.
“Go the fuck away, you flea-ridden bag of fur.”
“Come on, Vince!”
Vincent Frost found it difficult to know the right thing to say on most occasions. His native language was German, and no one understood him unless he spoke in very slow, precise English. He had, on the other hand, learned an incredible amount of swears and insults in both English and Spanish the last five months of living at the Academy, all thanks to the annoying as fuck fox shifter who refused to leave him alone.
“Just let me fix it,” Fox insisted as he scrambled after Vincent’s retreating form.
The hallway was empty—at least, it was supposed to be. Fox refused to let Vincent go to the hospital alone, like being annoying was somehow helping. It was infuriating, like everything about the stupid fox shifter.
Fox’s steps grew louder behind him, and Vincent quickened his gait.
“Vince…”
“My name is Vincent,” he hissed. “Master Howld said for me to see the healer, not you, Zorro. Fuck off!”
Naturally, Fox followed.
Fox was such a stupid nickname. It was the equivalent of walking around being called ‘human’ or ‘guy,’ or in Fox’s particular instance ‘annoying as fuck.’ Rafael was a perfectly nice name. Vincent started calling him Zorro, which was Spanish for fox, to prove just how unimaginative the nickname was. Of course his wit was completely wasted. Fox always grinned whenever he called him Zorro like it was some big, special secret.
Stupid. Fox was so fucking stupid.
Vincent’s angry footsteps echoed in the downstairs hallway. It was usually a quiet trip, but Fox kept coughing from all the dust both of them were covered in. Completely the stupid idiot’s fault, too. Vincent scowled and tried not to think of how his clothes were ruined again. Magic could only do so much. Each rip and stain was a reminder that a day would come when he wasn’t going to be able to repair his clothing after one of Fox’s fuck ups, and he’d have nothing left to wear.
“Vince, I just want to help. You’re bleeding and…”
There was a tingle of magic behind him, and Vincent stopped short. He whirled and glared in warning at Fox’s approach. “Get away from me, you furry son of a bitch, before you ruin…!” Vincent stood stock still as magic washed over him. “Son of a whore.”
Vincent sighed heavily and watched as Fox’s mischievous orange eyes went wide and his tanned face paled. Fox winced dramatically and took a stumbling step back. Vincent clenched his hands into fists and snarled under his breath.
Why? Why wouldn’t Fox just leave him the fuck alone? Since his very first day when he couldn’t speak a single word of English, Fox was right there to trip him up and unsettle the fuck out of him. It was a handshake gone wrong their first meeting. Yes, you could apparently fuck up a handshake; you just had to be Rafael Alvarez and not pay attention. Fox nearly pulled his arm from the socket when he turned mid shake to yell at someone and failed to release his hand.
Dumbass. Why couldn’t Fox understand he was the last person in the world to mess with?
Vincent took a steadying breath, but it did nothing for the seething of dread and exasperation rushing through him. The last time he saw that particular expression on Fox’s face, he singed his long, noble hair to its current chin length style. No good would come from that look. It had to be really bad.
Vincent silently assessed his body for pain and was relieved to find nothing new was throbbing, burning, or otherwise unattached from the rest of him. Decided he was at least in once piece, he inhaled another deep breath. His exhale came out in a growingly familiar exasperated growl. “Zorro, if you have…”
“It’s not that bad, I swear.” Fox said it so swiftly, his Spanish accent blurred his words together into a garble Vincent barely understood. Fox held his hands up and took another step back. “Your skin is just, um, well… You’re not covered in soot anymore.” Fox’s eyes flashed to the side for an escape route from the angry sorcerer who was radiating a new blue hue from his pale skin.
Vincent gritted his teeth to keep from screaming. He couldn’t remember ever wanting to physically beat anyone quite as bloody and bruised as he did the fox shifter. With a glare at Fox, he summoned up a mirror to see the damage. Fox immediately jumped forward and snatched it from his hands.
“I can fix it,” Fox promised and got ready to do just that.
“Don’t you fucking dare!” Vincent saw his hand and the blue color glowing from his once perfectly normal skin. “Your next bumbling attempt will probably take my flesh right off!”
Fox winced and didn’t bother to disagree. “I’m seriously sorry, Vince. I’ll take you to Dr. Rob’s. If anyone laughs, I’ll tell them it was all my fault and…”
Vincent snatched the mirror from Fox’s grasp, only to start when his eyes met his reflection. The somber young man with clear gray eyes and raven black hair was as unfamiliar as always. Vincent quickly spelled the mirror away and ignored how his chest felt too tight and heart loud in his ears.
“We can go right now. I’ll carry your stuff, if you want.” Fox bit his lower lip as he stepped closer.
Vincent blinked as the world came back into focus but with a new, fuzzy feel to it. Fox was blathering about something. Fox was always talking, and rarely was it ever relevant. He was always underfoot, usually while exploding him or his things in the process. Sometimes Vincent thought Fox was his penance for his past life before he came to the Academy. But then, Fox wasn’t nearly terrible enough for something like that. It would take a swarm of dragon shifters tearing at his flesh and organs every day for a lifetime for Vincent to ever hope to reach absolution.
“Damn it. Let me help somehow.” Fox jumped from one sneakered foot to the other. “I keep fucking up, and I was distracted, and it’s been a really tough day. I’m supposed to call home today, and you know how I get. It was an accident, and I wasn’t paying attention, and…”
Vincent’s glare fell to Fox’s slender, tanned ankles. He idly watched the tattooed flesh dance as he fought his anger. He did know how Fox got whenever he spoke to his family, and that was another fact in a line of random bits of information he didn’t want to know. Fox was always there. Always. He was always chattering about his life like he was supposed to give a fuck, or talking to him like they were supposed to be friends, or fighting with him because, for some crazy reason, Fox liked to piss him off the most.
The guy was seriously skinny. If he didn’t see Fox eat enough food to feed three people his size every day, Vincent would think he had an eating disorder. It was annoying as fuck. Vincent couldn’t stand to see someone look like they were wasting away from hunger, especially a shifter.
The edges of his vision dimmed a moment, and Vincent immediately shut the memory down. He ignored the buzz that was Fox forever talking and pushed forward. He needed to see Dr. Rob, or at the very least get away from Fox.
“Vince, seriously. Let me help you.”
“Stop talking,” Vincent snapped. He pushed his hair back from his face and scowled to find it full of dust. “You want to really help? Just stop talking, Zorro.”
Fox grinned winningly. “You know that’s not going to happen.” He jumped in front of Vincent, and his orange eyes flashed mischief as Vincent glared at him. “Come on, let me carry your bag. Your arm looks pretty beat up from the last explosion.”
“The explosion you caused,” Vincent muttered spitefully. He promised the masters he would make an attempt to talk to Fox instead of raging at him. It was just very difficult when Fox was always blowing him up.
Fox’s cheeks flushed red as he reached for Vincent’s bag. “I’m really sorry.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes warningly. “If you were really sorry…”
“I know, I know. If I were really sorry, I wouldn’t keep doing it.” Fox’s fingers curled tight around the strap of the backpack hanging off Vincent’s shoulder. “Vince, you gotta understand. You really can’t talk to me when I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Bullshit.” Vincent huffed. “You insist on chattering at me every time I try to cast a spell. It’s far more distracting than me telling you to pay the fuck attention when you’re already fucking something up.”
Fox grinned awkwardly and wagged his eyebrows. “Yeah, well, you don’t blow shit up when I talk to you. I, on the other hand… Damn, you make me so nervous most of the time I can’t help but, uh, lose control,” Fox finished with a whisper and turned his gaze to the floor.
Vincent had no idea what Fox’s new game was, but it was just as annoying as all the others ones troublesome shifter got up to. He was now inches away with Fox holding him tight by the strap of his bag. Fox gazed up through surprisingly thick, dark lashes, and Vincent had the bizarre notion he was going to kiss him. Ridiculous—he’d hex his ears off if he even tried. Fox’s tongue darted out to lick his lips and Vincent wasn’t blind to how he was staring at his mouth.
“Hey, Vince,” Fox said huskily. “I know you’re really pissed about your hair and all, but it came out nice after Theo cut it. I mean, really nice. Now you don’t look so girly and…”
Vincent scowled. There was nothing remotely girly about him.
“And, you know, maybe you might want to, um, do something with me. Outside of class. Like on a weekend or something.”
Vincent’s brows furrowed as he tried to understand what the fuck it was Fox wanted. “What? What the hell would we do together, Zorro? Well, besides me hexing your mouth shut. Permanently,” he added when Fox blushed. Why was Fox always blushing at him? Like he was supposed to dismiss the fucking misery Fox put him through just because he blushed?
“Ah, I dunno, Vince.” Fox forged on, his eyes still locked on Vincent’s pout. “There’s this really cool mall I like to go to sometimes. Maybe we could watch a movie.”
“Now I know you’re up to something.” Vincent grabbed the hand firmly attached to his bag and pried Fox’s fingers free. “You couldn’t sit through a movie if your life depended on it. What are you trying to do, distract me so you can test another failed spell on my hair?”
“Come on, Vince. I’m not that bad,” Fox said with a heavy sigh.
Vincent just glared. There were no words to explain how bad Fox was. At least, no words Fox would actually bother to listen to.
Fox smirked wickedly and opened his mouth to continue, only to pause. His head swiveled to the side and nostrils flared as he picked up a scent.
Vincent tried to pull his hand away when it was caught in Fox’s strong, warm grip. “Let go, you annoying flea bag.”
“Shhh.” Fox tugged Vincent’s arm as he took a step toward the masters’ offices. His eyes were slitted and nose twitched.
Vincent stared in growing annoyance when he realized he was being dragged down the hall over a stupid scent. How dare Fox tell him to be quiet when he was the one always making noise? He never shut the fuck up.
Rage felt like a fire burning through him, and Vincent’s chest heaved as he pulled air in. “Zorro, I’m going to count to three. If you don’t let me go…”
“Quiet. Do you smell that? I think that’s… Holy fuck. It’s really him!” Fox gripped Vincent’s wrist extra tight. He took off running down the hall while completely oblivious to who he was pulling with him.
“Zorro—Damn it—Fucking arschloch!” Vincent struggled to wrest his arm free from Fox’s impossibly strong grip. Fox abruptly released him, and Vincent stumbled forward and grabbed the wall to keep from slamming his face against it. “I’m going to fucking murder you, Alvarez!”
“Alvarez?” an unfamiliar voice echoed down the hall. Vincent froze and the world tilted uncontrollably.
Unbidden, darkness encroached on Vincent’s sight. A wave of dizziness swept through him so great, he felt transported to another place and time.
Fox shouted from far away, and cries of pain echoed in the recesses of Vincent’s mind in sympathy. He breathed in and called the air and the power it held. He pulled the life force deep into his lungs and felt it spread like a chill though his veins all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. He whispered for protection. Bladed. Indestructible. Death.
Vincent straightened from his slump on the wall. His body felt like it belonged to someone else. Someone of strength, of armor, and resilience, and not the brittle being he truly was. As he turned, he commanded the floor to aid him, the walls to…
“Raider! Holy fuck, man!” Fox laughed exuberantly and threw himself down the hall to land on top of the new arrival. Five foot seven inches with narrow tattooed limbs and a slender build, Fox literally climbed the tall raccoon shifter. He crowed in raucous laughter while the muscular stranger looked at him in utter shock.
Vincent’s reality tilted in a wave of nausea. His mouth clicked shut and he stopped all motion.
The hallway was too bright, he observed stonily. His gaze moved to the vicious spikes slashing up out of the tiled floor and white walls. Their growth slowed when he silenced his conjuring, but they were still deadly, still ready to destroy any flesh that dared brush near.
Sound was a cottony buzz in Vincent’s ears as he remembered where he was, or at least, where he wasn’t. This was not that dark, terrible place. That place didn’t exist anymore.
“Fox? Fox! What the—oomph!” Raider yelped when Fox grabbed him under the arm and twisted. The two went falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and laughing curses. Neither noticed the spikes. Vincent spoke choppily under his breath to unravel the spell work, and the blades dispersed into the air they were formed from.
Vincent’s hands shook. It started as a small tremble that began to rattle his entire body.
What? How? He was just… What the fuck just happened? He thought he was there. For a moment he truly heard their voices and felt the aura of death all around him…
Something moved further down the hall, and Vincent’s gaze snapped to Forest. He could tell from the leopard shifter’s expression he saw his slip. How could he not? He nearly slashed everyone in the hallway to bloody pieces with one spell. Forest, just like his fool of a friend Fox, seemed to think it was reason enough to have a damn conversation.
Vincent clenched his hands into fists and forced them to stop shaking as Forest approached. His strange lightheadedness grew worse now he had to pretend it wasn’t there. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone?
“A new shifter.” Forest stepped around the two wrestling on the floor and tactfully ignored how Vincent nearly speared everyone in the hallway. “He’s apparently a friend of—damn it, Fox! Watch your fucking claws.” Forest leaped to avoid his ankle being shredded and nearly landed on Vincent’s foot.
“Yeah, he knows Fox,” Forest finished simply. His normally pale skin was peppered with dark spots, and his yellow eyes slitted with a sliver of dark pupil. Vincent knew half shifts happened more when shifters were excited. Seeing the other two wrestle must have Forest’s inner leopard ready to play. Either that, or he scared the fuck out of Forest with his spell. Shifters were always afraid of him…
Vincent felt something zap in his mind. For an instant everything blinked out and then back into focus. Fox’s howl rang out and Vincent darted his gaze to where he was laughing on the floor. The stupid dumbass. Vincent’s fingers twitched as he considered hexing Fox. Clearly the idiot shifter broke him with his last explosion.
He had no clue how someone so annoying could have so many friends. Vincent’s eyes narrowed when Fox’s bandanna went flying to reveal his messy, silver hair. It was so out of place with his caramel colored skin and wild orange eyes, and Vincent immediately wanted to pick up the yellow bandanna and hide Fox’s hair away. The guy was such an idiot and didn’t even know. Still, Vincent couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away.
“Brothers?” Vincent finally grunted out as he watched Fox get a lock on the new shifter. Fox laughed triumphantly since Raider had at least fifty pounds of extra muscle on him.
“Nah.” Forest snorted at the notion. He crossed his arms over his chest and fought a smile when Raider failed to get away from Fox’s merciless tickling. “Raider’s like Fox’s BFF from back home. I guess they text all the time and shit.”
“What’s he doing here? It’s not Visitor’s Day,” Vincent snapped. He felt a surge of annoyance when Fox lost his footing and was pinned by the larger shifter. Fox was clearly a better fighter, but he was too busy laughing like an idiot to focus. His face was bright read and the flush was moving down his neck and chest.
“He’s a new packmate. Bunking with me.” Forest glanced at Vincent from the corner of his eye and held back a smile. “Why so curious?”
Vincent heard the suggestion in Forest’s voice and he raised his head to glare him down. “I don’t actually care. I’m just pissed there are two loud of the idiots now.”
On the floor, Fox yelped, twisted, and pinned Raider down again.
Forest’s smirk broke free and he stepped back before his leg could be swiped by a wayward sneaker. “Raider’s a raccoon shifter, not a fox. They’re not alike, not in instinct of ability. Unless you’re talking about the fact they’re both Latino?”
“They’re both annoying as fuck.” Vincent scowled and tossed his hair back from his face. “This place is getting so overrun with all you loud ass shifters I can’t even think anymore.”
Forest shrugged dismissively. Unlike Fox, he didn’t bother getting upset by the stupid shit that came out of Vincent’s mouth. “Come on, Fox. Let the guy up before he starts puking all over the place.” Raider’s face had gone from red to purple, and his body shook with laughter that didn’t break free except for a few gasps for air.
“Charming,” Vincent grumbled and picked up his backpack. He was done hanging around with Fox. The stupid idiot first acted like he wanted to take him to the hospital, but the second someone new showed up, he completely forgot. Dumb ass. Not that he actually wanted the menace around. Vincent glared at where Raider was gasping for breath. He just had no interest in being passed over for some musclebound raccoon shifter who didn’t have the decency to introduce himself before getting in a wrestling match.
Not that Fox gave the guy much of an option.
With a loud howl, Fox finally relented. He sprawled out on the hallway floor as he caught his breath.
“Fuck, how are you still stronger than me?” Raider asked as he pushed himself up to his unsteady feet. He brushed his spiky, dark hair back into place while the flush of exertion slowly began to leave his tanned face. His gaze was glued on Fox, and a dazed smile was on his lips like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Vincent had seen enough and was ready to go. Unfortunately, the idiots were in his way. He stepped around Forest and went to push past Raider, who tilted his head and squinted his dark eyes when he saw him.
“Uh, dude, are you blue?”
Vincent glared and fought back a scathing remark. He was seriously surrounded by imbeciles. Biting back his anger, Vincent held his hand out instead. “I’m Vincent Frost. Please don’t try to wrestle me of I’ll have to hex you across the Academy.”
Raider’s gaze dropped to Vincent’s hand and he froze. When he looked back up, he took a wary step away and refused to shake. In an instant, Raider went from laughing to defensive as his shoulders hunched in and his expression closed off.
Right. One of those shifters. Vincent’s day had been terrible enough without having that particular look directed at him on top of it. His lips thinned in a frown as he nodded farewell to Forest—it was rude not to—and he stepped around Fox, who was still panting on the floor.
Fox jumped up when he saw Vincent was leaving and reached for the strap of his bag. Vincent scowled and Fox was knocked back by a sudden roar of wind. Blinking a moment, Fox beamed up from his new place on the floor.
“Hey, Vince, hold on. I’ll take you to…”
“Fuck off.” Vincent kept his gait brisk as he walked away. He was done with shifters for the day. Maybe for a damn lifetime at this point.
“Vince?”
Dumbstruck, Fox’s tongue slipped over a fang as he watched Vincent walk away. He had a great ass and Fox’s brain really couldn’t focus anywhere proper until Vincent rounded the corner and reality came roaring back.
“Crap, he’s pissed off.” Fox pushed himself forward on the tiled floor, and his bangs flopped across an eye. When he inhaled, he could smell Vincent’s anger vibrating on the air. “Fuck, he’s really pissed. I better see what’s wrong.”
“Who the fuck cares?” Raider scowled in the direction Vincent left. The hallway was now empty of everything but the white walls and soothing painting of an impressionistic landscape. “He’s just some freak sorcerer. Let him be bitchy alone.”
Forest glanced Raider’s way but didn’t comment. He reached down, grabbed Fox’s hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Maybe you should give Vincent some time to cool off, man. You practically flattened him into a wall when you came running in here. He was going to slice you to piece until he got himself under control.”
Forest ducked forward and added in a hushed tone, “I’ve never seen him lose it like that. I think you fucked up this time. Big time.”
Fox blinked rapidly. His gaze darted to the direction he came from as he replayed the events over in his mind. “Oh no.” Fox’s eyes widened as he realized his memory of running down the hall to greet Raider was from his inner fox’s perspective.
“No, no, no.” His animal mind had taken over his body without him even realizing it. “Fuck!”
Fox glared at his clenched fists. “I keep fucking it up, don’t I? What the fuck is wrong with me?” He swung at the wall and growled at the sting of pain when his fist slammed with a thud.
It just had to be today. Of all the fucking days, he fucked it up today! Raider just had to show up and… Damn it.
Fox hissed under his breath and leaned his head against the wall. It wasn’t Raider’s fault. He fucked this up all on his own. He chose to put off asking Vincent out until the last day, he blew up the damn classroom, he lost control of his fox. He only had himself to blame.
Fuck, was this the meds wearing off? Did he need to go back on the fucking meds?
“Fox, chill.” Forest rested his hip against the wall and met Fox’s angry gaze. “After you blew him up twice today, your chances really fucking dropped.”
Fox groaned in dismay and squeezed his eyes shut. He kept fucking up.
Fox cracked an eye open when Raider stepped up and peered down at him.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Raider turned back to glare at where Vincent left and then whirled to Fox with narrowed eyes. “You’re acting like you… Like he…” He couldn’t get the words out, he was so offended at the very thought. “He’s a sorcerer!”
Fox avoided Raider’s gaze as he pushed away from the wall. Fuck, he didn’t want to deal with this shit. He saw his bandanna on the floor, and Fox made his way over and picked it up. “It’s complicated.”
“He’s a sorcerer.” Raider obviously didn’t think anything about it was complicated. “I could tell just looking at him. He reeks of magic. Did he spell you?” Fear flashed in Raider’s dark eyes. “You reek of magic. Are you okay? Is he making you like him with a spell?”
“For fuck sake.” Fox fought the urge to slam his head against the wall until the day from hell was over. He exchanged a look with Forest, who just shook his head apathetically.
Fox sighed, and without saying a word, held his bandanna out in front of him. He flowed his magic through his fingers and the charred edges of the fabric repaired and the lingering ceiling dust and soot cleaned away until the bandanna was back to its normal, cheerful yellow design.
Raider’s eyes went wide as he stepped back. “Dude.”
“Things are different here.” Fox took a moment to meet Raider’s wary gaze. “You might want to, you know, figure things out before you say too much. This isn’t like back home. That kind of talk about sorcerers isn’t cool.”
Raider swallowed heavily as the yellow bandanna was wrapped around Fox’s head. With his silver hair hidden from sight, Fox was bright and larger than life once again.
Fox was uncomfortable under Raider’s stare, and he hunched forward and shoved his hands into the pockets of his long jean shorts. He hadn’t bothered to clean the dust from his blue and orange t-shirt, but now he was wondering if he’d have to if only to prove that he could.
Damn it, he wasn’t expecting any of this.
“Listen, why don’t you let Forest take you to see Michael?” Fox said tightly. “He’s the guy to get your room all set up, and he can explain how things work around here. Once you’re settled in, we can catch up and stuff.”
“Are you a sorcerer?” Raider blurted out. “Did you come here to, like, be one of them?”
Fox gave him a dark look and shot back, “Did you come here to be turned into a sorcerer?”
“Fuck, no,” Raider spat out defensively. His expression darkened as he refrained from explaining just what happened. “You told me you were living with a distant relative or some shit. Didn’t you say you were helping your cousin, you know, get his house rebuilt after a hurricane?”
Fox had told a lot of lies to a lot of different people, and it was hard to keep them all straight. He was good at dodging questions and lying his way out of commitments any time he visited home, and he didn’t like how Raider was suddenly in his face about it. His old life was barreling into his current life, and Fox didn’t know who the fuck he was expected to be. He sure as hell didn’t want to be judged.
Raider just came in and Fox already felt like he needed his approval. He hadn’t even gone to apologize to Vince because he knew how Raider would freak over him talking to a sorcerer. It was bullshit.
Fox stood taller and looked Raider in the eye. “Hey, when you feel like you’re ready to tell me why you’re here, I’ll totally share why I’m here. It’s no big secret, but it’s my choice if I want to share it.”
Raider’s expression closed off and he shook his head agitatedly. Fox could scent the unease on him and he waited. Raider was always freaking out over something.
When Raider finally answered it was with a forced casualness. “Sorry, man. I haven’t seen you in forever. I think I’m just in shock still.”
Fox shrugged and relaxed his stance a little. “I get it. It’s fine. Seriously, though, I need to catch up with that guy.”
Raider grabbed his shoulder before Fox could turn. “Is he the one? The guy you’ve been texting about? Your high-maintenance hottie?”
Fox groaned internally as every fucking conversation he had with Raider about Vincent suddenly played through his mind. Fuck, he never planned for any of this. Why couldn’t Raider just stay outside the world he lived in?
“Fox? He is, isn’t he. The guy you…”
Fox pulled Raider’s hand off him, ready to run and never have this fucking conversation. He didn’t want to hear a million very good fucking reasons how being with a guy like Vince could never work back home. Fox frowned when he felt the heat rolling off of Raider’s flesh.
“Man, you’re burning up. Are you sick?” Fox stepped back so he could look at Raider properly. It took a lot to get a shifter sick, so either it was the flu, or Raider was in really bad shape. Just why was he here?
“It’s nothing.” Raider flinched away and bit his lower lip when he looked back. “Fox, I didn’t mean to dis him, okay? I’m sure if you like the guy, he’s fine enough. I seriously didn’t expect to see you here, and well, I don’t even really get what here is just yet.” Raider looked around the hallway uncertainly, his eyes glassy with fever. “It’s a weird place. It smells like, well, like a ton of predator shifters. Uncle Joe said everyone was a flesh eater and… Fuck.”
“No one will fuck with you,” Fox assured him swiftly. “No one here is like that. I mean, sure, Leo’s a total dick at times, but no one gives a crap about predators and prey around here. We’re all fed well, and no one is that fucking crazy.”
Raider exhaled a heavy sigh of relief, but his smile remained fearful. “Yeah, well, I figure if they do give me trouble, I’ve got my scrawny, bad ass fox to sic on them, right?”
A wicked grin flashed across Fox’s features. In a quick move he grabbed Raider by the arm, twisted, and had his tall friend trapped in a lock. “Damn, man, you keep getting more muscle every time I see you, but you still don’t know how to use it.”
Raider chuckled as he went limp in the hold. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
Fox snorted. “You’re full of shit is what you are.” He went to pull him into another move but Raider managed to slip his grip.
Forest stepped out of the way before he could be elbowed. “Fox, don’t you want to…?” He tilted his head meaningfully to where Vincent disappeared.
Fox paused and licked his teeth as he remembered just how angry Vincent had been. His gaze drifted to Raider and he grinned widely. “Nah, I’ll catch him later. I should probably give Vince more time before pissing him the fuck off with my charming personality. It’s only fair.”
Forest huffed in frustration. Fox didn’t notice as he slapped Raider on the back as he pushed him toward the hall that led back to the entrance. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the pack.”
“You mean the hospital,” Forest reminded as he followed. “He has a fever.”
“I’m fine.” Raider said quickly. “I’d rather, you know, get this part out of the way.”
Fox sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. He’d forgotten just how crazy Raider could be. “They’re not going to eat you, man.”
“Eat?” Forest stopped short and his expression turned incredulous. “You’re kidding, right?”
Fox shrugged awkwardly and turned to Raider, whose fear scent was filling the hall. “We have sorcerers and halflings living here, too. Everyone is taken care of. And no one gets eaten, even if you do turn into an adorable, fluffy raccoon,” Fox added with a wicked smile.
Raider growled grumpily. “Shut it, brat. There is nothing adorable…”
“Totally adorable.” Fox pinched Raider’s cheek before he could escape. “No one is going to pick on this cute, baby face.”
Raider scowled and rubbed the side of his cheek. His face was flushed red and he grinned despite himself. “Shit, I really missed you, you total ass. I can’t believe you’re here.” His gaze lingered too long as he smiled at Fox, and something sparked warm in Raider’s eyes.
Fox looked away and lightly shoved Raider to break the awkwardness. “Come on, dumb ass.” He was pretty sure Raider was crushing on him. Last summer vacation, Raider gave off a dozen signs of wanting into his pants. Fox had been so busy keeping all his lies straight about where he was living to really think about it at the time.
Forest grabbed Fox’s shoulder and stepped in front of him with a pointed stare. “Do I seriously have to remind you Master Theo will hunt you down and fry your ass if you don’t get back and help him clean up that mess? The only reason he let you leave was cuz you said you were taking Vincent to the hospital. You really want to test a dragon shifter after you blew up his classroom three times today?”
“Fuck, don’t say it like that.” Fox scowled and his shoulders slumped. “Three times. Damn it, he’s gonna roast me.”
“Dragon? You have a dragon shifter working here?” Raider’s face went pale. “Does he…? Does he turn…?” He looked around the hallway, like maybe a dragon was about to come bursting from the shadows at any moment.
Fox scrunched his nose when Raider’s fear scent flooded the hallway. Fuck, he forgot how easily freaked his friend was, and Raider was definitely over the top since the last time he saw him. “Listen, I gotta go deal with that before Theo freaks. No, he doesn’t turn into a dragon, but he does get super pissy.” Fox tilted his head to Forest, who seemed more than happy to be alone with Raider. “Forest will take care of you, man. You can hang in the lounge while the others hunt. It’s early, but they’re going out for Justin because of the full moon tonight.”
Raider only looked more terrified once he began to understand what creature cared about the full moon.
Shit. Fox didn’t want to deal with it. Master Theo was way more dangerous than the confusing crazy in Raider’s head.
Fox backed away before Raider could turn pleading eyes his way, whirled in the direction of the classroom, and took off. “See ya!”
Fox only felt slightly guilty as he ran down the hall. Raider was a great guy beneath all his fear. He was the loyalest of friends, would save your life in a heartbeat, and was always there to listen. He was also hot with those dark eyes of his and his macho look, even though he was a total cream puff under it all. Fox had enough time to get over the awkwardness of his best friend checking him out on occasion. He could only hope Raider would get a clue and get over his puppy love now they were sharing space.
When it came to guys who knocked him on his ass and turned his insides to white hot fire with one look, there was only his angry, fucked up Vince.
He wasn’t giving up. Today started off like shit, but it was barely afternoon. He was going to ask Vincent Frost out, and he was going to score a date. Fox didn’t care if he ended up scarred and bleeding; he was asking Vincent out today.
I have no clue why Draco Malfoy is standing on my front steps. Well, the Dursley’s front steps. If I owned front steps of my own, I still wouldn’t expect Malfoy to grace them. Which makes this very surreal moment extremely confusing. Because he’s here. All pale, sexy prat.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He asks, his eyebrow raised in his normal sardonic expression like he’s not on my stoop in the middle of summer.
“Fuck no.” If Vernon sees him, life is going to go to shit really fucking quick. I might not look like magic, but Malfoy does. All the time. I don’t think I’ve ever looked at him and not thought he was otherworldly. Even here in my boring as fuck neighborhood, he’s a damn hunky prince, flesh beyond glowing pale, silky white-blond hair drifting sexily into his shining silver eyes, lips lush, and red, and terribly tempting. No, he is not coming into my house.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair and glancing behind him. He’s got nice, broad shoulders and I can’t help staring at them. “Potter, I need to talk to you and I can’t do it out on the fucking street. This is important.”
Oh, I’m sure it fucking is. He’s at the Dursleys, on my steps, dressed suspiciously like a muggle. I say suspiciously, because Malfoy should know how to dress like a muggle, seeing as he attends school with plenty of muggleborns. But he’s managed to turn jeans and a t-shirt into something exotic. No joke. He’s in tight dark jeans ripped stylishly, tucked into buttery tall black leather boots. His t-shirt is tight, with a picture of—Yup, you guessed it—fucking Merlin, name and everything written in script. He looks like some sort of rock star, or model, or just Draco Malfoy. Hot. That’s his default. And prat, but that goes without saying.
I, naturally, feel like a goddamn pauper next to him. It’s actually really fucking annoying to get up ridiculously early in the morning in the middle of summer to have to feel like a pauper at your own front door. He’s not mentioning it, but he keeps staring at my bare chest—It’s really fucking early. Like, fast asleep, worried Vernon is going to come hollering down the stairs for breakfast and work soon, early. I’m apparently under-dressed. Too fucking bad.
“Listen, Malfoy, I don’t know what the hell you want but you’re not coming in here. My relatives are annoying enough without bringing a wizard into the house.”
He blinks at that, his crystal gray eyes focusing behind me, taking in the wall with the family portraits I’m not included in, the tacky paintings of flowers, mail piled up to the side and Aunt Petunia’s pristine floor. He huffs after a moment, meeting my eye again. “I don’t see anyone else.”
“They’re asleep. The thing I was doing—Do you even realize what time it is?” Dawn has only just hit the sky, turning his hair near gold in the morning light. He looks angelic, the damn bastard.
“I need to talk to you,” he repeats, staring me down like he’s offering some fucking solution to our standoff.
God, he’s annoying. I thought I had gotten rid of him for a summer, at least. “Wait here.” I shut the door in his face, turning and walking up the stairs to my small room.
I glare at my bureau, then at my mirror. Everything I have is going to look like shit next to him. It’s like a goddamn curse. I could suddenly become the neatest, most fashion forward guy out there, but next to Malfoy I’ll still look like a homeless person. Fucking prat.
I throw on jeans that actually fit, having gone shopping weeks ago once returning to the Dursleys. Fucking Merlin t-shirt… Where the hell did he find that? I want that shirt. It’s not fair that he can get a damn Merlin t-shirt when he never wears t-shirts. Grumbling under my breath, I pull out a black NIN tee—because it’s fucking classic, thank you very much—and pick up my sneakers. Aunt Petunia throws a hissy every time I walk in the house in shoes. Even with her asleep, I’m not risking it.
He scowls when I open the door, like he’s been waiting for hours and not less than three minutes. I ignore him, locking the door behind me, clipping my keys to my belt loop and sitting on the cement stairs to pull my socks and shoes on. I run my hand down my face, trying to get the lingering sleep out of my eyes. Nightmares again. Always nightmares. Waking up to him shooting sparks at my window sure as fuck didn’t help anything.
“Is anyone dead?” I look up at him, watching his face carefully. Nothing. He’s gotten better at hiding shit. If I piss him off enough, he’ll probably crack. But I don’t know if I want to play that game so early in the morning.
“No.”
I stand, starting down the stairs. He follows after hesitantly, glancing back at the Dursleys like it’s the one place he wants to be. “Potter, I need to…”
Yes, yes, talk to me. “Coffee,” I grunt. “There’s a place down the street. And my relatives won’t throw me out on my ass for bringing unsavory characters home.”
“Unsavory?” He huffs, catching up to me, mild annoyance flashing in his eyes. “People love me, Potter. Mothers think I’m the fucking ‘cat’s meow.’ Their words, not mine.”
It’s way too early. He’s also apparently a morning person. Of course. “My relatives are scared shitless of magic. That includes the people that wield it. They will not like you. They will bitch me out for you showing up. They will be reminded that I possess magic, and they will again question if I really should be under the same roof as them.” I don’t bother pointing out that he’s a total prat, and even if mothers like him, I find him annoying as fuck.
He falls silent, his lips taking on a tense edge. Anxiety, maybe. Anger. I really need to stop looking at his mouth.
It’s less than twenty minutes to the convenience store. For whatever reason, he doesn’t say anything. He’s not looking around, so I don’t think he’s worried about being followed. I don’t know. I still don’t know why the fuck he’s here and if I really care. The air still has that chill dew to it, and I turn my face up to the sun when I step into the patches of light through the trees. Warmth. Light. An absence of the unceasing dark and the nightmares it contains.
He stops cold when I walk up to the glass doors to the place and they slide open automatically with a ding. Holy fuck. He’s never seen—There are no words. Malfoy Manor must be located under a rock.
I let him stand there figuring out if he wants to chance the electronic doors, stepping in and heading straight to the back where there’s another morning person already full of caffeine to take my order for some cavity inducing donuts and coffee flavored sugar. I find him beside me after a moment staring at the menu curiously above our heads.
“Got any cash?” I ask, trying not to smirk when he shakes his head. Rich little prat doesn’t have muggle money. Of course. “Pick whatever you want. I’ve got it.” The girl comes over with my donuts in a bag, handing an egg on a bagel with bacon—or the damn near equivalent. It never seems like the real thing in these places, like they manage to slip some plastic in there somehow.
Malfoy orders a donut and coffee. Missy behind the counter drools. Yeah, I know. It’s actually kind of refreshing. If we were in the wizarding world, that look would be directed at me just because of the scar on my forehead. Out in the muggle world, I still get that look a bit, but it’s not assumed. And next to Draco Malfoy, I can disappear into obscurity among the rest of the people that don’t look like sex gods. It’s kind of nice.
“Is there something wrong with my clothes?” He mutters when we get outside, glaring at the people coming in that are looking him up and down. I just sip my coffee, refusing to address that fucking question ever. Maybe I could get him into my clothes if I say something. Maybe I could just get him out of his clothes.
“Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, feeling it’s about time to address this fucking problem and send him on his way to stop tormenting me. Seriously, it’s way too fucking early. Early in the morning, early in the year—I’m not prepared for him. My brain and dick are very much fighting over how I should handle this situation. Never a good sign.
He looks around, scowling as he nearly burns his mouth on his drink. What is he, a fucking idiot? I mean really, hot coffee. Blow. Fucking wizards apparently don’t know shit about anything.
“Ugh, this taste like crap.”
That he can taste it at all is amazing enough after burning his tongue. We reach the park I’ve been eying and I put my stuff down on the merry go round. I snag his cup from him, popping the top off. It’s black. Fucking noob. I hand him mine—Ridiculous sweet shit I shouldn’t be drinking anyways. I sit with my food, sinking my shoes into the sand and watching him rise to the learning curve and actually blow on his coffee before trying it this time. The boy’s brilliant.
I eat my plastic egg sandwich, washing it down with the murky shit he ordered. Once the caffeine hits my system, I probably won’t hate him as much. Or maybe I’ll hate him more. Depends what mood he’s in.
“Well?”
He looks up at me from his donut, his lips covered in powdered sugar. Fuck. I train my features. If he sees me laughing, he’s going to wipe it away. And he cannot, ever, be allowed to do that. Fucking adorable, sexy prat.
“Why are you here? What do you want?” I wave my hand encouragingly when he doesn’t seem interested in answering. I fear I might have let a smirk free. But still, he hasn’t wiped it away.
“I need your help.”
Ugh, seriously? “Malfoy, it’s like 5 am.”
“I didn’t mean right this second. Well, sort of.” He gives me a haughty sniff, which also clues him in to the fact that he’s got powdered sugar on his mouth as he coughs. Sigh. I hand him a napkin, cus he can’t seem to figure out life without cleaning charms. The kid is damn hopeless in the real world.
“How did you get here?”
“Apparated.”
Right, because he lives in a wizarding household, and he can use magic when supervised. Unlike me, who has to wait for Hogwarts and a dozen teachers to hold my hand. Whatever. “How’d you find out where I live?”
He shrugs, making me immediately suspicious. Because, seriously, he shouldn’t be here asking me for anything. He should be here trying to get me killed. Luring me to my doom with those really gorgeous lips and cruel eyes.
“Malfoy, I’m not helping with shit until I know how you got my info.”
Looking at me bored as fuck as he wipes his mouth, he finally answers, “Snape.”
That’s a puzzler. Snape hates me. But he’s also a double agent working for the Order. He could have given up my info because he thinks Malfoy’s going to try to take me out and the potions master wants to see what he’ll do. Or he gave it up because he thinks Malfoy needs my help. Or… “Was this information given willingly?”
“Of course.” Like I’m being a crazy, paranoid person or something.
“Let me see your arm.”
“Potter, are you fucking kidding me? I’m not a fucking Death Eater.” He looks like he’s going to punch me. Good fucking luck. I glare and he eventually relents, turning his inner arm outward. “There’s nothing. Happy?”
Fuck, this kid is seriously pale. I bend closer, holding his wrist as I peer. I don’t trust him. For all I know he’s charmed it away. I rub my hand over where the mark would be, but nothing reveals itself. No feel of magic or evil. He’s chilly. And he smells really nice. I probably should let him go now.
“Where’d you get your shirt?”
“Solstice gift.”
Bastard. It’s a really cool Merlin shirt. The beard and hair have animals hidden in it, and it clings to him, showing off his tight, toned form. Right, time to let his arm go.
I run my palm over his bicep one more time, just to be on the safe side. His skin turns slightly pink from my touch and I do it again. It totally has nothing to do with me wanting to feel his muscles flex under my hand and slowly warm up from my body heat.
“Potter, I’m not a Death Eater.”
Yeah, yet. The thing is, I can’t remember ever touching Malfoy beyond the occasional fistfight. It’s apparently addictive. “Let me see your other arm.”
He growls in exasperation. “Potter, they only put it one place. Part of their fucked up code.”
Yeah, he’d probably know. I hold my hand out and with a loud huff, he turns and shows me his other arm. I wonder if I ask to see his ass, if he’ll let me. I bet he has a fucking perfect ass.
“Are you done, or am I going to have to strip?” He’s pissed. I’m considering it. He’d look good in the morning light. Fuck, he’d look good in anything, anywhere. Does he have tan lines? Like a different shade of pale under all those clothes?
I forcefully take my hands off of him, grabbing my bag of donuts to give me something to do. “Alright, you’re not a Death Eater. What the hell do you want?”
“Your help.”
Duh. “Need a bit more than that, Malfoy. Details.”
I glance over when he doesn’t say anything. He’s biting his lip. It’s wet, and red, and caught between his teeth. God, I want to kiss him.
“I’m in trouble,” he mumbles eventually, releasing a long sigh. “I sort of… Well, you looking for the Dark Mark might have had different results, if you get my drift. But I… I ran.”
“Holy fuck!” Whoops, might have said that out loud, given his expression.
“Snape told me you have some sort of protection from You-Know-Who. That as long as I’m in the same house as you, I’d be safe until getting to school next term. After that… Well, who the fuck knows?” He shrugs, like he’s not scared out of his fucking mind.
But he is. I can see it. He’s shaking.
He could be lying. It’s Malfoy. He lies all the fucking time. Over everything. Just to see if he can.
“Prove it.” There’s no way in fuck the Dursley are going to let me have a houseguest.
Scowling, he straightens from his slump, glaring at me. “How the fuck do you want me to prove it? Would you like a written letter from the Dark Lord himself? Dear Mr. Potter, I’m unhappy to inform you that Draco Malfoy, son to my most loyalest of servants, has pussied out after learning he’s to be my sex toy. Enclosed, I have sent all of his credentials, including a record of his escape, just to set your mind at ease. Fuck you, Potter. I’m not lying.”
I must have heard that wrong. Staring into my bag of donuts, I run the words through my head, slowly sifting through. Nope, pretty sure he said sex toy. Pretty damn sure. I pull out a chocolate frosted pastry of doom and take a bite so I don’t have to look at him right now. Sex toy? Voldemort can actually get it up? What is he, like a hundred now? Draco Malfoy as a sex toy…
I would definitely trade the Merlin shirt for that particular sex toy.
“So, can I stay with you?”
He could be hoping to get into my house to try and tear down the wards. He could be looking to gut me in my sleep, or drag me out into the night with Voldemort waiting outside. He could be crying right now, which I’m pretty sure he is.
Red rimmed eyes. At least he’s not bawling. Fuck. Fuck my life.
“When did this happen?” I hand him my other donut. Sugar’s going to help this. I’m not sure how, but I know it’s true.
“What part?”
I give him a look, then regret it. His eyes are watery and somehow fucking extra beautiful. I look out at the field. “Just tell me everything you can.”
He takes a deep breath that sounds way too shaky. “Um, so let’s see. I went home knowing this was the year. Father’s been hinting, trying to feel me out on it. He knew I didn’t want to do it, but, well, it’s not really a choice thing.”
Pretty sure it is. You either get down on your knees and pledge your loyalty to Voldemort, or you get a wand to the head. Not a great choice, but it’s a choice. I wisely keep my mouth shut.
“I found out just a few days ago…” He trails off, stretching his legs. “Bellatrix started asking me all these questions. Fucked up questions. Something you really don’t want your psychotic bitch aunt to ask you.”
“Get to the point.”
“Fuck you. About sex. About what I like, what I’ve done already. If I can suck cock. I thought she was just fucking with my head—She’s a total bitch.”
Can he suck cock? With a mouth like that…
“Then I find out that my mother’s off to St. Mungo’s. Just that night. The group of them had a little meeting and my mother’s in the hospital, my aunt is suddenly staked out in the mansion asking me questions about cock, and my father is nowhere to be found.”
“Dead?”
He shakes his head sharply. “He came back later that night. Hurt. Scared… Never seen him scared before. He wouldn’t tell me what happened, just said You-Know-Who has an ‘unhealthy interest’ in me.”
Fuck, I really can’t blame Voldemort. The kid’s a sex god.
“My aunt doesn’t leave, and suddenly my father isn’t allowed to be alone with me. She’s like some rabid guard dog or something. But she’s fucking cackling, like all the fucking time. Saying shit like how I’m going to be sucking snake dick until I’m dead, which will be soon because of what my mother did. But I don’t know what my mother did, I just know that she’s in the hospital and not responsive and things are getting fucking bat-shit scary and—”
“Chill. Breathe.” The kid is freaking out. “You’re in a muggle park. No Death Eaters, no bitch aunt, no snake dicks. Take a breath.”
Do snakes have dicks?
He nods frantically, tearing small pieces off his chocolate donut. His fingers are a mess and I can’t stop staring at them. I want to lick them. I really want to lick them. He’s worried about being raped and killed by Voldemort, and I can’t stop thinking about sex whenever I look at him. There’s something fucked up with me. But it’s early. Like morning wood, early.
He takes a huge breath, then another. His knee starts bouncing, shaking the damn merry go round and vibrating through my ass until all I can think about is him fucking me. There is no way he can stay with me. Maybe the Weasleys have a room. I’m going to do something stupid if he’s around me all the time. I know it. No classmates or house fidelity to keep me thinking straight. I get fucked up in the head whenever I’m at the Dursleys as it is. He really shouldn’t be around for that.
He continues, his voice empty, nearly numb. “My dad leaves me a portkey with a note to dress muggle. It dumps me in this back alley. Snape’s there. He’s blunt. My mother fucked up and my family will pay. You-Know-Who is going to ruin me, and it will be public. If I’m as loyal as fuck, he might let me live, but I’m still going to be screaming for years. Running will get me killed once I’m caught, and I’ll probably be caught. But seriously, Potter? Much as I don’t want to die, I don’t want the fucker touching me.”
I wonder if Malfoy’s seen Voldemort recently. I have. The dreams. The torture he inflicts. I’ve yet to see the guy ass rape someone, but I totally believe he’d do it. Even if he can’t get it up, I’m sure he’d have something handy to do the job for him. Voldemort likes to improvise.
“Snape tells me your location. Warns me that… Well, you’re going to be difficult as fuck.” He’s looking at me but I refuse to rise to the bait. “Says you won’t trust me. But that I’m going to have to do whatever I can, because you’re the only one with a house warded against You-Know-Who. I guess it’s a big fucking deal.”
It might be. I hate the Dursleys and I can’t stop the dreams, even at their place, but I don’t have to worry about Voldemort walking through the front door. It’s something.
I look up as he stands. He moves in front of me, replacing my view of the quiet field, back lighting him in that fucking angelic light again. His eyes are still red, despair clear on his beautiful features. Seriously, fuck my life.
“So I’m here. Willing to do whatever the fuck it takes, Potter. I have nowhere else to go. Nowhere safe from him. He’s probably going to kill my parents. Definitely my mother, if she’s not dead already. I promise I won’t be an asshole—Fuck, I won’t say shit to you if that helps. I can, I don’t know, clean or some shit. Whatever the fuck you want. I just really don’t want to die.”
Would he fit in the cupboard? Could I hide Draco Malfoy in the cupboard under the stairs? He’s taller than me now. I have the invisibility cloak. If Petunia gives me shit, I can always just hide him under the cloak… for a month. Huh.
Seriously? I’m actually considering this? I need to get in contact with Ron and find out if Narcissa Malfoy is actually in St. Mungo’s. There’s no way Snape will talk to me; it would jeopardize his spy status and his life. If I get an owl out now, Ron will likely answer it by, oh, ten or eleven, depending on when he wakes up. God I wish wizards would suck it up and get some fucking telephones. I think the Amish have more tech than they do.
He’s still staring at me, hope and fear in his eyes. Crap. “Sit down, Malfoy.” Vernon will be off to work in less than an hour. I’d rather talk to Petunia without the blustering bastard interrupting. And if she says no, well, there’s always the cloak. And the cupboard. Just don’t think he’ll fit.
Mothers do love Malfoy. It’s bizarre as fuck. I walk in the kitchen with him in tow and Petunia, usually frosty eyed and stiff, smiles like the sun. Wow. She doesn’t even say anything about him wearing boots in the house.
My goal is to play the guilt angle. Let her see his hunky face, mention the fact that he’s got nowhere to go but plenty of cash to pay for room and board once we get his galleons switched over to something actually useful to muggles. I won’t mention killer wizards unless things go bad. She’s terrified of Voldemort. She was terrified of Lily and James, and when something bigger and badder killed them, she got even more afraid. I sometimes wonder if she had a nervous breakdown when it all happened. They don’t talk about it, but she seems like the type.
“Aunt Petunia, I’d like you to meet my… friend.” Yeah, that sounds weird. “Drake.” He gives me a look I refuse to acknowledge. His name is way too wizard for the Dursleys.
Petunia actually steps around me to shake his hand. Like he’s a person. I can’t even imagine what the fuck that’s like. Pretty people get everything, I guess. “I didn’t think you had any friends.”
Ouch.
He smiles at me, 100 volts of snickering prat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Petunia—Do you mind if I call you Petunia? It’s a lovely name.” Gag me.
“Petunia is perfectly acceptable, dear. Have you had breakfast? I was just about to whip something up for my Dudley. I’d be more than happy to make you something as well.”
I stand back and watch the magic of Draco Malfoy charming my aunt. It’s disgusting. He’s amazing.
“Boy, did you want something?” Yup, I’m still ‘boy.’ But hey, a lot less frost than normal.
“I’m fine, Aunt Petunia. Thank you.” She gives me a look when I thank her. She knows something’s up. No point drawing it out. “I have a request. A favor.”
She turns to the stove, pointedly cooking and not looking at me. Off to a great start.
“Drake needs a place to stay for a few weeks. He can pay his way, he’s more than happy to, but it won’t be until right before school. His mother became really ill, and his dad works all day and spends his nights at the hospital by her side.”
She turns at that, sympathy flashing in her eyes as she looks at Draco. He gives her a crooked, hanging in there smile tinged with sorrow. My god, he’s good. I’m feeling totally played right now. If his eyes start watering, I’m going to know he was lying to me. I think.
“I understand it’s short notice. Pot—Harry always said if I ever need a helping hand, he lives with good people with strong values. He even told me how you’ve been trying to help him. Straighten him out a bit. Keep him out of trouble. I daresay you have your work cut out for you.”
I should just go hang myself. My fucking rival of seven years, and angry aunt of forever talking about straightening me out. And they don’t mean the gay. I don’t think they mean the gay. It’s not something that’s really come up in conversation because I don’t converse with these people. Ever.
“I’m afraid we don’t have much room.” Holy hell, she’s considering it.
Malfoy shoots a look my way, raising his brows like I’m supposed to jump in here. We could throw him in the bathroom. He could curl up in the bathtub and pull the shower curtain around for privacy. I’m sure it’ll be fine.
“He’ll bunk with me. I have that old sleeping bag.”
“Oh, but he’s so delicate. He can’t sleep on the floor. There’s hardly any room in there to begin with.”
Seriously? She just spent five minutes with him and she’s already giving him my bed. Talk about chopped liver. “I can take the floor,” I grunt, folding my arms over my chest. He flashes me a surprised look I also choose to ignore. I’m shorter—I’ll be more likely to fit. And fuck, if it gets too weird, I can always try the fucking cupboard.
“Your bed’s so lumpy, though.”
Fucking hell! If she buys him a new bed while I’ve been sleeping on that crap mattress for years—
“I’m sure it will be fine, Petunia. I’m just glad to not have to be home alone at night. I worry, and with my mother off in the hospital…” He gives another sad, surviving in pain expression that brings Aunt Petunia across the room to hug him. He shoots me a smug smile while I flip him off behind her back. Fucking deceitful little prat. Total skill.
“Oh, you’re all skin and bones! How long have you been without a proper home-cooked meal? I’m going to take care of that right away.” Malfoy is not skin and bones. He’s lithe, strong muscle and damn fine bone structure. She’s used to fat as fuck and she better not ruin his perfection. “You go sit out in the living room. Dudley should be down any minute. I’m sure you’ll be great friends.”
Like fuck.
I wait for him to leave, then stay to talk to her so we’re clear on a few things. “He’s underage and won’t be performing any strangeness,” Aka, magic. “He won’t be bringing anyone by, not even his parents. He’s on his own. He doesn’t understand everything, but he’s polite, and he’ll be quiet.”
“He has no bags,” she points out, like that’s all she cares about when letting a wizard into her house. Fuck, he has no bags. No clothes, no things.
“I’ll have to take him shopping. We can take the bus.”
“Don’t be silly. Dudley’s been dying to go out to the new mall. We’ll make a day of it.”
My god, she really likes the prat. “Vernon isn’t going to have any issue with all this?”
She waves her hand at me. “I think he’ll be thrilled to have some culture in the house. It’s good to know you’re not completely a lost cause.”
Fucking hell. I wonder how she’d feel if she knew Malfoy had been days away from getting a tattoo on his arm symbolizing his willingness to hurt, torture, and murder any and all muggles in the name of Voldemort? Hell, she’d probably commend him for wanting to kill me. Whatever. Fucking whatever.
I find him in the living room, looking around the space curiously, only the slightest of sneers on his face. Just wait till he sees where he’s sleeping. “I’ve gotta do some things. Feel free to look around. Television.” I point, then start up the stairs. Thirty seconds later, he’s at my back.
“Potter, don’t just leave me alone in all this… muggleness.”
I stop, turning on him. “Not a word you’re allowed to say here. My aunt knows what you are, and god help me, she likes you enough to let you stay. But my uncle and my cousin—They can’t figure it out or it all goes to shit, got it? No magic, no muggles, no talking about blood in general, or charms, spells, potions…”
“I get it,” he interrupts with a growl. “I’m not stupid.” Better. I prefer him angry to charming any fucking day.
I turn back, going to push into my room, only to pause when I hear the bathroom door open. Dudley comes hulking out, stopping cold when he catches sight of the two of us. I glare, watching his bloodshot eyes assess Malfoy, stupid running across his wide face.
“Whose the poof?”
“Lay a finger on him and I’ll fucking kill you.”
Malfoy looks between the two of us, eyebrow raised inquiringly. I’m not explaining Dudley to him. There are not enough words to explain Dudley. The kid’s mean, brutish, and likes to punch. I give as good as I get, but I’m not letting that shit happen to the Slytherin prince that never even saw an automatic door before. Without magic, Malfoy’s damn vulnerable.
“I’m Drake,” Malfoy says, holding his hand out to Dudley. Fucking ass. Dudley stares at him like he’s got five heads. Considering the kid’s eyes look like he’s already stoned, maybe that’s what he sees.
“You fucking the freak?” Dudley asks, ignoring Malfoy’s hand. “Seriously, you can do better. I could point out any bloke on the street, and they’d be better than my freak cousin.”
“Um…” Malfoy looks a bit lost. He brought it on himself, trying to make friends with Dudley.
“Hell, they don’t even have to be people. I think I saw a cow the other day that would be a better choice than him. Dogs. Plenty of dogs running around the neighborhood. They’re loyal. Probably drool less.”
I step into my room, determined to not get involved in the bullshit that is Dudley Dursley. I pull out some parchment, writing a note to Ron asking about Malfoy’s mother. By the time I’m done and rousing Hedwig, Malfoy’s back, looking at me almost sympathetically.
“Let me know if he hits you. I’ll deal with it.”
“He’s not going to hit me.”
Yeah, he fucking is, but I’m going to deal with it when it happens. If he wants to live in fucking fantasy land, so be it.
“I like your owl.” He steps up, reaching his hand out to gently stroke Hedwig’s breast. The traitorous thing coos at him. Fuck, I am never going to be loved if I have to compete with Malfoy for affection. My bird. My unconditional love. Hedwig hoots and rubs her face into his palm. Fuck my life.
I’m being a selfish ass, and I know it. He’s homeless and running from Voldemort, who has all intentions of fucking him up in more ways than one. If he wants some damn companionship from my owl, it’s not the end of the world.
“We’ll be going out tomorrow to get you some clothes. I’ll spot you the money for now… Or whatever. I have plenty, and who the hell knows what you’re situation is going to be like.”
He just nods silently, gently petting my beautiful snowy bird. They look good together. They could be related.
He looks up, meeting my eyes. “Thank you.”
Sucker punch, right to the gut. That’s what I get for being nice. Genuine appreciation. It’s going to be a long month.
“No problem.”
Ron’s letter is pretty damning. Narcissa’s in some sort of magical coma while also in excruciating pain. She’s dying. Voldemort knows his shit. Malfoy’s totally screwed.
I think a part of me was hoping the kid was lying. Because, really, who wants to consider that as the truth? Fucking sick fuck Voldemort. The kid didn’t even do anything; his mother did. But he’s going to be the one to pay. Voldemort has transference issues. Huge ones.
“Potter, is this all you do all day?” He’s sitting with Hedwig on my bureau, petting her ever since she returned. Traitor.
“Sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t plan an itinerary to entertain you.” I had planned on going down to the arcade today, but I really don’t want to take him along.
“Why don’t you own anything? You have literally three things in this room.”
Four, if I count him. “My uncle locks my trunk up during the summer. He’s scared I’m going to magic them all with my terrifying quills and ink.” I stretch my arms over my head, hitting the wall. My bed is actually really lumpy, but when someone wakes you up before dawn, you make do. I think he’s getting tired of watching me nap. Really don’t know what to tell him.
“Your relatives are kind of messed up.”
“Yup.”
“Where are your glasses?”
God, does he ever shut up? “Specialist spelled my eyesight.”
“Should have done something for your hair while you were being all vain.”
Fucking hell. “It wasn’t vanity, it was survival. You fight enough dark wizards, you start realizing that seeing without a flimsy pair of glasses is really fucking important.”
“Still should have done something about your hair.”
I’m going to kill him. “You ever been to an arcade?”
He looks at me, like he’s not sure if he’s going to sound stupid if he says the wrong thing. “No.”
“How do you feel about crowds?”
He shrugs. “I’ll be fine. Less likely to be spotted.”
“Exactly.” I sit up, running a hand through my perfectly fine hair while taking the time to look him over. “Any way you can pull your jeans down over you boots?”
He looks at his boots, tracing his fingertips over the leather. “But then you won’t see them.”
“That would be the point. You look like money. Fashionable money. You don’t want to stick out.” Last thing I need is him getting mugged or beat up.
Huffing, he fixes his jeans. “So we’re going to be around poor people?”
Fucking prat. “Normal people. People that don’t spend hundreds of dollars on a pair of boots.”
“Poor people,” he insists, giving Hedwig a final ruffle.
“Whatever.” Everyone is poor compared to him. He doesn’t know shit. “Try not to talk too much. I have a feeling you’re going to piss a lot of people off.”
He scowls but doesn’t deny it. He’s an ass. He knows it.
We take the trolley, me once again paying his way. It’s really fucking dumb, but I kind of like being able to buy things for him. I know, really dumb. Like stupid dumb. Even with his boots covered, everyone stares at him. He’s hot. Some chick even tried to pick him up on the trolley. His look of bored disdain was priceless. He wouldn’t be caught dead talking to a muggle.
I walk him into the darkly lit building full of flashing lights, loud noises, and crowds of kids of all ages. His hand keeps gripping my arm like I’m going to disappear. “What do you think?”
“It’s loud as fuck.”
It is. He’s very observant. I get in line for the nearest change machine, watching him glare at everything. He looks a bit like a scared cat, not sure whether to run and hide, or scratch the fuck out of someone. I hand him a cup of quarters. Then, thinking better of it, I cover my hand over the plastic cup before he can drink from it. Fucking wizards; his parents didn’t teach him any life skills.
“They go in the machines. So you can play the games.”
He looks at me like I’m the idiot. He was totally going to drink the fucking quarters. I saw it on his face. Whatever. I pull him towards a game without any lines. Simple fighter game. Boring. Skimming around, I drag him to a racer. He likes brooms; he’ll like cars.
“Come on, sit. Pedal gets you moving, wheel gets you steering, and buttons shoot things.” He is beyond reluctant, but he eventually sits in the overly padded seat. I point to the slots and he keeps popping quarters until the game starts up. He’s a fast learner. Swears like a trucker, but he picks it up damn fast. I watch him for a while. Once I realize I’m staring more at his face as he takes tight turns and races past other players, I figure I should probably look at something else.
“Hey, Harry!” I turn, eyes skimming through the crowd until I find him waving at me. Hello, Paul. Tall, dark, with a surfer’s tan and body. This was the reason I didn’t want Malfoy cramping my style today. Paul’s got his friends with him; Toby and Shawn. They’re not bad, just always in the way.
“Malfoy, I’ll be back in a few.” I don’t know if he hears me; he’s really into the game. I may have started an addiction. Good. He needs something to distract him from his shit life right now.
“Didn’t know if you were showing up today.” Paul slings an arm around my shoulders once I reach him, pulling me up against his side. He’s lean, hard muscle, and smells like sweat. He roofs with his dad, hence the tan and the strength.
“I’m with a friend.” He gives me a surprised look. Fine, I have no muggle friends. Whatever. Paul’s the closest thing, and to be honest, I don’t want him for a friend. He’s to make out with, not talk to. I’m not racist, I just don’t know how to be around normal people and still be me. Magic is a huge part of my existence and muggles aren’t ever going to be able to understand that. Especially when I have crazy evil wizards looking to kill me.
“Feel like ditching him for a bit? We can go play something, just the two of us.” His hand runs over my ass, pulling me closer against his side. Hell.
Paul’s not the subtlest of guys, which is fine by me. I’ve been unbearable horny today, likely because of being stuck in the presence of a sex god. But shit, I can’t just ditch Malfoy in some muggle arcade, even for a hand job… Mmm… Maybe a blow job. Paul’s mouth is on my neck, and he’s doing that thing with his tongue that says he’s totally in the mood to get down on his knees.
“I shouldn’t… He’s new to the area—Ah fuck.” Teeth scrape my throat, the sensation going straight to my dick. Fingers tangle in my hair—my hair is fucking fine, thank you—pulling my head roughly to the side so he can bite more of my neck. It makes me dizzy. Makes me hard, which he really wants to help remedy by grinding his thigh against my erection and squeezing my ass firmly. Hell… okay… maybe just a quick…
There’s a loud cough behind me, and Paul, god only knows why, takes his very nice mouth away from my neck. Groaning, I glare behind me, only to find Malfoy looking pissier than a wet bee. And seriously, why the fuck is he pissed? He’s not the one being cock blocked. “What? Run out of quarters?”
“Are you honestly letting some guy feel you up in a crowd of muggles? Do you not understand the gravity of this situation? Are you taking any of this seriously?”
God, give me strength.
“Paul, give me a sec here.” I don’t actually wait for his reply, untangling myself from his arm and grabbing Malfoy by the shoulder so I can drag him to a secluded area. “What the fuck do you want, Malfoy? I’m sharing my house with you. I’m giving up my bed for you—My fucking bird, apparently too. My goddamn privacy. Can I please have twenty fucking minutes to myself?”
He scowls, glaring pointedly over my shoulder where I can only assume Paul is staring at us wondering why I brought a whiny bitch with me. “You weren’t by yourself, were you? How well do you even know that guy? He’s covered in tattoos and has two holes in his face.”
“Eyebrow rings. Shit, Malfoy, mind your own fucking business. You shouldn’t judge people by how they look.”
“Well, if you want me to judge him by how he acts, I should point out that he looked about ready to shag you in front of everyone.”
Seriously, I do not need a big brother. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s a fucking good thing to me. He knows what he wants, and he’s not afraid to go after it. Now seriously, mind your own fucking business.”
Paul’s trying not to laugh in my face by the time I get back. Fuck him. Fuck them both. I’m horny as fuck and I’m not getting any. Cus Malfoy’s hovering over my goddamn shoulder like he needs to protect me from the guy I’ve been grinding on for the last three weeks. It’s bad enough dealing with Shawn and Toby, who seem determined to drag Paul to every damn game there is whenever we’re trying to go at it. What the fuck is it with straight guys? Don’t they like sex? Do I interrupt them when they’re trying to feel up their girls? No.
Paul’s suddenly on my back, hot mouth moving over my ear, hand pressing into my back pocket. “Ditch your pretty-boy guard dog and let’s go somewhere alone.”
I glance over at Malfoy, who’s stone faced and glaring at the nearest video game while trying to ignore the guy grinding his dick against my ass. Yeah, that’s not happening. “Another time.”
“Come on, Harry. You barely come around anymore.”
Another thing I can’t stand; whiny guys. I take his hand out of my pocket and step away. “Sorry, Paul, got plans today. See you around.” I tilt my head at Malfoy, who seems fucking angry and ecstatic all at once to get the fuck out of the place.
“Did you want to play anything else?” I ask, feeling a bit like an ass for ruining his first time in an arcade. We’re even. He ruined any fun I was going to have.
“Fuck no. It’s crowded as fuck and people kept trying to talk to me the second you left.”
I glance at him sideways. “They’re not contagious, Malfoy. Just muggles. Nothing scary.”
“Fuck off, I’m not an idiot. I’m just sick of being looked at.”
Well, good luck to that, hottie. Magical people have this thing where we all kind of know when we’re faced with another witch or wizard. It’s a small world and if you have any proper senses, you can read the magic on another person. Because of that, we tend to not stare blatantly at the very sexy people because we know that sexy person could also hex the fuck out of us. Unfortunately, this rule does not apply to me because I’m the ex-toddler that survived the curse that put Voldemort out of commission for many a happy year. I get stared at all the time in the wizarding world. Malfoy apparently doesn’t.
“We can get you a pair of sunglasses.”
He looks over at me, clearly not knowing what the fuck sunglasses are. Seriously? It’s the same fucking planet. Did his parents lock him up in that manor his whole life? Rolling my eyes, I change direction, walking him to a small line of stores.
Malfoy, surprise, surprise, has an eye for accessories. He finds the hottest, most expensive sunglasses they have, and dumb ass that he is, he manages to look even sexier in them than out. But they’re dark, so he’s happy to not be making eye contact with all the people drooling over him. I, on the other hand, am really starting to feel frustrated as fuck. The kid is at my elbow everywhere. I can’t even take a leak without him hovering. It’s actually starting to make my wonder.
“Have you ever been outside on your own?”
“With muggles? God no.”
Taking in his tense jaw and undoubtedly flighty eyes under those sunglasses, I add. “How about anywhere else? Diagon Alley?”
He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Holy crap. Never? Seriously?”
“My parents are very protective.”
“Right, that’s why you nearly got buggered by their boss and don’t know how to work a fucking cup of coffee. They’re fucking brilliant there.”
“Fuck off.”
Which reminds me that his mom is likely as good as dead and who the fuck knows about Lucius. I shut my mouth.
“Potter?”
“Hmm?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Nice. Really fucking nice. “Care to be more specific? Or would you just prefer to hurl a list of insults at me before we reach the Dursleys?” We’re right down the street. He could probably fill the void.
“That guy was sleazy looking.”
“What guy?”
“The guy with his hand on your ass, moron.”
Again, nice. “He works for a living. Try it before you judge.”
“He looked like a thug.”
“Malfoy, your father is literally a thug. Looks don’t mean shit.”
He falls silent and I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally shut him up. It’s short lived. “It matters when they’re touching you.”
My god, he’s annoying. “Here’s an idea; next time don’t look. If two guys together grosses you out so much, don’t fucking look at them. It’s not people’s fault how they look. How you talk to other people and treat them though; totally on you.”
“I’m not just talking about looks—Shit, you’re dense. What kind of guy just gropes someone in the middle of a crowd? How can you let someone like that just paw you in front of everyone?”
“There you go again: ‘someone like that.’ Paul’s an OK guy. Not a thug, that’s for sure.”
“But you let him touch you. In front of people. Lots of people.”
I’m actually starting to think he’s more than a little naïve. I stop walking, Malfoy nearly crashing into me before he catches himself. “Haven’t you ever wanted someone so much that you don’t care if other people are in the room?”
“No. I’m not some sort of heathen,” he sneers, like I’ve just asked if he’s a muggle.
“Shit.” I’m trying really hard not to laugh here. “How many girls have you kissed?”
“Fuck you.”
Holy fuck. The hunky Slytherin prince hasn’t been kissed. No wonder he has a fucking opinion about everything. “Here’s the deal, Malfoy. I’ll pretend to give a fuck about your opinion on my choice of guys once you’ve actually kissed someone. Till then, bugger off.”
His glare is fucking perfect. I think it’s the first time I’ve won an argument with him. It almost makes up for the Paul fiasco.
Malfoy spoke about five sentences of something I like to refer to as Wall Street mumbo jumbo, and Uncle Vernon became his best fucking friend. It’s disgusting. If I didn’t know the kid wasn’t allowed to do magic, I’d swear he was entrancing them or something. That said, that he can have so many people eating out of the palm of his hand, yet still infuriate the fuck out of me is rather amazing.
Dinner was oddly talkative, Vernon and Malfoy in a heated discussion about numbers that I don’t care to learn a thing about. Stocks, bonds, whatever. Uncle Vernon actually pats me on the shoulder as he leaves for the living room because he’s glad Malfoy’s there. Bizarre. Malfoy watches TV with the family for a bit, and I escape to my room to finally get some fucking alone time.
A whole day stuck with Malfoy and not once did I get a chance to wank. Talk about torture. That he’s apparently naïve as fuck doesn’t help anything. Because maybe he might have been conscientious if he understood just how hot he was. But no, he was practically clinging to me half the day, like Death Eaters were going to jump us or some shit. Or maybe he’s just really afraid of muggles. People seem to scare him. Like overwhelm him to the point of becoming defensive and clingy all at once. Maybe that’s why he always kept Crabbe and Goyle around—A human buffer.
Whatever. I really don’t want to be thinking about him while touching myself. I have to share a fucking room with him. Closet—it’s a really small room. Making things any more awkward is just going to be miserable.
He has a really nice mouth. That crack about cock sucking this morning has been spinning in my head all day. He doesn’t ever shut up once he starts talking, and doesn’t that just solve everything if he’s on his knees full of dick? Hell… Wasn’t supposed to think of that… Oh, but it’s a nice thought. It really is…
Messing up his perfect hair with my hands, holding his head tight and still as he opens those pouty lips of his for my cock. It could be his first kiss… Bad, Potter. Very bad… But yeah, it could be.
I wonder if he’d swallow… Mmm, maybe just let it dribble out those red lips of his, down his chin, onto his throat. The kid is smoking hot.
I buck into my hand, biting my lip to keep from crying out. Fuck. It’s not the first time I’ve come thinking of him. But it is the first time we’re sharing space. Whatever. Whatever gets me through this.
I’m actually really disappointed to discover he hasn’t even kissed anyone. It ruins my fantasy of him losing his shit, throwing me down and fucking me senseless. Oh, I’m sure he’ll ruin plenty of other things for me before he’s back to school, but this one was sort of special to me. Whether he’s gay or straight doesn’t seem to matter, just as long as he knows how to use his equipment. Damn.
I clean myself up with tissues, make the bed so it doesn’t look like I just jerked off on it, and then unroll the worn sleeping bag that’s been tucked under the bed for ages. It smells like dust and barely clears the space between the nightstand and the door. Hopefully he won’t step on me if he tries to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It’s seriously cramped.
I’m stripping to my boxer briefs when he knocks, and I have one of those oh shit moments. Am I going to have to wear pajamas? No AC, middle of summer, and I need to cover myself up for his modesty? This is getting annoying.
“Potter?”
Fuck it. I’m not doing it. He’s lived in a dorm for five years. I’m sure he’s seen worse. I unlock the door, turning so I don’t have to see his expression and sit down on the sleeping bag. It does nothing to soften the absolute hardness of the floor. I really wasn’t expecting it to, but I had hoped.
“Oh, you’re seriously going to sleep on the floor? I wasn’t really going to kick you out of your bed.”
Right. “I’m tired, Malfoy. I was up too early. So if you don’t mind…” I lay out, wiggling down into the sleek material and fold my hands under my head. I’ve slept in worse for much longer, and yeah, I do mean the cupboard.
“Oh… Alright.” He carefully steps over me and sits on the bed. Closing my eyes, I hear him pulling off his boots, the sound strangely sensual to my very messed up senses.
I’ve never had anyone else in my room. It’s intimate. Disruptive. His t-shirt is next, the sound of soft fabric moving over firm skin as he shifts on the bed. I almost expect him to sleep with his jeans on, then I hear the zipper and every nerve in my body sparks. So fucking glad I jerked off earlier or I would be standing at attention right now from that one sound. Or any of the ones that follow as he stands and pushes his tight jeans down his hips, thighs, then kicks them off the rest of the way. Then he folds them, and puts them with his shirt before settling on the bed.
“How do I make the light dim?”
And the moment is broken. He has no fucking idea how to work a light switch. Nothing sexy about that. I know he’s smart, I do, but it’s really hard to remember when he can’t figure out simple shit. I sit up, standing to reach the switch by the door.
“Light switch. Two settings. Up is on. Down is off.” I glance at him to make sure he gets it, only to really wish I hadn’t. Black briefs that cling and the rest is all pale, long muscle, eyes gleaming silver and heavy with sleep. He’s sprawled on the bed like he belongs there. My bed. And hell, I really want him to belong there.
“You have to walk in the dark to get to bed? Isn’t that counterproductive?”
“Amazingly enough, I manage the three steps.” I flip the switch so I don’t have to look at him anymore. I regret that as well, but I leave the light off and sink back onto the sleeping bag.
“It’s really dark.”
“Sorry, I’m not the night light type.”
“Night light?”
Sigh. Is he going to talk all night? “It’s a dim light you plug in. Usually for little kids. The Dursleys keep one in the kitchen so you don’t hurt yourself if you get up to grab a snack in the middle of the night.” Dudley had taken a spill once years ago when sneaking food.
“Oh… Think you’d want to get one?”
I know I shouldn’t say it, but I’m feeling really cranky right now, his voice hovering fairly close above my head, just the bed height away. “You afraid of the dark, Malfoy?”
“No. I’m afraid of not seeing whatever is hunting me in the dark.”
Touché. I get up, again, and slip out into the hall, padding to the kitchen. Dudley can manage to work a damn light switch at his age. I unplug the night light, ignoring the burn as I make my way back. I hesitate in the doorway, not sure if I really want to go back in there and feel suffocated in that small space with him, where his breath is right in my ear, every movement he makes on the bed almost on top of me.
I push open the door and close it behind me. There’s only one wall outlet in the room and I run my hands down the side of the wall where I know it is, fingers brushing over the plastic casing. Once it’s plugged in and switched on, I crawl back onto the sleeping bag, trying to ignore the way shadows have now taken over the room, rising tall and intimidating on the walls.
“Thanks.”
I grunt something to acknowledge I heard him, then turn to my side, facing away from the bed. I can still hear him, his breath too loud. Even with my eyes closed, I can see him. Long, glowingly pale, eyes heavy with more than just sleep. Floating just above me, stretched out, releasing soft sighs. It takes forever to fall asleep, and I think even longer for him.
“Shit, what is it? What’s wrong?”
I fight the cold terror clawing up my chest as I watch Voldemort torture the remaining life out of what is no longer anything recognizable as human. The terror unfortunately claws back. I grab the offender, hissing when my wrist is twisted and pinned to the floor.
“Potter, snap the fuck out of it!”
“Shit—What the fuck?” I yelp, very much awake, my shoulder stinging from where Malfoy smacked me.
“You were screaming. I thought you were being murdered.” He releases my wrist to cover his face with his hands. He’s crouched on the floor, feet just brushing my right hip as he sits back and slumps against the side of the bed. “Fuck, you scared the fucking life out of me. Fuck.”
Blinking at his dim features in the warm glow of the night light, I relax back to the floor, letting the fear slowly drain from my body as I try to collect my wits. “Sorry. I don’t sleep much. He… he likes to pump visions into my brain when my guard is down.”
Pushing his bangs back from his face and gripping his hair, Draco sighs another weary sigh. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Snakeface. He uses my scar to feed shit into my head.” Once the words are out of my mouth, I immediately wish I could take them back. Malfoy’s spent a lifetime finding out anything he can about me and twisting it to sound the worst among our peers. I really shouldn’t be handing him information where it’s clear I’m fucking crazy.
“You’re telling me You-Know-Who tortures you in your sleep? Every night?”
Fuck, he sounds scared. “Yes. But It’s not me. It’s other people he’s hurting.”
“Real people? Did you see… Did he show you stuff he’s doing this very night?”
God, I’m like the biggest ass. “I don’t know. I didn’t see your mom, if that’s what you’re wondering. Or your dad.”
It is, and he gives another heavy sigh, rubbing his temples, his hair a perfect mess. His legs seem extra long from this angle, his calves strong, thighs muscular.
“Sorry I woke you. I’m used to having silencing spells for when I’m in the dorm.”
“Shit, don’t your relatives say anything?” He fans his fingers out over his face, eyes meeting mine through the opening. “How are they not knocking down the door right now to make sure you’re okay?”
Yeah, he’s more than a little naïve. “They don’t care, Malfoy. They all wear earplugs so they don’t have to hear me. They’re probably hoping one day they’re going to wake up and I’ll really be dead. Go to bed and stop asking so many damn questions.”
“Damn, you’re a surly bastard. Are you going to be pissed off at me the whole time?”
Probably. He’s hot as fuck, in my personal space, and I can’t touch him. Yeah, I’m going to be fucking grumpy as hell. “Go to bed.”
“It’s lumpy.”
Petulant prat. “What, you want to sleep on the floor?”
“Maybe.”
I open my eyes, finding him biting his lip while studying my face. “You freaked?”
He nods, another sigh escaping him. “Will you just… just talk to me for a bit? My heart is racing and the night just feels alive with terrible things right now and I keep wondering about my parents and if they’re…”
I hold up my hand, my arm feeling heavy with sleep. “I get it. But let’s talk about something that’s going to calm you down, not freak you out more.”
“Kay… What do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing, I want to go back to sleep,” I say bluntly. “You pick.”
“Oh. Alright.” He tilts his head back on the side of the bed, closing his eyes, arms resting on his knees. I close my eyes, hoping he’ll talk himself to sleep without needing me to answer. I don’t get much sleep, pretty much ever, and my body fights for it when it’s available.
“Tell me about your boyfriend.”
I snort sleepily. Fucking prat just won’t let it die. “Paul’s not my boyfriend. I don’t think we’ve ever had a full conversation.”
“Oh… So do you do that with a lot of guys? Just, what, casually…”
“If you’re asking if I’m a slut, no. I’m very selective in who I let touch me.”
“Can’t really tell… Unless you like ruffians covered in tats and piercings. You probably do. You have terrible taste in lots of other things as well.”
Probably. Compared to him, I’m always a mess. “Fine. You tell me what kind of guy I should like.”
“Hmm… That’s a good one. Well, for starters, someone you want to actually talk to. A wizard, naturally.”
“Nope.”
“No? You have to date a wizard, Potter, you can’t just date some clueless muggle. What the hell are they going to say when you start sparking in the middle of the night, screaming about all the blood?”
That makes me open my eyes. “I was sparking?”
He nods, blinking at me sleepily. “Green. Scared the shit out of me. You can’t do that to a muggle. It’s plain cruel.”
It’s really difficult to look away from his face. When he’s tired, his guard is down. Nearly sweet looking. “I’ll sleep in a different room. Wouldn’t be right to put anyone through that.”
“That’s dumb. You’d have to walk all the way to the other room just to be cuddled. Or you’d make him have to walk all the way to you through the dark to check up on you.”
Like I want to be cuddled? “Not if I put up a silencing spell. He’ll never know I’m—”
“You’re messed up. Why the hell wouldn’t you want your boyfriend to wake you up and hold you after dreaming fucking terrible things in your sleep? Why the hell do you always want to be alone all the time? I’m always alone when I come home for the summer, and I hate it. People make things better. Alive.”
The sound of his voice is lulling me to sleep, but it’s a question I really can’t ignore. “Life is pain… The less pain at this point, the better.”
He’s quiet. I think I may have fallen asleep because when he does speak, it seems far away. “How long have you been having those nightmares?”
“Long… Three years… Four.”
“That’s fucked up, Potter.”
It sucks, that’s for sure.
My silent reply is completely ignored. “You need to date someone that won’t let you be alone.”
I like being alone.
“Someone that can challenge you. Not just feel you up in some crowded room. You can totally do better,” he mutters.
I don’t want to do better.
“Someone that can appreciate just how much you sacrifice… Really, you give too much. All the time… and you won’t ever accept anything in return… I mean, the world is waiting for you to either win or die at his hands, and you sleep on a lumpy mattress. Tonight the floor, for someone you can’t stand.”
I can stand him… I really can.
“You let me rip on your shitty boyfriend and your stuff and your hair… and pretty much anything that pops in my head at the time cus I just have to fucking talk so I don’t think about shit. And you still sleep on the fucking floor even though you get terrible nightmares and probably can’t sleep even more… You even got me that light that probably keeps you up… Hell, me talking probably keeps you up… You’re fucking amazing. Seriously.”
I’m pretty sure I’m asleep. His hand on my cheek feels cool, fingers brushing lightly over my features. A thumb presses into my scar, running up the length of it and then slowly down, repeating in slow swipes.
“Sweet dreams, Harry.”
Yeah, I’m definitely dreaming.
I’m taken up jogging. Starting this morning and probably lasting until I don’t have to share a room with Malfoy anymore. Waking up rock hard listening to him breathe nearly in my ear, his arm hanging over the side of the bed with fingers brushing my chest is great motivation. This is going to kill me. Being around him all the fucking time is definitely going to kill me. Running is going to be the escape I need.
It’s the same time of morning as yesterday, dawn just deciding to steal the chill from the air as I step out in sweats and a t-shirt. I keep my head down as I go, fairly new sneakers already scuffed by my time spent at the gym. I renewed my membership to the place three blocks away when I returned to the Dursleys this summer. I go there about three times a week. To lift. To convince myself that a couple extra pounds of muscle might make the difference between living and dying if someone manages to hit me with another killing curse. It gives me something to do besides watch my gray hairs grow in from all the fucking stress I live with. Also gives me something to look at—Not a ton of guys go to the gym when I do, but a few are built and worth looking at.
Every time I think of turning back and getting some damn breakfast in me, the image of him sprawled on my bed hits me. I pick up speed, run till my muscles are screaming at me, heat roiling off my thighs, sweat drenching my clothes. Can’t escape it. He’s in my fucking head—In my bed—and I can’t escape him.
I stretch on aunt Petunia’s little white picket fence, trying to get the pain I’ve inflicted out of my tight limbs. The stretch and heat feel good. Too good. Him touching me good. Second day. Second day and I’m already a fucking mess. Sleep was supposed to help, energize me enough to see things proper. But in the same way I woke up yesterday, gasping from those damn sparks hitting my window, today I’m just fucking sparking from his warm fingers curled ever so lightly on my chest. Second day.
“You’re up?” I am, but from out of Vernon’s mouth it’s definitely a question.
“Jogging.” I open the refrigerator, ignoring my sweat and likely funk to get some orange juice. No donuts today. I want a fucking donut but sugar is not going to help this problem. Pain and exhaustion are the only things—And a cold shower. I should go take one of those too. Hopefully he’s awake now and not in my bed.
“Petunia says we’re seeing the new mall today. I hope you’re going to be respectful. It would be a pity to embarrass that proper friend of yours.”
“Yes, Uncle Vernon. I’ll be a perfect saint.” That Vernon doesn’t know my Saint Potter reputation makes it mildly amusing. Because the idea of having to be respectful for the prat sleeping in my bed is just ludicrous. Death Eater. He was going to be a Death Eater.
Sure, they would have killed him if he refused… But I really can’t think like that. Desperate people do desperate fucking things. Like attempt to kill me. Repeatedly. He hasn’t tried it yet, but I’m starting to wonder if this is his plan. Distract me constantly with his hotness until I die of a heart attack… or fall down an open manhole or something while looking at him. I look at him too much. I think about looking at him too much. I really need a shower.
I rinse my glass and place it upside down on the counter, walking past Vernon and his newspaper. The halls empty, but the bathroom isn’t. Aunt Petunia usually doesn’t take long—She’s a no frills sort of woman. Except with the decorating. She likes lace. Curtains, table clothes. No ruffles, thank god.
Naturally, it’s not Petunia. It’s him, nearly jumping a foot when he steps out to find me standing here. Whoops. He’s in yesterday’s clothes. Slightly rumpled, but still damn fine.
“For someone being hunted by You-Know-Who, you sure leave the house a lot.”
Ah. Maybe that’s his plan. Forcing me out of the safety of the wards with his unbearable sexiness until Voldemort just comes up to me on the street and hexes me dead. It could work.
His hair’s different today. Softer looking, messy, like he wasn’t able to charm it perfect. He has the slightest of kinks in one of his locks, the strand falling into his eye, nearly brushing his long lashes. For some reason it makes me hyper aware of my own hair, curling from the run, drops of sweat sliding down my neck. But I’m staring at his mouth, not his hair anymore. Yeah, I should have run more. Like another five miles. Can you run yourself blind? I need to be blind if I’m going to survive this.
I really don’t feel like verbal sparring this early in the morning—hell, talking in general—and I push past him into the bathroom without another word. Then, because I’m an idiot, I turn. “If you need a change of clothes, feel free to go through my bureau. Probably not up to your standards, but…” Whatever. I close the door before he can say anything. Insults or thanks cannot be handled this early in the morning.
God, I want to do things to him. Bad, terrible, nasty things. Voldemort doesn’t have anything on what I want to do to that kid.
It apparently doesn’t matter how tired my legs get; my dick still works. Cold water is not a deterrent. My body makes enough fucking heat to fight it. I jerk off twice in the shower, and I’m pretty sure I can go again in about twenty. I’m totally doomed. I should just walk outside and send up a signal in the sky that looks like my scar. Voldie will know what it means. I give up. Totally losing to Draco Malfoy, and it’s only the second day.
He’s wearing my shirt. I didn’t know my Metallica shirt was my favorite, but I know it now because he’s wearing it and he looks fucking amazing in it. Same jeans as yesterday, pulled down over his boots. Hair’s nearly perfect. He has a little bristle on his jaw, and I’m starting to realize just how much he depends on spells to do fucking everything for him.
It’s not until Dudley’s in the back seat that I realize just what hell I’ve gotten myself into. Dudley’s massive. It’s usually a tight squeeze when it’s just the two of us in the back. Now Malfoy’s going to be back here too. Fuck my life.
“Um, I can sit in the middle.”
“No.” No way in fuck he’s sitting next to Dudley. I get in before he can say another word, glaring warningly at my cousin. “What am I going to do to you if you touch him?”
“Fuck off, freak.”
“Dudley, language! We have a guest.”
“Sorry, Mum.” He punches me in the leg, but I’m used to it. I’ll be black and blue by the time the trip is over, but as long as he doesn’t touch Malfoy, we’re good. Draco slides in beside me and everything goes hazy by the time he shuts the car door. His entire right side is pressed up against my left. Dudley’s on my right just as tight, but believe me when I say, I don’t even notice.
“Do you think you could…?” Malfoy gives me a mildly pained look, wriggling his shoulder against mine. He’s nearly flush against the door and it probably hurts. Dudley won’t be moving, that’s for sure. I pull my shoulder back, extending my arm behind his seat so he’s now in the nook of my embrace and pressed tight to my chest. Fucking hell. Should have sent up that lightning bolt. Voldemort would have been way easier than this.
“Well, this is cozy.” Aunt Petunia. She’s funny. Really. “It shouldn’t take too long, boys. And I was thinking, since it’s a special occasion we might even stop at a restaurant.” There’s a round of halfhearted cheers, Dudley already turning on his handheld video game and turning the noise up obnoxiously loud.
About ten minutes into the ride, I start noticing that things are going to be going from bad to worse. Malfoy’s pale. Sweating, eyes closed shut, face pinched in an expression of pain or nausea—I have a good guess which.
I duck closer to whisper in his ear even though Dudley’s game will probably keep anyone from hearing. “You’ve never been in a car before, have you?”
He shakes his head no, a small whimper escaping him.
“You sick or just scared?”
He cracks an eye open, glaring at me in challenge. “Both.”
Of course. “Lean forward and look at your feet. It helps.” He looks like he wants to argue, but he’s also turning a bit green and does as I say. “Better?”
“A little.” His shoulders are shaking, and every time the car slows down and speeds up again, he groans miserably.
“Oh dear, he’s carsick.” Petunia clucks lightly. “Don’t worry, Drake, it’s not much longer. Harry, rub his back. That always helps.”
Dudley snickers, but I ignore him because I love my aunt and her many brilliant ideas. I’m probably an asshole for using him being sick as an excuse to touch him. Oh well. I press my palm gently to his back, then firmer when he doesn’t bitch at me. I soothe small circles, then larger, trying very hard not to notice just how good his muscles feel flexing under my hand. He sighs, relaxing slowly, leaning towards my leg by the time we get to the next traffic light.
It takes everything in me not to push his shirt up and touch his flesh. Instead I cup the back of his neck, his skin warming under my palm while I rub my fingers in. He makes the softest noise of protest when I drift away from his neck, moving down over his shoulder and breaking up the tension there as well. He has amazing shoulders. Strong, hard, fucking gorgeous. By the time I get to his other shoulder, he’s nearly limp, head lolled to the side, breathing much calmer. God, he’s sexy.
“Can you get my neck again?” He whispers hesitantly when I start moving up and down his back again.
Fuck, yes. I move my hand up his spine, pressing down hard with my palm, feeling him shudder under my touch. Has he ever been massaged before? Touched? Hell. It’s dumb, it’s just a fucking back rub, but I’m going to be the fucking happiest person in the world if I’m his first.
I stroke the back of his neck carefully, kneading the tension away, letting my fingers dig in deeper as he relaxes with every touch. I slowly drift higher, moving up the side to below his ear as I press in firmly with my thumb, reveling in the sensation of his cool hair brushing the back of my hand. He stretches forward, going boneless under my hand with a loud groan. Shit, I’m getting hard.
“Just a little more,” he mumbles when I try to pull away, his body pressing into my hand.
Hell, I can’t say no to that. I should, I really fucking should, but I can’t. What I wouldn’t give for a simple concealing charm right now.
Thankfully we arrive, pulling into the parking lot. Aunt Petunia gazes sympathetically while Vernon shuts the engine off. “Just relax and get used to the world being still for a bit, dear. It can take a little time. We’ll meet back at the entrance by five, then figure out dinner from there.”
I give her a look. I’m getting this growing suspicion that my mother might have gotten carsick, having spent so many years in the wizarding world. It’s not a question Petunia is going to let me ask though. Dudley lumbers out, head still stuck in his game, the car tilting from his absence. Malfoy doesn’t move, just continues to rest his head against the driver’s seat as I rub his neck with my thumb. It’s quiet, the Dursleys’ voices fading away as they walk to the mall. I should stop.
I don’t. I rub down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, digging my palm in, making him groan again. God. He should really tell me to stop. Cus I’m not going to. I don’t think I can. Definitely don’t want to. I move to the same spot on his other side, digging my fingers in, squeezing until he releases a shattered moan and arches his head back. God, I want him. I grab the back of his neck again, firmer, possessively. When I pull him up, he lets me, his head falling back on the seat while I hold him by the nape and stroke my fingertips slowly over his long throat.
“Any better?” I ask, my voice too low, too rough sounding as I drink in his flushed cheeks and parted lips.
“Potter… do you know wandless magic?”
“What?” I’m not fully with it, but still. Where the hell did that come from?
“Because you have fucking magical hands.” He opens his eyes, glaring at me suspiciously.
I try really hard not to grin like an ass. I fail. “If I knew wandless magic, I could have just cast an anti-nausea charm on you. Sorry. Remus said he’d teach me this year.”
He just continues to glare at me, like he doesn’t believe me. I still have my hand on his neck. I cannot, for the life of me, bring myself to remove it. His lashes flutter on every down stroke of my thumb, his eyes growing darker and heavier as each minute ticks by.
“Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
“Yeah…”
His eyes are drooping, and even though the backseat is devoid of Dudley, he’s half in my lap. “You tired?”
He shakes his head no, bringing his face dangerously close to mine.
“Still feel sick?”
Another shake. His eyes are silver slits trained on my mouth. Dangerous, really fucking dangerous.
“You want to go?”
Another shake. God help me.
“Potter?”
“Hmm?”
“How many people have you kissed?”
Please don’t talk to me about kissing when all I want to do is kiss you. “Er, half a dozen or so.”
“All boys?”
“Nah. Took a bit to figure that out.” He has the prettiest mouth I’ve ever seen.
“How’d you figure it out?”
“Kissed a boy.”
“Oh.” Again he looks at my mouth. “You had to kiss one to know for sure?”
“No, not really. I had to kiss a boy to finally prove to myself that I wasn’t ever going to like girls the way I wanted to.”
“You want to want girls?”
“I want a family.”
“You can adopt.”
“Maybe.”
“Get a surrogate.”
“It’s not something I’m thinking about now. You-Know-Who keeps fucking things up. If I live, years down the line… maybe.”
“There are spells.”
“Hmm?”
“For gay wizards. So they can have kids that are genetic offspring of both. You just need a surrogate.”
“Oh… you just know a bit of everything, don’t you?”
His smile makes my mouth dry and head spin, his lips stretching lazily, eyes sparkling mischief. “About gay wizards? Yeah, I know a lot, actually. I never even had to kiss a boy to figure it out. Sure didn’t waste any kisses on girls.”
Son of a bitch. The goddamn fucking prat with his night light, and cock blocking, and fingers on my arm for nearly a day and then on my chest for the night. Taunting, teasing bastard.
“What’s the matter, Potter? Hit a nerve?”
I really need to get the fuck out of this car. I grip his neck harder, watching his face, watching his lips as they part in a soft groan. “Wasn’t a waste. I learned from it. As long as I learn from my fuck ups, it’s never a waste.”
“Yeah?” His eyes close for a moment, head tilting back into the touch of my hand. “Planning on learning something new?”
Shit. I really need to stop touching him. He really needs to stop saying sexy shit to me. I pull him until he’s resting against my chest, hot puffs of air heating my neck. “Malfoy, what the fuck do you want from me?”
I can feel him smirk, his lips pressing to my skin sending sparks jolting through my body. “Who says I want anything? Just enjoying your magic hands. They feel very, very good, and my head hurts since someone woke me up screaming last night.”
Yeah, I’m probably going to be ash by the end of today. He’s totally fucking with me, and he knows I know it. I’m a weak, weak man when it comes to Draco Malfoy. I trail my hand up, tangling my fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp and temples while he sighs into my skin.
“Better?”
“More.”
God, maybe now. With his lips on my neck, his gasps vibrating in my chest. Burn me alive now.
I’m not sure how I got out of the car unsinged. Not sure how I did it without kissing him or tearing his clothes off and grinding him until he finally relented and admitted he likes me. Not sure how the hell I’m walking with my dick at half staff, trying very hard not to stare at his ass while his fingers again grasp lightly to my sleeve.
He’s put his sunglasses on to block the interested stares sent his way. He likes shopping but the mall is tough on him. Lots of people, lots of noise and crowds. He’s used to having a tailor and going to small, vastly expensive places that schedule him in on appointment so he doesn’t have to fear being interrupted. I know because he keeps talking to me.
He’s chatty when he’s nervous. I don’t mind. His mouth fights his ass for my attention. Neither are really safe options, but I’m trying my best.
“What about here?” He asks, stopping us in front of one of those preppy, overly cologned modern-men clothing stores. The outside is plastered with half dressed, probably not even legal boys with their pants hanging too low on their hips. Hey, if he wants to dress like that, I’m not going to complain. He might have to go somewhere else for a shirt, though, cus I’m not sure they sell any if I go by the pictures.
I let him drag me inside while I breathe determinedly through my mouth. It sounds like a fucking rave in the actual store. I’d hate to work in a place like this—It’s like a war on all the senses. Except for the clothes. There are a lot of neutrals, the only thing really shocking about them being the price tag. Whatever. He’s happy. The sales guy seems ecstatic to meet one of the models out of their own damn advertising.
“Don’t forget shoes,” I remind him. I love his boots but he can’t wear them around muggles. They’re not even cow but some sort of dragon hide. He’s such a spoiled little prat.
“What do you think?” I turn to find him holding up a shirt. They do apparently sell shirts.
“Err… nice?” I’m really not the person to be asking.
“Would you wear it?”
Ha. Button down, white base with blue and white stripes of plaid. “Even if I was able to wash the smell of this place out of it, I still wouldn’t wear a collared shirt.”
He rolls his eyes and suddenly the shirt is being put on me like I didn’t just say that it smells and has a collar, and yeah, it’s white.
“It looks good on you.” Fine, it does when layered over my tee and not buttoned up. Still smells. Before I can say anything, he pulls it off me and throws it at the sales guy. “Three this style, different colors.”
“Malfoy…” He gives me a look like it’s not my money he’s spending on shit I’m never going to wear. Whatever. I’ll return it later.
Fine. I’m lazy, I’ll end up wearing it just to keep from doing laundry.
I slowly edge my way towards the doors of the store, hoping some fresh air might pipe its way in and he’ll stop trying to dress me. I am not a project. I like my clothes. I like my jeans… Oh, but these are really cool jeans…
Malfoy is very good at spending my money. It’s okay, I have plenty; still, it’s impressive. I exchanged half a million to muggle money and put it in a bank because I’ve been thinking about getting a house eventually. Half a mil apparently doesn’t scratch what’s left in my parents’ vault. I really don’t get how rich people make so much money but they do seem good at spending it. I think my debit card smoked when the salesclerk ran it through the machine.
“Where to next?”
“Err, the car to put those packages away.”
“Ha, they’re not going to fit, Potter. I’m having them delivered to your relatives’ house. They’ll be there before eight tonight.”
Hell, he’s good. Can’t work a coffee cup, but if it’s rich enough, he figures it out. I check my watch. Which makes him want to buy a genuine muggle watch. One track mind, this kid. I let him drag me through the mall. He’s never been here before either, but he seems to understand how things work better than I do.
While he’s looking at watches, I stare blankly at the people walking by, letting my senses expand. It’s important in places like this. The arcade, you can spot someone out of place pretty damn quick. In a mall, you get so many people from different walks of life, it’s a lot easier to be surprised by someone magical. Shopping is not exclusive to muggles, as Malfoy’s proven. I’m not expecting Death Eaters, or anything, but you never know when someone is going to recognize the ‘Great Harry Potter,’ say some shit to someone else, and then have it known that I go to a certain place. Now that I have to watch his back too, I’m even more antsy.
There are a few magical signatures floating around. Malfoy’s a beacon to me. I’ve zoomed in on him so many times at school, I can spot him out of a hundred other magical kids. The other two are weak, possibly squibs, they’re that unimpressive. Still, I keep my senses on them, making sure I’m not anywhere they are.
I seek him out, figuring he’ll probably need some cash sooner or later. It’s him, after all. He’s twitchy, some guy chatting him up that he’s trying really hard to ignore as he stares determinedly at the watches. It’s actually kind of funny seeing him around muggles. If he was with his own, he’d have no problem telling the guy to fuck off. But he’s not, he’s out of his element, and he just doesn’t know what’s the right level of bitchy prat.
I walk up to him, hands in my pockets, trying not to smile at his look of relief and annoyance as he sees me. His sunglasses are on his forehead and he looks ridiculously hot. Can’t blame the guy for trying. “Pick one yet?”
He shakes his head, glaring briefly to the right of him where the guy is still hovering, but now looking at me, sizing me up to see if I’m competition. Anyone ballsy enough to talk to a fine piece of ass like Malfoy is usually trouble.
“Why not? Nothing you like?”
Now Malfoy’s glaring at me. I’m not helping him. He wants to be a big baby around the muggles, that’s his problem. People are people and you got to deal with them the way you need to, or they’re just going to make your life hell.
“I had some questions about a few of them. The materials they’re made from. Durability. Apparently no one works in this store.”
Well the bitchy is making an appearance, but it’s not at the right target just yet. “How ’bout you ask your friend? Maybe he knows something about watches.”
If Malfoy was allowed to use magic, he’d hex me for that. As it is, he might still punch me. I just smile as he glares daggers at me. “Let me go find a clerk. I’m sure someone will be able to help.” He growls as I walk away. I feel sorry for the guy that doesn’t have the brains enough to leave.
It’s a department store, so I go to the registers to have them call someone for assistance with the watches. By the time I get back, Malfoy’s shadow is gone and he’s pissed.
“Potter, that was fucking assholic of you! He was badgering me since I got here, asking me for some fucking numbers or something. Don’t you ever abandon me around muggles again. I can’t understand half of what they’re even saying to me.”
Poor prat. It must be hard being hot, rich, and so fucking naïve. “Malfoy, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. He was just asking you out. Next time, just tell him to fuck off.”
He pauses, blinking in surprise. “I can do that?”
“Of course you can. You’re not going to be arrested for being an asshole. Everyone’s an asshole around here.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re an asshole.”
Yup, I’m still in trouble. Worth it to see him squirm. A salesclerk finally shows up and Malfoy grills the girl, taking his anger out on her instead. I step back, letting him do his magic. By the time he’s through he’s found the most expensive watch and he’s wearing it out, my debit card threatening to melt.
“Muggles are rude.”
“Some of them are.”
“All they do is stare. It’s damn annoying.”
I shrug. “Everyone stares at me because of my scar. At least here no one looks at me.”
He huffs, glancing at me from beneath his sunglasses. “They’re all staring at you.”
“Only cus they’re trying to figure out what a guy like me is doing walking around with a guy like you, Malfoy. Believe me, I’m glad to not be noticed for a change.”
He just grunts, suddenly standing taller, the fingers once curled on my sleeve now wrapping around my bicep firmly. It’s fantastic feeling, and I turn his way. He’s suddenly broad shouldered and all confidence. I didn’t realize just how tall he was. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure they look at me.”
“Oh.” It must be working because I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of him.
“Potter, you’re going to trip.”
Right. Staring. He’s really hot and in my t-shirt.
“Potter…”
Ha, totally should have kissed him when I had the chance. Shit. How does he manage to get hotter? Is that even possible? Jerk. Really hot jerk.
I force my face forward, hyper focused on his hand on my arm. As my eyes move blindly over the storefronts, crowds of people, and sitting areas, I start imagining what it would be like to have him suddenly push me against a wall… or the side of the escalator, or down on that couch over there, and just snog me senseless. And, well, if we’re already there, why stop at a snog, right? He was definitely packing something impressive in those briefs of his last night… While lying on my bed.
God, I’m losing it. Really should have kissed him. Just to know for sure. Just so I could be certain he wasn’t fucking with my head about being gay. Cus god, I’m losing it.
“Are you okay? You nearly walked into a trash bin… Potter?” He stops, holding me by the arm so that I have to stop as well. His hand is cool against my flushed face, and I can’t help smiling like an idiot as he pushes my hair back to see if my forehead is warm. Seriously, he’s so dumb.
“Why are you all flushed? Did you eat something bad? You look just like…” He pushes his sunglasses up, glaring down at me. “Potter, are you perving out right now?”
“Err…” God, I want to climb him.
“Shit, you have issues. Seriously. Did some guy in tattoos walk by and fuck with your head? Don’t go talking to anyone until you stop being so… weird.”
I bite my lip, staring up into his beautiful gray eyes. They look a little blue in here. I really want to kiss him.
“And stop looking at me like that.”
“Hmm?”
“Like you’re going to eat me alive. It’s weird.”
Heh. He’s really adorable and absolutely frustrating as fuck. I turn and start walking again but his hand is still on my arm, keeping me from moving. “Malfoy…”
He growls, the noise making my toes curl. “Seriously, Potter. Don’t talk to anyone.”
He’s sure possessive for someone that refuses to show any interest in me.
Malfoy managed not to eat or drink anything that wasn’t food while at the restaurant Vernon picked out. I had a brief wonder of if the ornamental fish tank was going to end up being raided by him, but he just walked by with only a curious glance. Running that morning apparently made me starving, and I ate a portion of food that actually rivaled Dudley for a change.
Then it’s back to the car for Malfoy and I to endure our own very different versions of hell while he gets nauseas, and I get hard. At least it’s dark. Less scenery for him to watch whizzing by, less likely anyone is going to notice just what rubbing his back does to me. We don’t linger in the car this time. I seriously consider a night jog, but aunt Petunia wants me to change the sheets because Draco’s a guest and deserves to be treated like one. Whatever.
After that, it’s all about taking his packages in and trying to make space in my little bureau for his new clothes. After a moment of ingenuity, I go out to the tool shed in the backyard and grab a 2×2 and make him a damn clothing rack. He’s happy his shit isn’t wrinkled, and I don’t have to listen about there not being enough space.
“You’re not going to watch the television?”
Malfoy’s become obsessed. Aunt Petunia actually warned me to not let him watch it during the day. I guess she’s seen this before. “I’m tired. You watch.”
“Yeah, but…” He’s fidgeting, like it’s actually important and not just stupid TV.
“You don’t need my fucking permission. Just go.”
“Asshole.”
Whatever. I’m exhausted and incredibly horny. Neither of which he can help me with. I shut the door behind him, my eyes lingering on the clothing rack. I placed it high enough so his things wouldn’t hit the floor and intrude in my sleeping area. Still, my room’s just getting smaller and smaller with him being here. I strip, throwing my clothes in the hamper. I hit the lights, then get down on my knees and start fucking myself on my fingers before I lose my mind.
God, I need it. So bad. Just want it inside me, stretching me, filling me, taking me. Want him. God, I want him to take me. I don’t think he’d even know how. Still want it. So bad. God, why’d he have to be all hunky and possessive in the mall? He keeps fucking with my head. Every time I try and put a wall up, he knocks it down.
Hell, if I straddle him in his sleep, would he fuck me? Just start kissing him, grinding him, stroking his cock until he just has to put it in me. It was just his hand on my arm. That, and seeing his fucking shoulders. But damn, it made me want him. I always want him, but that, that was just unfair. Like he was going to protect me from people staring.
I could blow him. Get him so hard he won’t care where he’s putting it, just as long as he cums. God, I want him to cum in me. Deep inside while I’m on my knees. I want him to dominate me. Push me down and just take me. Not even ask. He doesn’t have to. I’ll let him do anything to me. Except get me killed.
Not even sure about that last one anymore.
My breath is loud in the dark, the sleeping bag under my knees rustling every time I slam down on my fingers. I avoid my prostate because I don’t want to cum too fast. I want to feel it. I want to pretend that every stroke is his cock driving inside me, wanting me as much as I want him.
Just the second day. It’s just the second day and I’m totally losing it.
This time he doesn’t hit me when I wake him screaming. He covers my mouth with his hand. I nearly bite him before I realize what’s happening. Then I melt, because fuck, he has his hand over my mouth.
“Alright there?”
I nod, my eyelids feeling heavy as I look up at him. He’s hanging over the bed, brows scrunched in concern. Finally he pulls his hand away when he sees I’m done screaming.
“Sorry.” I was asleep when he came in. I hope he didn’t stay up all night watching TV.
“No… Shit, Potter. You can’t help it. What did you…?” He trails off, and I wonder if he’s thinking about his parents again. Is that how this is going to go every night? I wake up screaming and he freaks about his parents? He should have gone to the Weasleys; they don’t scream at night.
“It was a muggle man. He got too close to where You-Know-Who is camped out. Kept noticing the lights. Got himself killed… eventually.”
He sighs, his expression draining of a lot of its tension. Because at least it wasn’t his father. “Hell. And you… you saw all of it?”
“Everything he did to that man. Yeah.”
“Hell.”
He shouldn’t ask about things he doesn’t want to know the answers to. “Sorry I woke you. You should try and go back to sleep.”
“What’s the worst thing he’s shown you?”
God. “Malfoy, it’s not something I like to think about.”
“You need to talk about it. You can’t just bottle this stuff inside. It just makes it worse to be the only one who sees it.”
“You really think speaking it aloud is suddenly going to make it less horrible?”
He rolls back over, his head on his arm as he looks down at me. “You ever tell anyone what you’ve dreamed?”
I shake my head. “I tried in the beginning but Ron and Hermione kept freaking out. Then I gave up because I realized the dreams were never going to stop. Why subject others? This is his torture for me. As long as he’s alive, I’m never going to get a night’s rest.”
“Tell me tonight’s dream. All of it.”
“Malfoy…”
“Not a request. You woke me up; you owe me.”
God, this is so much worse. I should have just told him it was his parents or something. That would have shut him up. “Fine.” I fold my arms under my head, studying the shadows on the ceiling so I won’t have to watch him freak out. Because it’s hell. Every dream is the slow, pain wrought dissection of a living human being.
“He doesn’t think they’re people. Muggles. He can’t figure out why they’re even alive. How they talk, how they walk. He thinks they mimic us, something magical hiding inside them that turns flesh puppets into people. So he goes looking. Between the skin and the muscle. Through the brain. He has a process, a procedure. It’s bloodless… in the beginning. When he’s in control like he was tonight. Uses his wand to magic away pieces at a time so he can look at them in the light.” It’s not a bright light, but it’s bright enough.
“Once the voice box is removed, it gets quieter. But I can still see. They get tighter, their muscles tense in pain, shaking, until those are gone too. And slowly, piece by piece, he hollows them out. I can list the order, I’ve seen it so many times. Every piece that ends up beside them instead of inside.” I don’t want to list the order. I don’t want to remember it. But, for some reason, my chest doesn’t feel so tight anymore.
“You see that every night?” His voice is rough, almost weak.
“No. Sometimes it’s bad. Sometimes he’s actually angry. It gets messy. Wet.”
He’s silent except for his breathing. I can feel him staring at me, but I refuse to look. “But not tonight? Just neat and ordered pieces tonight.”
“Right.”
“You ever recognize them?”
I hesitate. His hand drifts down, fingers pressing to my forehead, sifting through my bangs, thumb on my scar. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream. “All the time. But I don’t think I know any of them. They’re just faces… Could have seen them on the street. In a crowd. Maybe at the arcade. Sometimes I’m sure. Sometimes I just realize it’s a rerun.”
“Rerun?”
“Muggle television. Sometimes they’ll show the same episode of a show again at a different time. He sends me the same dreams once in a while. I guess he hasn’t killed enough to fill in every night… but he just can’t let me rest. So I’ll watch the same person die. That’s why I don’t know if it’s really happening or not. For all I know, he’s never killed anyone.”
He snorts humorlessly. “Fat chance.”
“Malfoy… You’re shaking.”
“Yeah, well, I have a very active imagination.”
I sigh, closing my eyes. His thumb keeps moving over my scar, but I can feel the tremor in his hand. “Don’t ask me next time. I don’t want to feel guilty on top of everything else.”
“Shut up. There’s nothing wrong with having a perfectly healthy physical response to some fucked up shit. That you’re not freaking out is more weird than anything.”
“Too tired. Seen it too many times… Hell, I probably wouldn’t freak out if it was happening in front of me at this point—Hey!” He only pulls my hair harder. I open my eyes, meeting his glare.
“Potter, you were screaming your bloody head off. You can pretend all you like that you’re all desensitized or whatnot, but that’s bullshit. Your body sure as fuck still knows how to be afraid, even if your conscious mind blocks it out.”
“If I agree with you, will you let my hair go?”
He smirks cruelly, tugging on my hair again. Something in his eyes makes my toes curl. “Maybe.”
Damn, he’s hot.
“Picking on you helps me not think about the terrible things you just described.”
I nod, my hair slipping through his fingers as he relaxes his hold. “Sorry. Feel free to beat me up if it helps.”
“Heh, don’t tempt me. Your relatives watched an action movie tonight. Everyone was doing martial arts—You know we have spells for that, right? I can’t wait to get back to school and learn some hand to hand combat. Maybe run up a wall. They were flipping all over the place. It was cool.”
“Why? So you can steal lunch money from first years and subdue them with only the use of your thumb?”
He smirks again and suddenly his thumb is back on my scar, pressing in and rubbing. “Oh, I dunno. Seems to work on you.”
Ah, I walked right into that one. “Yeah, well, I’m apparently easy. Got the spot marked out and everything.”
“I keep expecting it to hurt for some reason.” He turns his thumb, the nail suddenly sliding down the edge of my scar. I bite my lip, a shiver moving through my body.
“Oh. That explains it then…” He does it again and I have to close my eyes.
“I mean, you’ve had it forever. I’m sure it’s healed by now… just…” Scraping slowly, he traces down to the very bottom of my scar, then moves over my eyebrow, the flat of his thumb teasing through the short hairs.
“Malfoy…” He really needs to stop.
“It doesn’t hurt… does it?”
I exhale unsteadily as he moves down my nose. “No.” His thumb reaches my lips and I still, my breath hitching. He presses down harder until my lips part and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.
“You bit your tongue.”
“Oh.”
“When you were yelling.”
“Right.”
His thumb moves over my lower lip, smoothing wet, his fingers curling on my cheek. “Does it hurt? Your tongue?”
It’s time to go jogging. Definitely time to get the fuck away from his damn innocent flirting. I should shut him down and put him in his place for trying to mess with me. Because whatever the hell he’s after, it’s not the same thing I am. But that would include him taking his thumb off my lips, and I really don’t want that. Not yet.
I open my eyes to find him staring at my mouth like he wants a kiss. As much as I’d like to give him one, I’m pretty sure it’s a bad idea. He’s going through a lot of shit with his folks, he’s sleep deprived—And I know how much that alone can make bad ideas seem really brilliant.
I think he’s just clinging to me, looking for the closest familiar thing to make the world seem stable now that it’s all gone to shit. I can’t be that, and not just because I’m pretty sure he’s hated me the majority of his life. I’m just more shit, and he’s been saving himself for a fucking kiss.
I close my eyes, blocking out his beautiful face. “Go to sleep, Malfoy.”
He sighs, his thumb moving down my lip, over my chin, across my jaw. He winds his way back to my scar, pushing down firmly like he’s pressing a button. “You’re grumpy at night, Potter.”
“Grumpy all the time.”
“Yeah, that too.”
I hit the gym this time, hoping to wreck my body enough to stop fucking thinking about him. The pain’s good. Something to focus on. Something real, unlike his fucking mind games. I’m not even sure he knows what he’s doing. But he’s doing it. Playing boyfriend. Demanding all my attention. Touching me, looking at me, talking to me. Unsettling as fuck. Because I want him more than anything and I really can’t have him.
He’s pissed when I get back. It’s nearly noon and apparently he thought Death Eaters had gotten me. He really needs to calm the fuck down.
“It’s just the gym, Malfoy.”
“You were alone. Without wards. What if someone had caught you? You have no way to defend yourself!”
“What, like you being there would really make a difference?” I have to argue with him outside because it’s Sunday and Vernon and Petunia are inside getting ready for lunch. “You try to use your wand and every auror will know where you are—Meaning minutes later, so will You-Know-Who.” He’s also making it really difficult to stretch, growling and looking like he’s going to hit me.
“So? Still better to survive and run back to the wards, than just outright die! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want to die? Are you just waiting for him to find you and finish you off?”
I roll my eyes, stretching my other quad. Third day. Third day and he either thinks he’s my mother or my girlfriend. I say girlfriend cus I feel like a proper boyfriend wouldn’t be quite so naggy about it all. I could be wrong. He’s also ridiculously hot when he’s angry and it’s very, very distracting.
“Are you honestly telling me the Order says it’s okay to just go running about all the time? The werewolf just waves his hands and goes, ‘Sure, go get yourself killed. Have a ball.’ You really don’t care if you live or…”
“So you don’t want to go to the movies today?”
“…die like a—What?” He stops mid-sentence, blinking at me.
“Well, if you’re so concerned about my safety and all, you’ll probably not want to go, right? Too dangerous.” I release my leg, stretching my shoulder. “I mean, it’s just a muggle building with lots of people to hide among. Very dim lighting, a dozen films to choose from. Think they even have a few good action flicks playing.”
“Oh… okay.” He glances away like he’s not sure where he is right now. “Um, so, now? With them?” He nods his head towards the house.
“No, I don’t really feel like bringing them to the fucking movies.”
He brightens, smiling right at me. My stomach plummets somewhere around my shoes and I clutch at my arm, hoping that won’t fall as well. “Alright. Let’s do that then.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile at his 180. “You’re not worried about Death Eaters killing us?”
“Shut up.” He shoves me playfully. “You said it yourself. It’s not like they’re going to be hanging around a bunch of muggles. How far away is the place? Do we have to take the trolley again? Oh, I should get those sunnyglasses.”
God help me, the boy can talk. “I need a shower first. You do whatever the hell you want, just give me twenty minutes of peace.”
He glares, shoving me again. Only a little less playful. “Stop being a surly ass, Potter.”
Yeah, well stop being a teenage girl. I keep my lips firmly sealed, walking into the house after kicking my sneakers off. Don’t care what he does, I just really need some time alone in that shower.
He’s waiting on my bed when I come out of the bathroom. I don’t see him at first, trying not to trip over the sleeping bag. Nearly have my towel off before he finally makes a noise, making me jump in surprise. “Shit!”
He just raises a brow like I’m overreacting. Maybe I am, but I’m not getting naked in front of him. Not when he’s dressed like sex in his perfect fitting new muggle clothes. I gotta say, there is nothing sexy about robes. It’s like everyone is in a damn choir at school. Seeing him dressed in jeans though—that definitely does something for me. Things I thought I had taken care of in the shower until he’s in the same room as me while I’ve got nothing but a towel and drops of water between us.
“Malfoy, get lost. I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”
“Seriously? You sleep in your underwear.”
God, what the hell does he want from me? Am I supposed to just strip down in front of him because we’re both guys? It doesn’t help that he’s totally checking me out right now. More mind games with him. It’s really staring to piss me off.
“Your cousin’s down there with a friend. He’s creepy. Can I just turn my head or something?”
Ugh. “Piers is here?”
“Yes, and he’s beyond terrible. Was he dropped on his head as a child? Just how do you get that fucked up?”
“Drugs, I think.” I have no interest in leaving Malfoy with Dudley and Piers unsupervised. “Fine, turn around.”
He does, Indian style on the bed while I go rustling through my bureau. He unfortunately feels the need to talk. Like I’m not allowed to think that I could be alone, no, he has to make sure I know he’s there. Pain in the ass.
“So what’s the movies like? I thought maybe it would be like the television but it would be difficult…”
I tune him out because, seriously, he’s going to find out soon enough. It’s a movie theater; nothing fucking special. I only mentioned it because I wanted to shut him up and, well, I think he’ll probably really like it. It’ll be dark, so he won’t have to worry about people staring at him. And he’s totally in love with TV, so better to introduce him to something a bit more quality than whatever the Dursleys consider watching at night. And yeah, he’ll have to be quiet for a good two hours straight.
I’ve just thrown the towel to the floor and am stepping into my underwear when I realize he’s stopped talking. I refuse to look at him although I know damn well he’s looking at me.
This isn’t going to work. I mean, seriously.
“Malfoy.” I hear him jump, the bed squeaking. “You have to stop this.”
“What?”
I ignore his totally innocent sounding response, stepping into my jeans and fastening them closed. “I’m not a gay dress rehearsal. You want to play at chasing boys, go do it with someone else. I’m just trying to live my damn life here, and I don’t like being messed around with.” I pull my shirt over my head, tugging it down roughly.
I go over to the hamper to pull my belt from yesterday’s pants and thread it through the ones I’m wearing.
“Potter, I’m not—”
“Zip it.” I look up, meeting his frown. “Stop fucking with me. Just because I think you’re hot doesn’t mean you get to mess with my head. You can rip on me about my home life, You-Know-Who, my nightmares, my appearance—Whatever. Just don’t fuck with me on this one thing. I need some sort of boundary. We’re going to be stuck in this little room for a month, and I’d like to not be insane by the end of it.”
He’s quiet as I put my socks on, grab my wallet, and give Hedwig a few treats. By the time I’m at the door and he’s finally standing, I turn his way again. He’s got his mask on, all cool confidence. “We good?”
“Fine.” Frosty, but not bitter. He’ll survive. Hopefully, I will too.
“Don’t forget your sunglasses.”
So I’m worried I’ve completely ruined the movies for Malfoy. He’s been quiet ever since I set the one rule down—I don’t think he even understands how many rules I’ve been placing on myself while I just asked this one thing of him.
No more touching him if he gets carsick. No staring at his ass, or any other part of him. No fantasizing about him doing anything to me—very much the hardest one cus he’s been masturbation fodder for years. But I’m sticking to it because he’s fucking naïve, and hot, sleeps in my bed in his underwear, and if I touch him while he’s still crying over his parents, I’m no better than Voldemort.
He doesn’t touch my sleeve on the trolley. He actually stands a few feet away from me, staring out the windows. Hasn’t said much of anything to me since, and I’m wondering if he’s more fucked up about this than I first thought. But I’m a guy so I’m going to ignore it until he gets his shit together again.
Seriously, he’s running from a psycho looking to rape him dead. Does he really want to play house with me? Is that really the solution to his fucking problems? No. He needs a fucking shrink. He needs to hear that his parents aren’t dead—Or even that they are so he can mourn properly and deal with his shit. He needs to feel like he’s not going to be kidnapped and killed every waking moment of the day. That’s why he’s freaking out about me being off alone—because he’s certain that’s his fate. Alone and dead.
It’s Sunday so the theater is bursting. We haven’t hit the late crowd yet, still a bunch of screaming kids running around hopped up on sugar while their parents seek shelter in the air-conditioning. I ask him what he wants to see and he has no opinion. Doesn’t care. Fuck. I try to feel him out on what he might like but he’s completely shutting me out. Fine. Whatever. I pick the one with marital arts, fast cars, and muscular men, and hope he gets over it sooner rather than later.
While I’m in line, he’s looking at the arcade games. I get some quarters from the cashier, just in case he feels like playing. By the time I’m done, he’s gone. I find him eventually, the crowd of people making things difficult. Being chatted up by some guy. Which would be fine—everyone wants to chat him up—but Malfoy’s actually smiling back, pushing his sunglasses up for the full effect of his dazzling eyes. I’ve been seeing that particular smile a lot the last three days directed solely at me. Seeing it turned towards this random punk is decidedly upsetting on more than one level.
I know what he’s doing. He’s pissed I turned him down so he’s trying to make me jealous. It’s childish, petty, and right up his alley. The only problem is, it’s really fucking working.
I take a few deep breaths before I walk over to him. No way in fuck he’s going to see he’s getting to me. It’ll only make it worse. I smile at the fucking loser that thinks he stands an actual chance with Draco Malfoy, and hand the blond his ticket. “Starts in fifteen. I’ll be at the games if you’re looking for me.” And then I walk away without looking back while he glares because there’s no way in fuck he’s going to win this. A month of this shit if he wins today. Not fucking happening.
I’ve apparently underestimated just how fucking angry he is. The next time I send a stealthy look his way, he’s gone again along with his new friend. Fuck. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him? Is everything a fucking game? He’s not getting food, he’s not playing games, not in the photo booth, not out on the stairs. Which leaves me with this sinking, fucking sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and I head to the bathroom nearest to where he was standing last.
Fuck my motherfucking life.
The place is almost empty. Almost. Two pairs of shoes, the stall door just about to close. I’m going to fucking kill him. But first, the goddamn loser.
He’s got a whole head on me and some muscle but it’s ornamental at best. I drag him out of the stall by his shirt collar and throw him against the sinks. He gapes at me. Like he couldn’t figure out that Malfoy was trouble the second he let someone as mundane as him speak two words all while glaring at me the whole time? There’s no fixing stupid.
“You can fuck off or I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”
“Potter, you’re—”
“Not a fucking word.” I don’t take my eyes off of the fucktard. The guy’s sizing me up, trying to figure out if I can back up my threat. I can. I’m more than happy to get bloody and bruised to do it. I’m furious and I dying to feel some pain. He must see it in my face because he raises his hands in surrender and walks out quiet as can be.
“Potter, why the fuck did you have to—”
I turn on him, growling. “What the fuck were you thinking? A fucking bathroom? Do you know what people do in these places? You don’t know a fucking thing about that guy and you were going to let him take you to a movie theater bathroom!”
He winces but his jaw’s pointed and he’s trying to stare me down. “It’s no different than what you did in the arcade.”
“Oh, you really fucking think so?” I step forward and he takes one back warily. “You think the guy I’ve been seeing for three weeks is the same as the absolute stranger that thought he could get in your pants after five fucking seconds of talking to you?”
“He wasn’t going to—”
“What? You think he was going to hold your fucking hand and give you your first kiss in here?” The motherfucking idiot.
“Fuck you, Potter! You’re not my fucking mother.” He tries to shove me, but I step into his push and he falls back against the stalls.
I slam my hands down on either side of him, glaring him in the eye. “No, I’m not. But I’ve been trying to fucking think about your mother every goddamn time I deal with you, Malfoy. You are fucked up right now. If you want to ruin your life, don’t do it in front of me. I will stop you at every goddamn turn.”
His face goes red and he’s beyond angry. Mentioning his mother was not the way to go. “Fucking son of a—What the fuck do you care!”
“I don’t. But you’re in my face, under my roof, and I’m not going to let shit happen to you. You don’t think a muggle won’t fuck you up? You don’t think they won’t shoot you up with something or hurt you bad enough to make you do anything they want? You think magic is the only fucking way to get something from someone?”
“Just back the fuck off!” He tries to shove me again, but I grab his arms. “Damn it—I don’t need your fucking Saint Potter bullshit! You’re so much worse than me. So what if I wanted to—”
“What? What the fuck did you really think you were doing in here?” He flinches from my venomous tone. “You were going to let an absolute fucking stranger kiss you. You waited till you had a fight with me to decide you just had to go get your first goddamn kiss with the first loser that showed an interest. You’re fucked up.”
“Not the first—Fucking ass! You could have! You were definitely the only fucking loser I was looking at! I’ve been looking at you for fucking years! But you didn’t want to so why the fuck should I wait? I’m probably going to be dead before the summer is through. God, you’re an arrogant ass—Let me the fuck go!”
I don’t let him go. I slam him back again, watching him growl in frustration. I shouldn’t do this. I’m pissed and he’s pissed, and I really shouldn’t do a goddamn thing but walk away. I release his arms and grab him by the face, pulling him down and kissing him hard. He gasps, tries to shove me again, except his hands cling to my collar, pulling me closer.
Damn it… Damn it to hell, he tastes amazing. Really fucking amazing. I let my fingers tangle into his hair, pulling sharply until he opens to my tongue with a groan. I push him back harder, grinding my body against his, wrapping an arm around his back. His hands are suddenly tearing at my shoulders and before I realize what’s happening, the world spins and I’m crashing through the stall door and he’s throwing me against the wall. Well, fuck.
“Malfoy—”
“Shut up.” He grabs me by the collar again, crushing my lips with his. He’s all hard muscle and angry mouth, and when he pushes flush against me I grab him by the belt and pull him closer, grinding our erections together. He groans into my mouth, grabbing my hip and wrenching me harder against him. God… God, he’s fucking tight.
I bite his lower lip and he hisses and grabs me hard by the neck, holding me still so he can do the same to me. It’s hot, wet, and sends shudders through me every time his teeth scrape my lip. He’s too rough, too angry, but it’s so perfect and I can’t seem to stop moaning.
He presses his leg between my thighs and grabs my ass hard, and the world goes dark for a second. Hell. Holy hell. I tear at his shirt, running my hands up his back the moment I get underneath and reach his skin. He’s hot, flushed with sweat, and when I grip hard enough, he growls and slams me back. Oh fuck. God, yes.
“Oh, harder, just… Yeah, like that.” I cling to him as he kisses down my neck, his teeth sinking in, sucking mean, desperate welts into my skin. It’s maddening, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to stand much longer, my knees trembling under his assault. “Malfoy… God, just… Oh hell…” I trail off with a loud groan, his hand sliding down my ass, squeezing tight, pulling me harder against his strong form.
“That’s it… God you’re fucking sexy—Hell, don’t fall.”
I grin dazedly as he wraps both his hands under my ass and pulls me tight against him. He’s fucking sexy. Everything about him. I kiss him again, slower this time, my lips wet and swollen and aching with every touch of his. When I run my tongue against his lips, he meets it, then plunges into my open mouth, determined to taste and explore every inch of me as we gasp for air. I’m unbearably hard, only getting more so with every rock of his body as he grinds his bulge against my hip. Before I can let my brain think and ruin this perfect fucking moment, I grab for his belt again, working on the buckle as fast as I can.
“Fuck… oh fuck.” He buries his face into my hair, groaning as I wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke. He’s big, feels silky hot, and I wish I was tasting him right now. But I shouldn’t even be doing this, shouldn’t be jerking him off in some dirty bathroom when a dozen men could just walk in the second a movie gets out. But I just want to feel him cum. That’s it. Then I’ll be good. Then I’ll leave him alone. Just so long as I get this one, really fucking perfect moment.
“God, don’t stop… So damn good… Hell.” He kisses my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair and pulling hard. I moan, trying to focus on my hand but so fucking lost in his mouth. He keeps thrusting his hips, keeps fucking my palm while rubbing his hot body against my dick.
“You close?” I ask, feeling so dizzy, so lost as he raises his head and meets my eyes. He cups my face, pressing his forehead to mine while he rubs his thumb over my lip.
“You’re beautiful… Crazy, fucked up beautiful.” He holds my face and kisses me softly, slowly. Small grunts escape him as he draws out his thrusts, his motions heady and growing more tense with every pump. I know he’s going to come, can feel it in every nerve ending, every muffled gasp. He’s going to come for me.
I press harder into his kiss, running my thumb over the head of his cock and feeling the slickness dripping there. He groans, his fingers digging into me as he crushes my lips hard and bucks in my hand. His seed is hot and slick in my palm, every spurt making me dizzy and more wild. For me. For this one heated moment he’s mine. Just mine.
“God, Potter… God, that was…” He’s lost, mouth trailing down my neck. He grabs my hand, pulling it up, growling as he finds his cum still wet there. Then he’s pushes it to my face and I can only whimper dizzily, opening my mouth, licking out when he presses my hand hard against my lips.
“Yeah…” his breath is hot against my cheek as he watches me clean his cum off my hand. “Get it all… Don’t waste it. Just like that.”
God. I can’t look away from his eyes. He’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before. Like he doesn’t know who he is, or where he is, just that he needs to look at me if he’s going to survive. I slide my tongue between my fingers and he groans, dipping close to run his tongue out across my knuckles, touching across my tongue when I lick again.
Kissing my fingertips slowly, he pins me in his gaze again. “Take your pants off.”
My hands are moving before my brain can tell me just what a bad idea this is. It’s a bad idea. Not just because it’s a movie theater bathroom. Not just because he’s definitely fucked up and transferring his issues into thinking he likes me. No, mostly because I really want him to tell me to do things, and the worse the idea sounds, the more I want to do it for him.
I unbuckle my belt, letting it hang loose as I get the button to my jeans. When I unzip, he pulls back, watching me push them down my thighs.
“Underwear too.” He raises his gaze to mine and I’m pretty sure I’m going to cum just from his expression. “Come on, Harry. Take them off.”
Aw, hell. Just hell. This is a bad idea. So bad. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my boxer briefs and pull them down. He’s on his knees before I can feel the breeze of air on my flushed erection. He grabs me by the hips, holding me back against the stall wall of the bathroom while he looks me over.
I’m not the biggest but I’m thick, flush dark, keep things tidy. He’s not complaining, his fingers digging into my hips, his breath running heat over my length, my balls, between my thighs. One of his hands slides slowly over my ass, squeezing my cheek, feeling my tight muscle and smooth flesh while I gasp and buck.
I should stop this. Already stole his first fucking kiss. Probably ruined it for him, being as angry as I was. Took his first hand job… Pretty sure he liked that though. He looks up at me, his eyes intense and burning fire, and I lose my breath. God. I try to swallow, but my throat’s way too tight. He presses closer, his nose brushing against my heavy dick, breathing me in, sighing into my flesh. God, please.
He’s the hottest, sexiest fucking guy I’ve ever wanted. The rudest, meanest, most annoying ass too. But his parents were Death Eaters and he had to be one too, so it was okay that he was a total prat because nothing was ever going to happen. Except, somehow, his lips are pressing to the tip of my cock and the world just doesn’t make any fucking sense anymore.
I should stop him. He presses harder, his lips parting, tongue tentatively flicking out across my slit. Oh fuck. Staring at his face, I wrap my hands in his silky blond hair and pull him down. He opens to me with a groan, intense wet heat surrounding my cock. I can’t stop, pushing in until I’m grinding his tonsils and he’s trying not to gag. God. God, that’s it. Draco Malfoy, on his knees, choking on my cock.
Fuck yeah.
Both his hands grab my ass, squeezing me hard while I struggle to keep from crying out. I relax my grip on his hair and he pulls back, sucking air in just to quickly swallow me again, his tongue running all over my shaft as he slams me into him. “Fuck.”
I’m starting to get a little aware of the fact that although he says he’s never kissed anyone, he’s very good at not getting his teeth on me, isn’t gagging no matter how deep he takes me—and it’s deep. The boy has a fucking perfect, hot, nasty mouth. He’s lying about something but I really can’t care right at this moment.
He’s wet, loud—Really eager. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are this fucking perfect swollen mess as he holds tight and drags down to my head, tonging my throbbing tip with a slow, sensual swirl. God. I hold onto his hair, fingers combing weakly, my head falling back against the stall heavily. I sound like a whimpering whore even though I’m trying to stay quiet, but god, he’s so hot, so tight. I can’t last. He’s working hard to make me come and he’s good. Too good. He’s been lying to me and I’m going to figure out why.
A thick finger presses against my hole and my knees give out the same second I shout. He doesn’t miss a beat. Suddenly my leg is over his shoulder and he’s holding me against the wall one handed while he drives into my entrance. I lose it. I’m a fucking slut for something in my hole to begin with, and it’s him, sucking me down, forcing a finger in and out with perfect, rough strokes.
“God, oh god… Malfoy, yes… harder… Oh fuck, yes…” I claw at his neck, tears in my eyes, pretty sure I’m going to die if he doesn’t let me come. He keeps building me up, bringing me to the edge, then letting me down again. He’s going to make me mad, going to make me fucking insane.
He pushes another finger inside me and I see stars, my head slamming back against the wall as my body jerks fitfully. “Fuck! God, do it… Oh… Oh god… I’m gonna…” I should warn him, so close. So fucking close. He drives his fingers deeper inside, stretching me, filling me so good, so right. I come with a cry, clutching his head hard, trying to choke him deep with my cum while he grinds his fingers into me.
Fuck. Holy fuck.
I force my eyes open, finding him with my dick still in his mouth, cum dripping down his wet lips while he tries to swallow around me. God. I press my palm across his bangs, letting my fingers drift down to caress the side of his cheek. He pulls his fingers out of me, my hole clenching at the loss and I moan weakly.
God. I’m not going to recover from this. What the fuck was I thinking? I have to share a fucking room with him.
He carefully extracts my thigh from his shoulder, his palm gripping my muscles and rubbing. God, everything he does is fucking me up. He grabs my ass again, like he doesn’t want to let it go for too long. And fuck, he shouldn’t. He should hold it all the time. Fuck me deep and hold it hard. God, I’m a fucking shaking mess.
While he gets to his feet, I try to get my trembling hands to pull my pants up. I can’t. I’m that fucked up right now, I can’t grip a fucking thing. So I lean against the wall doing my best to stop the world from spinning while my dick hangs out. He doesn’t seem to mind, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close, running his hand down between my thighs while caressing my sac and teasing fingers into my crack. God, he has to stop or I’m going to be begging him to fuck me.
“You lied to me,” I manage to rasp out, feeling damn near boneless in his embrace.
“I did?” He’s smiling into my neck and I have a feeling it’s smug. “I don’t remember lying.”
“Said… you never kissed anyone.”
His smile grows and it’s totally smug. “No. I said I didn’t need to kiss a boy to know I was gay. Didn’t mean I never kissed a boy.”
“Fucking prat.” I push at his gorgeous shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. My arms are still too weak. “You intentionally led me to believe you were some fucking virginal, innocent—Why? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He stiffens, pushing me back against the wall, his body keeping me trapped as he glares at me. “Why? Because you’re a surly, suspicious fucker, Potter. Bad enough I had to come to you for help on your own territory. But coming in, liking cock when you do too? Snape told me to keep my fucking hands to myself, that showing any interest in you would get me kicked out on my ass faster than anything else. But I honestly don’t give a fuck what he thinks. I like you. A lot. I want to…” He trails off, growling at my expression.
Dread is worming in my gut and this time when I push him back, my arms work. Shit. Fucking shit. I pull my pants up while focusing on my magical senses, trying to take in the entire complex. Anything? Any fucking thing to suggest he set me up to be killed while he had his fingers up my ass minutes ago?
“Potter, you’re overreacting. Again.”
“Fuck off.”
I slam out of the stall, washing my hands quickly, patting my hair down so I don’t look like a complete fucking deviant. He grabs my arm before I can leave.
“Shit, just talk to me.”
“I’m going back. Stay for the movie if you want.” I hand him a crumpled wad of cash from my pocket and slip from his grip and disappear into the crowd.
I knew he was fucking with me. I just hadn’t realized how much he could have been fucking with me. Fuck. Fucking hell!
No magical signatures. No one but him. But now I can’t stop thinking about it. Yesterday in the Dursleys’ car. I didn’t even think to fucking look around, just so caught up in him. I could have been swarmed by every Death Eater out there in the mall parking lot and I wouldn’t have realized what was happening because I was too busy thinking with my dick. Fuck!
Had Snape warned him off me? Or was that just another fucking cover? Maybe Snape was all ‘go fucking get him,’ and Malfoy’s bullshiting even having an interest in me. I could see Snape setting me up to fall. Malfoy came in here talking about being raped by Voldemort, and fuck me, I immediately start thinking about his cock. Intentional? Has everything been some fucking ploy to get me into him? Is it some deal with Voldemort? Bring me Potter and I’ll let your parents live?
I stop cold, my sneakers scraping on the sidewalk. He’s a real-world noob. His parents are everything to him. Of course he’d sell me out if it would save his parents. He would get me killed just to keep Voldemort from killing him. That’s what being a Death Eater is all about.
Shit, I’m so stupid. So fucking stupid.
I need to talk to Remus. Now. If anyone knows how to deal with this bullshit, it’s him. He knows betrayal firsthand.
I look behind me. Malfoy’s not there. I open my senses, seeking him out. He’s out of range. He either stayed at the theater, or he went to grab the trolley. I’m pretty sure he’ll be okay. Especially if he’s playing double agent for Voldemort to get me killed. Yeah, he’ll be fucking fine.
It’s nighttime before Malfoy drags his ass back. I hate that a part of me was worried. He’s so fucking dumb about the world. I don’t say a word to him when he walks up the drive while I wait on the front steps. He eats dinner with the Dursleys. I lock myself in my room and wait for Hedwig to get back. It’s Remus; he’s got a lot of shit to juggle right now but hopefully he’ll be able to pen a damn letter and help me figure this hell out.
I never should have taken the kid in. I’m too nice, too trusting. I just have to save the whole fucking world while opening myself up to getting stabbed in the back. He said it himself that first night; he could see how much I gave while fucking myself over. And who the fuck is Draco Malfoy to not take advantage of such an obvious character flaw?
Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.
There’s a knock on my door and I freeze, glaring from my bed. I get up slowly, hating him with every bone in my body. But it’s only Aunt Petunia.
“I saved you some dinner if you’re hungry.”
What? When the hell does she ever bother to do that? “Err, thanks. I’m not really in an eating mood right now.”
She doesn’t leave and I really don’t know how to tell her to get lost. So I just kind of stare at her, my eyebrows raise inquiringly.
“The two of you are fighting.”
Ugh. “It’s nothing. Just a…” I don’t know what the fuck it is. Misunderstanding? Is that what you call finding out that you’re being set up to be seduced and thrown into the clutches of the one and only Dark Lord Voldemort?
“You know how you get when you’re upset. You blow things up. The family can’t handle that. Not with two of your kind in the house.”
Fuck my life. “I’m in control, Aunt Petunia, I promise. No shaking the house, no blowing up things or people. I haven’t had a slip like that in years and you know it.”
“He’s very upset.”
“Yeah, well we fight all the time and he’s never exploded anything ever. You don’t have to be afraid of him.”
She gives me a look like I’m an idiot. Maybe I am. “He’s upset. He’s your friend. He’s obviously here for some terrible reason because one of his caliber doesn’t mingle with the muggles. I’m amazed he knows how to get his shoes on without a wand. Your father was just like him—Completely hopeless without magic. Couldn’t work a door handle half the time. Saw him try to eat a toad until he realized it wasn’t candy. The things that man tried to eat…”
“Err… Okay.” Aunt Petunia’s been, well, different lately. I thought it was because I’m getting close to the age where she expects me to move out and finally leave her family alone. But now I’m wondering if she just doesn’t know how to talk to kids and I’m not really a kid anymore. “Was there a point to all this?”
“Yes. His type are complete emotional imbeciles, and if you want to preserve any friendship you have, you need to be the one to repair it. He’s going to be here a while and I don’t want the two of you fighting.”
Petunia doesn’t seem to realize just how much bigger of an emotional imbecile I am. “No offense, Aunt Petunia, but I really don’t get why you care.”
Another look that says I’m an idiot. Whatever. “He’s a good boy. I don’t like to see him upset.”
I have to blink at that. He is? Aunt Petunia thinks the sun shines out of Dudley’s ass and now Draco Malfoy is a ‘good boy?’
She holds the door before I can shut it. “You’re a good boy too, Harry. Especially now that you’re not blowing up my house every five seconds. It’s okay to have a little happiness. He’s clearly smitten with you and it’s sad to see you two fighting.”
Holy fuck. I just stare dumbfounded as she shuts the door and leaves me with that fucking insanity. Either I’m now as bad as Dudley and Malfoy, or she actually doesn’t hate me. And never mind that, she thinks he’s my boyfriend. Aunt Petunia not only knows I’m gay, but let a boy into the house that she’s thinks I’m dating.
Did I hit my head recently?
It’s early but I can’t seem to think of anything better than falling asleep and forgetting this entire fucking day. I strip, tear the stupid night light out of the wall, and lie in my own fucking bed for a change. He knows where the sleeping bag is. I’m done playing nice.
I’m woken quite rudely this time. Confusing because Voldemort was only just warming up, prepping his altar and taunting his muggle when I’m pulled abruptly from sleep by a knee on my hand.
“Shit—Potter! Here I was worried I was going to trip on you, and you’re on the fucking bed!” If the angry hissing wasn’t bad enough, he hits me too. I think. He might have slipped. It’s pitch black and he’s heavy as fuck as he tries not to fall.
He’s also just in his underwear, and as angry and suspicious as I am with him, I can’t help but notice as I try to throw him off the bed. “Fuck off. You can sleep on the floor for a change.”
“You angry, assholic, mistrustful fucking psycho.” He hits me again, this time on purpose, his hands finding my wrists in the dark and pinning them down. I bite back a gasp, not used to being overpowered. It’s doing something to me though, especially in the dark where I don’t have to worry about him seeing me. “So what, you think I’m a Death Eater sent here to kill you but the worst you’re going to do is let me sleep on the fucking floor? Do you even realize how insane you are! Kick me out if you really think I’m here to get you killed. Hurt me—Do something besides freeze me out!”
“Get lost, Malfoy,” I say as calmly and apathetically as possible. He’s got his chest pressing down on mine, his knees on either side of me, and his breath is fucking molten on my cheek while he holds me down. There is no way I’m going to be able to keep my shit together if he doesn’t get the fuck off me. Now.
“No. You’re going to fucking talk to me. You’re going to fucking listen for a goddamn change and stop being so paranoid and stupid.”
“Uh, no, I’m not.” I roll, but he’s got more leverage, stopping me halfway when he realizes what I’m doing and forcing me back. Fuck—That feels way too good. “Seriously, get the fuck off me.”
He’s quiet. It’s too dark to see what the hell he’s thinking. I figure it out quick though when his hips press down against mine and he rubs against my hard dick. “Shit, Potter. Does everything get you hard?”
Fuck him. I try to roll us again, but that only makes him press his entire body down to keep me still. Fuck. Oh fuck, he’s so nearly naked, all long limbs and hard muscle and sweet smelling sweat.
“Leave me alone, Malfoy. I just want to sleep.” God, I want him. Fucking hate him, but god, I want him.
I can feel him hardening against me, feel the change in the tension of his body when he grips my wrists hard and pushes me firmer into the mattress. “I’m not here to kill you.”
“Let go.” I can barely speak, I’m panting so much. He feels so good. Want him so bad.
“I could have stabbed you in your sleep. Could have smothered you with a pillow. Could have hexed you dead. I don’t want to hurt you, Potter.” His lips brush my neck and I shudder. “I need your help.” His mouth is hot, wet as he laps a small swatch of my skin. “You’re the only one that gives a fuck about me enough to help. I’ve always known it. Always wanted it but couldn’t have it. Not until it all went to shit and then the world got small and huge all at once.”
I can’t talk anymore. My throat is tight and I want to listen to every fucking lie he’s saying cus they sound so good in the dark. His lips are wet, trailing over my neck, moving up my throat as he kisses his words into my skin.
“I asked Snape about you. He wanted to send me to Grimmauld Place. Guess the Order took over my cousin’s house and I could be watched by the best of the best. I tried to convince him it was about the wards. He saw right through me. He knows I’m fucked up over you, Potter. Hates me for it. Hates you even more for it because you’re definitely trouble. People die around you, and he doesn’t want me dead.”
“Not my fault,” I whisper, shivering as his lips tickle my convulsing throat.
“I know. You’ve had a really bad run of luck. Everything goes to shit around you and you just keep standing. You’re stubborn.” His teeth sink in, clamping on my jaw, and I gasp, whimpering. His tongue slowly soothes over the bite, my body melting with it. “Well, my luck just got a fuck ton worse overnight and I figured it was time to find the only guy that could possibly have it worse off than me. And kiss him because all I’ve wanted to do since third fucking year is kiss you.”
His nose brushes mine and I tilt my head up to reach him, finding his lips in the dark. He’s slow, languid, his tongue teasing over my lips, drawing mine to touch and taste and tangle. His hands loosen and I raise my arms so I can grab his hair and pull him closer. He groans, pushing me harder into the mattress, sliding a palm down my side, to my hip where he slips beneath my underwear so he can grab my ass. I moan, arching into him, my body so hot where he’s pressed to me, everything so dizzy and wild with the sound of our strained breathing, wet kisses, and the rustle of sheets.
He pulls away, his mouth out of reach, hands sliding up my body before leaving as well. I grab his nearest wrist, tugging him closer, finding his lips.
“I want to see you.” He again tries to pull away, but only after kissing me so deep that I’m dizzy. His words sink in and I hold his wrist tighter. “Potter?”
God, he just fucking ruins everything. “It’s late. Just…” Just let it fucking be and stop trying to make it more. But he’s stupid like that. Stubborn and dumb as fuck, and pulling from the bed to get the light.
Damn.
Damn it.
I keep my eyes shut tight, wincing when the light hits the back of my eyelids. I’m not doing this. Not playing this fucked up game where he wants to make me crazy for him. I’m already fucking crazy for him. I don’t need him knowing it too.
He stumbles and against my better judgment and smarting eyes, I open, glaring at him. It’s a mistake. He’s practically naked, hard, hair mussed like a fucking human being and not even remotely a Malfoy. God, why is he here? Why is he here tormenting me in the middle of fucking summer among a sea of muggles with no magic, no fantasy to wrap myself in to protect me from him? Draco Malfoy does not belong in my cramped little room in this ordinary, boring-ass town in the middle of suburbia. I’m no one here no matter how sexy his is when he looks at me. I can’t defend myself.
“Potter, stop glaring.”
I glare harder, a frustrated sigh escaping him. Because he’s an idiot for thinking a few fucking words in the dark were going to make me trust him. There’s a fucking mountain between us, all centered around his parents and the monster they serve that killed my parents. Nothing is going to make that just disappear. Not even magic,
“I’m not here to fuck up your life.” He stands over the bed, fingers combing through his hair agitatedly.
Malfoy keeps glancing down at me but I refuse to avert my eyes for a second to see what he’s looking at. I know I’m hard, probably a fucking mess. I won’t let myself feel weak with him towering over. Fuck that.
“Damn it, Harry.” Brows furrowing, he actually fucking kneels next to me, eyes wide and full of something I refuse to acknowledge without a fucking school of wizards and witches to hide within. “I like you, you idiot. I just want to be with you—Why do you have to make this so fucking difficult? I know you like me.”
It has been a fucking crazy, shit day and this is the most I can take of it. My anger is stronger than my exhaustion, propelling me from the bed before he’s even back on his feet and stumbling away. “You think this is fucking easy for me, Malfoy? You think it’s easy to ignore every fucking insane thing my body is fucking screaming for with you being in the same fucking room as me?”
“Don’t ignore it—”
I hold my hand up, cutting him off, my teeth grit tight. “Do you understand what it’s like knowing I can have you? Knowing that even if you’re fucking lying, I can still have…” I shake my head, hating how my body is reacting even now to the thought. “I can’t trust you! I’m never going to be able to trust you. I’d have to be an absolute suicidal dumb ass to trust you.”
His eyes narrow. Draco is fucking gorgeous when he’s angry and I just hate him even more for it. “You’re doing this on purpose, Potter. You’re just looking for any reason you can to push me away. What the fuck can I actually do to prove to you that I’m not here to sell you out? Do you want me to tattoo your fucking scar on my arm? Will that finally do it for you?”
It’s a punch to the gut, heat rising over my skin in a sick wave at the thought of me asking that of anyone. Bad enough Voldemort’s in my head. Bad enough he’s trying to fuck me up every night until I’m as lifeless and monstrous as him…
“I didn’t mean it,” Draco whispers, grabbing for my arm when I sway backwards. “You’re nothing like him. Harry, please, I didn’t—”
“Go away,” I croak out, wrenching my arm free and nearly falling on the bed. I never should have let him in here. Never should have let him get to me when I’m defenseless and alone and a goddamn mess.
“No.” He grabs my arm again, trying to get me to turn. His hand is like fire on my flesh and I go to pull away but he won’t give. “I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me. I’m sorry I—”
I duck around him, pulling from his grasp again. “Fine, I’ll go. Whatever—What the fuck does it matter, right? You fit so much better with the Dursleys anyways.” He does. They fucking love him and I’m nothing besides an echo of what Voldemort feeds into my dreams, and I should have fucking left years ago. I step around the sleeping bag and tear at the doorknob, growling when the fucking thing won’t budge.
“Let go!” I hiss, pulling at the door again, his other hand slamming down next to his first and boxing me in.
I’m suddenly hyper-aware of him hot against my back, his bare flesh brushing my shoulders, breath tickling the nape of my neck. I close my eyes, my entire body tensing with want. Hate him. Fucking hate him for being here and doing this to me.
“Why are you doing this?” He sounds confused, maybe even hurt—If a lying bastard like him could ever feel, that is. “Really, Potter. Why the fuck are you doing this to yourself?”
God, he’s so fucking annoying. Hot, sexy, and so annoying. I grab his wrist, pulling it from the door, grasping it tight. Then, because I can’t stop myself no matter how much the voice in my head tells me to, I push his palm against my stomach, holding him against me, making his hand press lower as he growls in my ear.
“For fuck sake—You’re fucked. So fucked.” But he’s touching me, his fingers spreading, teasing lower with each huff of exasperation in my ear. “Potter…”
“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up already.” I push his hand lower until he’s pressing into my erection, gasping as I buck into his palm. Snarling, he slams me forward into the door. “God, yes.” His body covers my back completely, his dick grinding between my cheeks with only our underwear between us. It’s so good, my head spinning as I push back, rubbing up and down on his hard cock and urging him to hump against me.
“Do it… Do me,” I demand huskily, my head dropping back against his shoulder as I grind on his dick. I need him so bad. Don’t want to but I do and I just can’t think straight anymore.
His angry rumble sends fire tingling through me, my body tensing as he slams me forward against the door again. “No way in fuck. If you’re going to hate me, it might as well be on my terms.”
Fucking hell, he just can’t do anything right. Growling, I reach my hands behind and grab his hips, pulling him against me as I push back, wiggling until his dick is digging into my crack. “You want me.”
“So?” He grunts, his hips thrusting forward. I can’t stop my moan and I spread my legs wider as I push back. But he’s not giving in, his arm tight around my waist as he tries to hold me still. “Potter, you think I’m here to seduce you or some fucked up shit like that so I can hand you over to the Dark Lord. I’d have to be a fucking idiot to touch you right now. I have no interest ending up out on the street without your protection.”
“You mean the wards.”
He’s still, his breath steamy puffs against my neck. “Don’t be naïve. You can’t be a crazy, paranoid psycho bastard and also be naïve, Potter. It’s one or the other.”
Hate him. Fucking hate him so much. He knows I want him. Knows I want to be the one he runs to—not the stupid house but to me. He knows it and he’s using it against me so fucking good.
His hands rise to my shoulders and he tries to turn me. I resist, not budging. “Just go to bed, Malfoy.”
“Look at me,” he whispers. “You can’t face the fucking Dark Lord and then be unable to face me.”
“You’re such an asshole!”
“I’m aware. Now stop being a coward.”
Hate him, hate him, hate him… I turn when he pushes at my shoulders, my eyes resolutely closed. “Just let it go.” I feel exposed knowing he’s looking at me, but I can’t bring myself to face him. He shouldn’t be here. It’s summer and I shouldn’t have to be doing this right now.
“If I could, I would have already. I’m not a fan of making an ass of myself in my underwear, Potter.” His lips press to mine and I suppress a sigh, keeping myself still. His lips slide to the corner of my mouth, brushing over my cheek as he talks lowly. “I get it. You don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone. You can’t even accept a fucking meal from your aunt without wondering if she’s about to stab you in the back. That doesn’t mean I’m not trustworthy, Potter, it just means all you can see is the world the way you built it in your head. Fucked up. A world where someone gets murdered every night while you rest and you can’t do a thing to stop it.”
His lips tease my ear, fingers curling around my biceps. “I get it, Harry.”
He does. He really fucking does and it just makes him all the more dangerous. “Go to bed.”
“Look at me.”
I take a deep breath to brace myself, knowing he won’t back down until he feels like I’ve heard him. I immediately regret it, his face inches from mine, beautiful eyes glaring so intense and full of something I can hardly bear to see. It makes my knees weak, my chest tight and I manage to find a little more hate to build up between us to keep him from getting to me.
His fingers are firm as they thread through my hair, combing slowly while he stares at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Maybe he does. Maybe his father taught him Legilimency. It doesn’t matter; I can’t ever let him close enough to hurt me.
“Take the bed.” He pulls away, his voice a low murmur. “You need to sleep a lot more than I do.”
I shake my head wearily. There’s no way I can stay in here with him tonight. I’m so hard, so wound up, my body and head a fucking mess. “I gotta go. Jog.” I turn to leave but he’s on me in an instant, holding the door shut again, body hot against my back.
“It’s not safe.”
I huff, trying not to laugh at the idea of him worried about me. “I don’t fucking care.”
“You’re in your fucking underwear.”
Damn him. “I can’t do this with you! This room is too small and hearing you breathe is driving me fucking crazy and I need to—Oh.” His arms wrap tight around me, a hand boldly cupping my dick through my underwear. “Fuck.” I sink against the door, his strong body keeping me from falling as he wraps closer, lips kissing up my neck, cock pressing against my ass. God, just once more. Need him to touch me so bad.
I fumble for the light switch, whimpering when his hand catches my wrist. I’m too tired for all this. Just too fucking tired. “Please.”
Sighing in frustration, he unwinds his fingers. I flick the light off, darkness descending, my eyes opening, senses expanding. I’m panting, his breath calm against my neck, lips wet on my ear.
“Not enough tattoos and holes in my head?”
What an idiot. If he only fucking knew. He’s always in the dark with me, behind my eyelids when I touch myself. Somehow this feels more real than him being in the light. Safer.
I turn, his body bumping mine, my back against the door. My hands find his arms and follow them up, over his shoulders, down his chest, past his abs and pausing at the top of his underwear. I pull them down, his breath hitching, body pushing up against mine as he steps out of the last of his clothes. His dick is bare and hot against my stomach, his hands grasping my ass, holding me tight against him.
“You’re fucking infuriating,” he growls against my jaw. I shift my hips, lining his dick up with mine. I try to push my underwear down but he grabs my hands, pulling them back to his body. “Insane. I haven’t been here a week and you’re driving me insane.”
I kiss him if only to shut him up already. I miss, my mouth getting most of his bottom lip and a bit of his chin. He’s got more of that bristle—the idiot still not daring to use a razor—and I rub my face into the rough texture. He growls, pulling me off the door and walking me toward the bed.
“Potter, I’m serious. There is nothing healthy about this—Fuck.” He’s found the bed, hissing when his leg slams into it. I push him down, straddling him with my thighs on either side before he can start bitching, seeking his mouth and kissing him deep. I reach between us, stroking his thick, hard cock, groaning when the silken flesh jumps in my hand. He’s breathing hard, small grunts escaping him with every rock of our hips.
Fuck, I need him inside me. So bad. His hand is on my hip and I grab it, moving it down to my ass. He slides beneath the leg of my briefs and squeezes hard, my hips grinding forward as I gasp.
“Fuck, do it,” I find myself practically begging when he slides a finger down my crack. It’ll stop if he fucks me. It has to. This fucking crazy need in me that makes me want the worst and fucking chase after it against my better judgment will finally stop if I just have this one thing.
I still my hips when I feel his fingertips at my rim, my face tight against his neck. “Come on, Malfoy… God, just fuck me.”
“Why, so you’ll finally have your proof that I’m here to get you killed?” Draco whispers hot against my forehead, his thumb teasing around my entrance, the tip slowly stretching me open. “Give me some fucking credit.”
Whimpering lowly as his thumb breaches me, I can only clutch him desperately. “More,” I gasp, moaning when he pushes into me deeper. I clench around the digit, his breath a low hiss as his other arm wrenches me up against his body, pushing my underwear beneath the swell of my ass, fingers finding my entrance and probing where his thumb is already buried. I half expect him to draw it out but he’s still angry, still determined to make me pay for using him like he’s just a pretty face and hard dick after all our years of dancing around each other.
“Oh… Oh fuck.” My voice is a low rasp when two fingers plunge into me, my flesh sore and slowly opening to him. It’s so good, the right mix of pain and pleasure, the perfect overwhelm as my passage stretches too wide, too fast to take in his driving thrusts. “Yes… Fuck, yes.” I slam back, grinning breathlessly when he growls and pulls me tighter to him, his dick smearing sticky precum against my inner thigh. He feels so good. Draco Malfoy finger fucking me in the dark while kissing down my neck; I might be in some sort of delusional coma right now.
Sweat drips down my face, my gasps so loud with every pump of his fingers inside me. I need his cock—need him to be fucking me. Releasing a groan, I fumble down his body, my hands shaking like crazy as I seek out his dick. “Please… Please. I want you so bad.” It’s dark. I can say it in the dark. “Draco, I want to feel you inside me.”
“Goddammit, Harry,” he hisses, his hips jolting up and rocking me so good. “I refuse to feed your fucked up delusions.” He’s a mix of bitterness, anger, and lust but all I care about is how his fingers are spreading, opening me wider, finding my prostate and stroking.
“Fuck—Yes… Again,” I sob, wrapping my arms tight around his shoulders, hooking my ankles around his back and moaning against his throat. He gives a warning growl when I try to position his dick between my spread cheek. “Come on… Need it,” I grunt back, nipping at the hollow of his throat.
“Not until you trust me,” he says hoarsely.
The fucking stubborn pain. Damn him, I refuse to fucking beg. Just… God, I need him. “Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?”
“Because you’re fucking difficult,” he mutters, his hips rocking up again, our dicks rubbing such perfect friction that I tighten, certain I’m going to come any moment now.
“You want me,” I breathe out, grinding on his fingers, needing it bigger and deeper. “Just fuck me already.”
“Damn, you’re out of your fucking mind.” Ducking his head, he growls in my ear while his fingers rhythmically thrust into me in slow, deep strokes. “You’re worried I’m trying to get you killed but you’re more than willing to let me fuck you raw. Is that what you want, Potter?” He hits my prostate again, my breath lost, thighs and ass tightening, my head spinning with heat. “Do you want me to use you? Take you however I want… get off ruining you… and then just throw you away when I’m done?”
I can’t stop my aching moans. I can’t help it—I want him to ruin me. To give in and fuck me so hard, fill me with his cum. I want him to use me so bad. However he wants just as long as it’s me. After? I don’t fucking care, I just want him inside me now. “Malfoy, just…”
“Not a fucking word, Potter,” he snarls, nipping my ear in punishment. The pain is a jolt of electricity, quickly followed by bruising bites as he moves down my throat angrily. “I’m not that kid of guy… And you, you deserve fucking better, you absolute tosser.” He ignores my whine of protest when he pulls his fingers out of me, my hole clenching on nothing and feeling so empty.
Sweat drips down my chest and our flesh slides together when he rolls me roughly, pushing me back on the bed. I can’t see his face but I’m pretty sure he’s angry as fuck, his fingers gripping painfully tight to my hips after he pulls my underwear down and off my legs and he lowers his body on top of mine. I don’t have it in me to care and I lift a knee up to feel him between my legs, groaning when his dick finally presses hot to mine again. I want him inside me so bad, my hips angling for just that until he pins me down with another angry growl.
There’s a familiar sound of sheets and springs shifting, my eyes flying open when the blunt, cool tip of a dildo pushes between my cheeks. “Oh, fuck.”
“Just so we’re clear, I wasn’t searching your fucking room for ways to get you killed. Your bed is just fucking lumpy and clearly this was part of the reason,” he taunts, pushing my knee up higher until I’m spread wide beneath him. Fuck, please. Please, please, please put it in me.
“Malfoy…”
“Quiet.” I hear his thumb click the cap open on the bottle of lube I keep wedged under my mattress with the dildo and I sink back, gasping beneath him in anticipation. He could do anything to me right now and I wouldn’t complain. Just as long as he puts something in me thick and hard and long. Maybe it is my fault—Maybe I’m a paranoid fuck because I know damn well just how easy it is for me to fall for him. Maybe having him actually inside me would be the stupidest fucking mistake I could ever make.
Fingers slick with oil push beneath my balls and I moan, arching eagerly. Fuck yes. Fuck, fuck, fuck…
“Damn, listen to you moan,” Draco whispers, his mouth fastening to my throat, coated fingers working into me, getting me ready, driving me wild. “You really want it… Like crazy, want it.”
It’s been three days and I’m ready to let him fuck me. Yeah… that seems about right. Usually fight with him the first two days of school because he’s always running me down like a rabid puppy with a mean bark and dull teeth. By the third to fourth day I have to avoid him to keep from jumping him and trying to get his pants off. This feels about on par to that. Considering he’s been in my face the last three days, I’ve done damn well to resist.
My hands are again a fucking uncoordinated mess but I manage to grab his hips and pull him tighter to me. I find his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip harshly and tugging at the firm flesh with my teeth. “Hurry… Want it so bad.”
“You’re still so tight.”
“I can take it… God, just…” My back arches when he brushes my prostate. I grip him harder, moaning lowly on my exhale. “Need you.”
He stiffens in my hold and I immediately regret my stupid, horny mouth. I really shouldn’t be allowed to talk when he’s touching me. Dumb. Really dumb. It’s a relief when he pushes the silicone against my hole, my gasp breaking the growing silence. It doesn’t stop him from biting my shoulder, his teeth digging in punishingly while he slowly penetrates me with the thick dildo.
I’m so close. Unbearably close. He barely gets two inches into my clenching passage when I can’t take any more, my body jerking. Crying out, I throw my head back, coming in a sudden blaze of heat and need.
His free hand runs between us, slicking over the streams of seed wet on my navel. Malfoy groans when he finds it but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, the dildo wedging in deeper into my sensitive channel. I whimper when he gets as deep as he can, the base stretching me so wide as he fills me.
“Fuck… Fuck, it’s so…”
Leaning down, he wraps one of my legs around his hips, pulling and pushing the thick rod in and out of my aching hole. I can’t stop my cries. He’s relentless, filling me again and again and, by his breathing, he’s so close to losing it.
“Say it again,” he rasps in my ear, teeth nipping on my lobe.
“Fuck… I need you,” I gasp out, sliding an arm to his waist and wrapping fingers around his hard cock. “Just you,” I admit dazedly.
“God, Harry… You’re so fucked.”
I know. It’s the only way I’m ever going to be when it comes to him.
His movements slow, growing more erratic as he thrusts into my hand while trying to fuck me senseless with the dildo at the same time. It’s so good and all I want is for it to be his dick inside me, swelling, getting ready to fill me. I grab him by the shoulders, pushing him back, groaning from how deep the dildo is wedged inside me as I move. Sliding down his body, my gasps break free with every aching jolt to my clenching hole until his dick is hot on my lips. Tongue tracing out hungrily, I lap over his head, my ass high in the air and legs spread for balance as I lean down to take him deep into my mouth.
“Fuck… God, Harry… God.” His fingers grip my hair, twisting tight while he bucks up towards my tonsils and threatens to suffocate me. I relax my jaw, opening as far as I can while being as malleable as possible. He won’t stay still enough for me to properly deep throat him, but I can take his desperate thrusts and let him fuck my mouth how he wants.
He’s close, grunting softly, the underside of his large dick singing on my tongue as I feel him swell. I moan as he comes, holding his hips and dripping saliva down my swollen lips while I try to keep from choking on his sperm. Dizziness hits me, my ass clenching from just how hot it is to have him get off in my mouth.
I barely have a chance to swallow before he’s sitting up and pulling me towards him, his tongue plunging roughly into my mouth while I groan in agony from the dildo. It’s too big to be stretching me for so long without moving, my body clenching in attempt to push it out to no avail. I reach for it while he kisses me but he grabs my wrists, keeping me in place.
“Say it again,” he demands against my lips, holding me so I’m still leaning over the bed, body bent and aching as I rock my hips.
I don’t even consider refusing. “Need you.” My voice is low, rough from the friction of his dick and the absolute need I have for him. When he pulls me down beside him, I barely catch myself, just stopping from jarring on the mattress as I breathe heavily. He slides behind me, his hip pressed against the swell of my ass, fingers probing at the dildo filling me so deep.
“Again,” he growls, his mouth against my ear as he pulls the dildo out only to immediately slam it back in.
I sob, clutching the sheets, pushing back on shaking legs to get it deeper. “N-Need… you…”
“Fuck, Harry.” His voice a raw growl, he starts fucking me hard on the slick rod. My cries only spur him on as he drives into me unceasingly. I bury my face into the bed, gasping until the sheet grows wet under my mouth and teeth. I don’t know if he wants to get me off or just drive me insane for admitting I like him in such a way. All I know is I’m going to lose my mind if he stops.
“That’s it… You’re so close. Get there, beautiful.” Grabbing me by my hair, he kisses me hard, swallowing my cries down greedily while grinding the thick plastic into me so deep, so hard. My eyes squeezed shut, for a dizzying moment it’s like he’s actually inside me, his hot flesh melded with mine, filling me completely. Bucking desperately, I come the instant his hand touches my dick, surge after surge streaming from me as I moan against his lips.
He won’t stop kissing me, even when I collapse forward, groaning weakly when he finally pulls the dildo from my aching hole. Rolling me on my side, his mouth covers mine, tongue determined to memorize every part of my mouth as his large hands move over my sweat drenched, shaking form.
I’m so worn out, it takes forever for me to actually understand what he’s doing when he twists us on the bed, pulling me into his arms and kissing my throat and shoulders. I go to roll away and sleep on the floor, but he just growls and wraps an arm around my waist to keep me in place.
“Stay.”
“Bed’s too small,” I mumble, not actually able to find the strength to move at the moment. But he’s cuddling me like I’m his fucking boyfriend or some shit, so I really need to get away before he gets the wrong…
His knee sliding between my thighs, he pins me down with his hot body before I can break from his hold. Resourceful little prat. Teeth nip my neck and I moan, relaxing back against the mattress. I’ll move when he’s asleep. Totally. Just, right now I’m going to let him keep running his hand over my chest while he kisses and sucks on my neck lazily.
“Say it again,” he whispers, mouth wide and wet as he scrapes his teeth over my flesh.
Fucked up. He’s either luring me to my death or stupid enough to think I’m worth having. Either way, I’m not feeding his psychosis.
Teeth clamp on the side of my neck and I gasp, groaning weakly as fire rushes through my exhausted body. It’s dark. I can say it in the dark. “F-Fine… I need you.”
His tongue immediately soothes over the bite, fingers again tracing my form reverently. He sighs contently and I close my eyes again, trying to ignore just how comforting and secure I feel with him weighing me down and wrapped around me.
Sleep is determined to claim me and I don’t fight it. It’s better than thinking about what the fuck I just did.
He has the most beautiful hands. Long, strong fingers that taper to glowing pink flesh and short manicured nails. Usually perfectly clean and immaculate, but this morning he’s got a bit of dirt under a nail and I can’t stop staring at it. It’s day four and I’m dirtying him. Tarnishing him. He’s more human today than I’ve ever seen him and I hate myself for it.
He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong and once he leaves, he’ll never come back. It is amazing just how cruel Draco Malfoy can be by telling me he likes me.
I think I woke up to jog. My body is ready to run. I slept—I can’t even remember the last time I fucking slept like this—and now I’m awake, and hard, and sweating under his hot flesh and solid, strong form. There’s no darkness to hide away in and he is so fucking beautiful when he sleeps.
I want to touch him. His skin is a pale, golden cream in the morning light bouncing through the window, his hair a glittering gold as it tickles my cheek. I can touch him. God, I am touching him, his slowly moving chest half covering mine, his leg still pressed between my thighs and likely getting sticky with just how fucking hard he makes me. He has amazing shoulders and such a smooth, sculpted ass. Hell, Malfoy nude is fucking art. I’m sleeping with art.
Holy fuck, I’m sleeping with Draco Malfoy.
I have to be losing my mind. Like, full blown hallucinations combined with schizophrenic delusions. How long has he been here? Did I end up spelled by something? Am I in a fucking coma right now? I don’t know if I believe in parallel universes but I’m questioning it now.
Except, he is so quick to point out just how fucked up I am, and I am still just so totally fucked.
I didn’t even really realize just how fucked I was until he said it. Do I not see the world right? Have the nightmares from Voldemort fucked me up that much that I can’t even tell the difference between what’s real and me being a paranoid fuck?
It doesn’t mean I wrong. It doesn’t mean Voldemort wouldn’t kill me in a second. Or Malfoy’s parents. Or even fucking Malfoy.
I lick my lips, trying to glare at his gorgeous face, but I can’t find the anger when he’s asleep. I need him to open his mouth and say something stupid first.
It doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
I don’t live a fucking normal life no matter how mundane it might seem during the summer. It is so fucking insane for me to come back to the Dursley’s every summer break and live in this world. Playing muggle. Playing teenager. It’s all make believe here.
I once thought magic was freedom from this boring place. Whimsical. Really fucking cool. But that all changed when I realized how my parents had died, why I was going to die, and why every fucking person I’m around or dare to care about is going to die. Little Whinging is a fucking illusion and every time something magical strays in, it cracks the facade a little more, breaking me with it.
I am a fucking crazy person. Ask any muggle that wants to know my opinion on magic. Oh, so you think it would be super cool to just do things? Fly or become invisible or turn back time? Sure, except it’s not just you. It would be lots of people doing those same really cool things but they use it to control people like slaves and murder the ones they can’t control. If magic were real, you’d need to learn as much as you could as quickly as you could, otherwise someone with more power might come around and kill you.
Why? Fuck, because they can. They can do magic; what did you think they were going to do with it? Make the world a better place? How many fucking people do you personally know are bothering to put their own selfish needs aside to help a stranger? Why would a person with magic be any different? They can just do all the things they want with no one to stop them or tell them they’re wrong.
Oh, you’re sure that if you had magical powers, you’d be the next Jesus? Pretty sure that guy died in the end. The normal people killed him because he was trying to make their lives better. I know, what a dick. Who’s to even say that guy was real? You know who was definitely real? Hitler. Pol Pot. Kim Jong Il. Stalin. Mussolini. Genghis Khan. The Crusades. Genocides from 100 million Native Americans to the Holocaust to Nigeria—Name a fucking continent and I can name a genocide committed by people that didn’t need magic to do horrible things.
How many times do you hear about people joining together to feed the homeless or welcome them into their country after a natural disaster? Most of the time they’re too busy bitching about not having enough for themselves. You really think magic is going to help this world? People are fucked and there’s no helping them.
They tend to stop talking to me after that. Apparently I’m a depressing asshole. Whatever.
Having magic and knowing Voldemort forces you to think about this shit. Most people are in the middle of the selfish meter. They’ll help a little until it gets to be too much of a hassle for themselves. You get a few that will give up their homes for a stranger but they never outnumber the monsters that would destroy and take everything they can.
Destruction is so easy. So satisfying. Primal. And fuck, when you try to help, it never really solves a problem, it only ever seems to pick away at it for a bit. Destruction succeeds where healing just puts off the inevitable death of the decaying all around us.
Magic is real, I am fucking crazy, and it doesn’t mean I’m wrong in thinking Voldemort would send Draco to kill me.
It doesn’t mean I’m wrong, but god, I really want to be wrong.
I’m never going to be able to have anything I want until Voldemort is dead. This man—No, monster. This monster has decided my life just by existing. He took my parents away and every other good thing I could ever hope for in life by his constant threat to destroy me. I think I finally understand Sirius in some ways. The seemingly arrogant death wish he had walked around with. But it wasn’t arrogance, it was fucking desperation. The last straw in a life stolen from him. He wanted to live the second his life was handed back to him. He wanted to finally have a choice.
Yeah, I fucking get it. But he’s dead and I’m the one that lived to see the lesson of trying to take control of your life. You just end up fucked. It doesn’t matter what you do, you’re just fucked. Nothing matters.
I want to go back to sleep. I am a depressing fucker. That he’s just lying on top of me, completely oblivious to how fucking miserable a person I am is beyond surreal. He’s only going to get worse around me. Cynical, angry, bitter. I’m fucked in the head and he’s a fucking idiot for looking twice at me. Maybe it’s the scar. Maybe he really is just another stupid fanboy underneath it all.
He smells amazing. His lips are gorgeous, and he smells like sex. Looks like sex. I wonder if he’s ever bottomed. He has a fucking smooth, tight ass and I would totally fuck him if I didn’t want him to be inside me every time I think about his dick. But if he wanted to bottom, I would totally do that for him.
His breathing doesn’t change when I slide my arm out from under his body, carefully cupping his ass cheek. My fingers fan out and I give him a small squeeze. He really has a nice ass. Firm. Fit. He is fucking tight all around. Fuck, the things I would do with him. Nasty shit. Really, really nasty shit.
But he’s a naïve idiot. An enemy. His parents could also be dead and I’m a total selfish fuck for bringing him into my shit of a life. Should have pawned him off on the Order the second he showed up. Should have kept my hands to myself and slept on the downstairs couch and just stayed the fuck away. Should have never ever ever fucking told him I need him.
God, I need him.
I give his ass a final squeeze and shift my hips so I’m not humping his leg. Sleep has not helped my head. Nothing is going to fix the life I’m living in. I tilt my head on the pillow, my eyelids heavy as I take in his sleeping face. He really is beautiful. I could get used to waking up beside him in this cramped bed. I could get used to a lot of things when it comes to him. All the more reason he needs to go.
I feel when he wakes, the bed shifting, his breathing changing as he yawns shamelessly right next to my ear. I keep my eyes closed even when his fingers brush my face, his lips quickly following to press against mine.
“You are the lumpiest bed I’ve ever slept on,” he whispers hoarsely against my mouth like he’s afraid to wake me. “Sexiest, too. My god, you are one sexy psycho.” He kisses my jaw, his lips brushing softly over my bristle.
Idiot. He is such a naïve idiot and if I wasn’t pretending to be asleep I’d be kissing his stupid mouth raw.
“Try not to wake up an angry fuck today, scarhead.” He pushes himself out of bed before I can growl at him and reveal I’m very much awake and already angry and fucked up. God, but he fucks me up.
I keep my eyes closed and listen to him grab some clothes and a towel. My bedroom door clicks shut and the bathroom fan goes on a moment later. The tension leaves my body and I sink down into the bed, not having realized how tight I had been.
I don’t want to get up today. I don’t want to see him at breakfast or listen to him bitch about muggle things. I don’t want to see him because if I see him, I’m going to remember all those fucking crazy things he said to me yesterday about him wanting me and my resolve is going to fucking break. I gotta let him go. For my sanity. For his own fucking good.
I roll over onto my side, staring blankly at my dingy bedroom wall. It feels very real today. I think the sleep must have done something to me because I feel a little more solid than I usually do, a little more aware of gravity and just how real the wall looks. I might actually be here today in the Dursley’s house and not in some in between dream before school starts.
My sheets smell like Malfoy and sex. My ass is sore, a dull throb that makes the rest of me feel kind of warm and fuzzy and a whole lot of stupid. God, I already miss him. Miss the feel of his arms, the weight of his body. I never should have let this happen.
It’s not the doorbell but Petunia’s tense voice that catches my attention. It’s after noon. I managed to fall asleep—It’s amazing how much sleep I can get when I’m feeling fucking pathetic about my life. I dressed after a needed shower and was heading for the kitchen to throw a sandwich together when I hear my aunt choke on her words. Warning bells ring in my head and I’m heading for the front door without even pausing.
“Remus!”
“Harry, I got your owl.” Remus looks at Petunia with an exasperated nod as if my beaming smile is proof enough he’s allowed to be here. But I can see her expression now. She’s stiff, her face pale with thin lips set in a flat line.
Aunt Petunia is fucking terrified of wizards. She might have learned to tolerate me but she is freaking out to be faced with a full grown one on her front steps. For the first time, I feel a wave of guilt for not having thought of her when contacting Remus. I hadn’t expected him to come down but still, she’s really freaking and it is her fucking house.
I finish crossing to the door and nod my head in the direction of the street. “Aunt Petunia, Remus and I are going to go for a walk. I’ll let you know when I’m back.” Thank god Vernon isn’t here. The last thing I need is him taking one look at a freaked out Petunia and feeling the need to play angry guard dog against a werewolf.
I close the door behind us, Remus giving me a quizzical look I don’t feel like answering until I’m out of sight of Petunia’s glare through the curtains. I feel like I’m fucking everything up today. She lost her only sister to one of the evilest wizards around and I’m just parading wizards through her front door. Stupid, Potter, really fucking stupid.
Once I’m down the street and out of sight of the house, I relax and finally take a good look at Remus. He’s worn, his hair touched with gray, warm eyes looking tired. Losing Sirius—Fuck, getting Sirius back and then losing him was hard on Remus. The most on him. He’s the last one left of his friends to carry on. I sometimes think he’s putting the whole Wormtail thing on his shoulders, like he needs to set it all right.
“Should I be worried that you’re here?” I finally ask, seeing as he hasn’t offered to tell me yet if we should be checking the street for Death Eaters or shit.
“I had a moment. I just…” He sighs, his arm coming up to rest on my shoulder. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay in person. That’s all. I spoke to Snape and he pretty much backs up Malfoy’s story. He got a message from Lucius after the thing with Narcissa happened. Draco ended up portkeying in to their arranged meet up, confused and afraid. It doesn’t mean someone didn’t get to him before Snape.”
No, it didn’t. “He asked to stay with me?”
“Snape’s still pissed,” Remus says with a wry grin. “He’s been arguing with the Order, demanding Shacklebolt be stationed here until your summer break is over.”
I raise my eyebrows, Remus just shaking his head. Yeah, wasn’t really expecting an armed wizard escort around here. There’s too many people that don’t have wards against Voldemort to worry about.
“Is his mother going to be alright?”
His expression goes grim and I sigh internally. Great, Draco’s mom is as good as dead and I just totally molested him last night. And at the movies. In the bathroom at that. Fucking great. I don’t believe in hell but I’ll probably end up there anyways.
“There are rumors that Lucius is in hiding,” Remus says softly. “He hasn’t shown up at the Ministry since Draco left. They’re talking about him possibly being dead, but Snape is certain he’s just holed up somewhere. Then again, Snape’s been wrong before, so I can’t say for certain.”
Fuck. Dear fuck, how the hell can I tell Draco any of this? “Remus, I need to ask you something and you gotta just answer me flat out, okay? No bullshit.”
Remus’ eyes sharpen and I know he’s wondering if I’m going to ask something secret oriented. But it’s not a secret, it’s just one of those really fucking shitty things that people love to soften the blow of.
“Fine,” he finally says, his face guarded.
“Is Voldemort really looking to rape him?”
His eyes widen before he immediately looks away. “Damn it, Harry.”
“You promised. I need to know.”
“Why? Why the hell do you need to know something like that?” His growl is so low, I’m wondering if the full moon is soon. “The last thing you should be thinking about is the kind of fucked up shit You-Know-Who is into.”
“Remi, fucking tell me!” I grab him by the arm, his eyes flashing warningly at me. I don’t fucking care anymore. “What is Voldemort going to do to him? If I make him leave here with you today and the Order fucks up and he gets captured, what the hell is going to happen to him?”
His jaw is grit so tight, it’s a wonder he can speak. “Harry, it’s not your responsibility to take on every—”
“Fuck that! Fuck! Say it, and stop trying to protect me!” I snarl, going to push him back only to have him grab my fist with impossible speed. “He came to me. Crying, Remus. Fucking crying. Tell me the truth.”
Exhaling angrily, he abruptly lets me go. “I can’t say for certain.”
“Do not bullshit me, Remus Lupin. Do you think I’m so dumb that I don’t know why you’re here?” I hate him for pulling this shit right now, hate him for having to give an actual fuck about me when I just want to know how bad I’m fucking up Draco’s life. “Yes or no? Is Voldemort going to rape the fucking kid until he’s dead?”
Growling loudly, Remus ducks his head and glares right into my eyes. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility to save him. This isn’t your fault, Harry. There are plenty of fully grown adults that can watch over him and they don’t have to fear being set up and handed over to Voldemort if it turns out the kid’s a spy. Let me take him to Grimmauld Place.”
I shake my head before the words are fully out of his mouth. God. Dear, god, I am the worst kind of fucking person. Maybe I will be telling people to get my fucking scar tattooed on their arm by the time Voldemort is through fucking with my head. The Dark Lord is going to rape the kid and I keep trying to get into his pants.
“Remus, thanks for answering my owl.”
“Harry…”
I hold my hand up, shaking my head again. “Make sure no one fucking knows he’s here. The Order might not turn on me, but everyone hates the Malfoys. I don’t want to have to worry about someone thinking they’re doing me a fucking favor by getting rid of him.” I give him a hard look, one he readily returns.
“Sirius told me, Harry. I’m not blind.” His gaze moves over the red marks on my neck. “You’re not thinking clearly—”
“I know right from wrong,” I snap back flatly. “Having a fucking crush doesn’t mean I don’t know when bailing on him is as monstrous as it sounds. His mother’s dying.”
Sighing, Remus eventually nods, his expression closed off. “Within the week, very likely. Her life force is draining fast. And no, I wouldn’t recommend him visiting. I wouldn’t tell him at all, just in case he’s the type to run off to try and say goodbye.”
God, I don’t want this. I turn and start walking towards the house, my head stuck on having to hide the condition of his mother from Draco. The kid still has hope while I’m once again crushed by the reality of the world.
Remus makes a sound behind me and I force myself to turn back. He’s got his wand out, ready to disappear and today I’m just feeling all the ‘what if’s’ that could happen. I quickly run back, Remus pulling me into a one-armed hug, my hair ruffled into a flying mess.
“Be careful, Harry. Don’t be reckless like him. You’re too alike. Too much like your father, too, and your mother was nearly as bad.”
Fucking Sirius. Selfish, bullheaded Sirius Black.
“I’ll be fine, Remus. I’m always fine. I live, remember? It’s kinda my thing.” I give him a cheeky smile he doesn’t return, his eyes full of such impossible sorrow. He knows I’m fucked up. Everyone fucking knows. It’s not like I’ve been hiding it.
I give him a small wave, watching as he disappears, the sound dull to my ears.
Left alone, I’m stuck with just my messed up head and the memory of everything I’ve been fucking up the last four days. Damn.
Need him. Never should have fucking told him I need him.
I step reluctantly back inside the house, not sure if I want to face Malfoy right now. Not sure if I can without saying something wrong and having it all spill out. His mother dying, his father missing. But then, unlike him, I don’t need to talk. I’m perfectly fine being silent for hours—sometimes days—without anyone thinking it’s weird. I can do this, and I will to protect his fucking heart from another damn blow.
I just don’t know how I’m going to protect mine.
Petunia’s in the kitchen slamming around pans. When she hears the door shut behind me, she immediately comes walking, her face still drawn. She sees I’m alone, but I feel the need to speak up.
“He’s gone. Won’t be coming back, so… yeah.”
Her shoulders give a slump like all the tension is draining out of her, and I’m again wondering how I missed this before. At every turn, I’m just a selfish fuck. Terrorizing my aunt and uncle, keeping him, wanting him to leave. Nothing I do is right, even when it’s the only right thing available.
“I’m making lunch.” Petunia straightens after a moment and turns back to the kitchen. “Drake’s with the boys in Dudley’s room, if you’re looking for him.”
“What?” I jolt and my eyes go wide. Why the fuck would Malfoy be in Dudley’s room? There is no answer in my brain that doesn’t end with Dudley turning the hot and currently magicless Malfoy into a bruised mess. I take off and run up the stairs two at a time. Not pausing to knock, I slam open the door to Dudley’s room.
The most confusing sight greets me and I stop cold, trying to figure out if I’m hallucinating. Malfoy is sitting at the foot of Dudley’s bed, his face red from the laughter spilling from him in uncontrollable giggles. Piers—obnoxious fuck that he is—is staring at him from his perch on the floor, his eyes rimmed in red, eyelids heavy as he grins creepily at Malfoy. Dudley’s fucking around with the television, but seems too stoned to actually know what he’s doing. The blinds are drawn, and the AC is running. The thick smoke of incense isn’t fooling anyone but my out of touch aunt.
“Are you high?” He’s totally high, but I just can’t get my fucking head around it. Malfoy seems to think I’m fucking hilarious because he takes one look at my face and bursts into more laughter.
Fuck. Fuck, he’s seriously high.
I step into the room and shut the door behind me. I can’t just leave him in here, although I want to. I fucking hate Dudley, and Piers creeps the fuck out of me.
I turn on Piers, the only one who seems coherent at the moment. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
Piers tilts his head, a languid grin stretched wide around his face. “Heh, do? I didn’t do anything, man. Drake here is just flying.”
“Because of whatever the fuck you gave him.” God help the stupid fucks if they gave Malfoy more than just pot. I will fucking break something if I gotta bring that naive as fuck prat to the ER and risk being spotted by Death Eaters in the process. I quickly shut the door behind me and cross Dudley’s messy room, hating how damn helpless I feel when Malfoy looks up with me with glazed eyes and snorts into his hand.
“Potter… Potter, your face. You are sooo pissed off right now.” Malfoy seems to find my anger hilarious, and he nearly falls over sideways on the floor as he cackles.
God damn it. “Malfoy, what did you eat? Was it pills?” I have no fucking clue if someone as damn dumb to the world won’t just have his heart explode if he’s hit with a dose of acid or something. I leave him alone for five fucking seconds, and he has managed to find himself in the mini drug den of Little Whinging. Shit, why is he laughing so much!
“Dudley, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I demand tersely as I crouch beside Malfoy, whose face is bright red as he struggles to breathe around his laughter. “What did you give him? So help me if you fucked him up in a bad way…” It’s like talking to a blinking wall. Dudley is so fucked up, I’m not sure he can even hear me right now. “Hey, fucking listen to me, dickwad! I’m supposed to be taking care of him.”
“Will you chill?” Piers drawls, his voice slowed by whatever is in his system. I whirl on him and glare. “The kid’s fine.”
“He’s not—” I fall silent when Piers reaches over, his fingers smoking from the joint in his hand, and Malfoy quickly grabs it. Son of a bitch. I swoop down to intercept, but I’m too late. Malfoy sucks down a hit like a pro, and I freeze, gaping at him.
Who the fuck is this kid? He doesn’t tell me he’s gay, he’s never been out in the fucking world alone, and he’s a pothead too? Just what else is Malfoy hiding from me?
“Come ‘er.” Malfoy snakes a hand out and grabs me by the wrist. Before I can resist, he pulls me down into his lap.
“Malfoy—watch it!” I nearly tip sideways, and by the time I right myself out of the awkward tangle, he’s got his hand around my waist and me trapped between his thighs. “You’re losing your shit,” I growl and try to push up. He snorts as he grabs me tighter around the waist and pulls me back against him. I gasp and freeze when I feel his erection grind hard against my ass cheek. “Shit,” I breathe out, trying to get my stuttering brain to start working again.
“Much better,” he murmurs against my ear. “Relax. Everything isn’t always life and death, Harry.”
I blink stupidly, trying to understand just what the fuck is going on. His dick grinding against my ass if not helping me process. “Malfoy, have you lost your—?” I turn when his fingers slide along my chin, only to jolt when his lips suddenly cover mine in a deep kiss. Hot air fills my mouth and I jerk away as my throat burns and eyes water.
“What the fuck!” I rasp as I shove him away and break down into coughs from the dry, cottony feeling. It’s like my head is full of the pungent, acrid smoke.
“Shotgun,” Piers calls approvingly, but I don’t have the energy to yell at him. I can only stare in bafflement at Malfoy who is snickering like he just played the biggest fucking joke on me.
“You are such an asshole,” I whisper. My anger feels like a stone in my gut as I push up from the floor. The last thing I want is to be fucked up. Malfoy should know—he’s running for his life just as much as I am, and he just went and put us both at risk with this shit. I realize the extent of how bad it is when I wobble once I get to my feet, and the room tilts unsettling. “Fuck. I am so fucking done with this shit,” I snarl. I push through the too heavy air and head for the door.
“Harry? Damn it, Potter, stop running away from me.”
I blink dumbly when something stops my leg. “What?” I feel hot, fuzzy, and I glare down and try to understand the confusing fingers wrapped around my ankle. It clicks, and I push forward. “Malfoy, let… go!”
The world slows when I tumble forward. I can see it happening, like it’s an eternity anticipating hitting the floor. But my arms refuse to move in time to catch me and when I do hit, I’m not sure if I actually make contact. I stare down into the dark beneath my bangs, feeling my entire body vibrating, waiting for the pain I can’t find. A throb on my chin, the palms of my hands, the leg Draco’s fingers had grabbed, but the feeling is elusive, a phantom tingle that only stings with my heartbeat.
“Shit! Are you okay?” Fingers claw at my back and light floods my vision as I’m rolled. I blink up at Malfoy, trying to understand if the ceiling is spinning, if he’s spinning, or if I’m the one spinning. Everything is dizzy, hot, and I might be sinking through the floor. “Harry? Harry are you hurt?”
“Did you just…?” My mouth is dry as fuck. I lift my hand to touch my face but give up half way, distracted as understanding dawns. “You fucking dropped me!” I accuse. My outrage is deterred by the sudden, unexpected laugh that escapes my chest. I gasp, but I can’t stop it. It’s funny. The whole thing is so funny. “You knocked me on my ass!”
Draco’s eyes are full of mirth as he stares down at me. His fingers brush my chin, and for a moment I feel the memory of a bruise. “I knocked you on your face, actually.”
My eyes go wide, and I howl in laughter. “Same fucking thing!” I choke out.
Draco jolts, and a blast of laughter escapes his lips. “Shit, ha!”
I watch it all, feeling my body shake and eyes blur with laughter. He’s beautiful. A golden glowing angel burning in torch light. The wisps of smoke in the air blend with his hair and edges as if he’s merely a projection of light and fire. I reach up, wanting to be sure, wondering if my hands will pass through him like they would a specter. His neck is hot, firm beneath my finger tips, and damp with sweat. Before I know what my arms are doing, I pull him down and capture his lips with my own.
It is the sweetest kiss, full of his light and laughter and smoke. His mouth melts against mine, yielding until our teeth scrape and his tongue finds mine, each movement full of languor. My fingers tangle into the cool strands of his hair as I explore the planes of his mouth. The hunger that rises up is like a damn breaking, sweeping the both of us away in a wave of wild need. He gasps for air even as he grasps me by the chin and his teeth torment my lips until they’re puffy and numb. I try to chase him when his mouth escapes mine, but he’s persistent, desperate as he sucks the flesh of my cheek, my chin, the spot beneath where my throat vibrates when his mouth wets the skin and his teeth scrape.
The ceiling is definitely spinning. I blink up at it, trying to comprehend the assault of his hot mouth and hands on me along with the buzzing of all my senses. I might be halfway through the floor. I’m not sure I feel my body where it’s touching… or maybe only where it’s not touching… I grasp at his shoulders, seeking something solid, and groan when his teeth sink into me again. It’s as if I can feel his mouth, how wide it must be stretched when his tongue slides over my flesh, how swollen his lips must feel, how firm my flesh feels to him whenever he digs in too hard.
It’s too much. I don’t know where I end, if my edges have blurred into the smoke, into him, into the floor. “Malfoy…” I rasp, my fingers twisting at his nape.
He leans above me at my call, and his hands cup my face, strong fingers curling me close. I’m lost in his eyes, stormy, gray pools awash with torment. His lips are flushed red, and the skin around his mouth a softer pink streaked with saliva. His lips part as his tongue sweeps out to wet the swollen flesh.
It’s like words are welling inside my chest, growing larger and larger the longer he stares down at me. I grasp harder at his skin, trying to see if we fit, if he will melt into me and I won’t have to voice whatever madness is building in me. His lips dip near and I hear his inhale, like his last breath before diving into me for good…
“Fuck, that must be some good fucking shit.” Piers’s caustic laughter tears through the smoke like a saw into bone. “Duds… Shit, Duds, your cousin is fucked. He has no clue where the fuck he is.” Piers’s face floats into the corner of my vision and I furrow my brows in confusion. “You are so stoned, Potter.”
Draco snickers, and I jolt at the puff of hot air against my chin. “You really are. Do you think you can even sit up?”
I don’t want to sit up. I want to melt into the floor with Draco coating me like a blanket, but Piers’s stupid face won’t go away from my view of the spinning ceiling.
***
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The Twisted Apprentice
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Episode #6. Sorcerers are living and slaving in Blackstone Falls…
Ky faces off against Liem Kane, a young sorcerer apprentice who might just be a sociopath. Liem has no problem slicing up his demon for fun while in the middle of class. When Ky lets his outrage show, Liem finds a new target in the naïve, newly bonded sorcerer.
Ky wants to save the wolf demon Liem is torturing but soon realizes he needs to worry about being able to get out alive. Liem is still a sorcerer, and his bonded demon will protect him with his life. Ky understands how deadly the demons can be. Starved and beaten, Fido is more than capable of eating Ky alive.
Each episode in this sexy, suspenseful gay monster harem serial is over 10,000 words, and should be read in order to be enjoyed fully.
11,000+ wrds, Published March 11, 2016.
Heat level: XX
Ky had to be hearing things. Drain him dead? There was no way Magnificent Night would ever hurt him like that. “What?”
“It’s probably not a huge loss. I mean, you seem to be really fucking simple.” The stranger smiled cruelly, his blue eyes narrowed as he glanced up from the black link in his hand. “Did you dress in the dark? I pity the sorcerer who has a mess like you for an apprentice. He must be just as foolish or fucking desperate.”
Ky inhaled sharply. He grabbed the other’s wrist, forcing him to either let go of his link to Magnificent Night or continue the contact. His classmate withdrew as if burned and huffed loudly. “I don’t know what your problem is, kid, but I’m not an idiot, and I don’t like being called one by a total…”
“Mr. Scion, let’s talk about these fascinating pieces you brought in today.” Ky snapped his mouth shut at his teacher’s voice, his gaze fixed on his classmate’s condescending expression. “I’m so glad to meet you. Ever since I saw your portfolio, I’ve been excited to have a conversation about your use of color. Excuse us a moment, Liem.”
His new art teacher, Ms. Mahoney, swooped in and led Ky toward his paintings and away from the silent Liem. Ky felt flushed, angry and confused. He glared over his shoulder at the rude jerk, who smirked superiorly back. What an asshole. He barely said two fucking words to Liem, and the guy just outright insulted him. Who the fuck did that?
Ky tried his best to focus on Ms. Mahoney and her very helpful critique of his work, but he couldn’t get the stupid ass out of his mind. Liem’s words spun in his head again and again. He had to be wrong; Magnificent would never harm him. Never. But… Ky didn’t really understand the link. He didn’t even know how it came to be. He barely knew anything about the Relics besides what Lovely told him, and what he heard the catboy argue with Feral over.
Could Liem be right?
Ky peeked over to where Liem was standing next to the table with a still life set up. Liem was looking down intently, and his lips moved like he was talking to someone. Ky edged sideway and nodded mutely to his teacher while he tried to see exactly what Liem was doing. Ky bit his lip when he caught sight of a pair of ears similar to Feral’s but pure black with silver piercings.
Liem brought a demon to class, very likely the same one who modeled for his paintings. Shaggy black hair covered the Relic’s face, his body pale and long as he hunched forward on the floor with hands braced to keep from falling. Behind him was a curl of a wolf tail, and elegant black, leathery wings instead of feathers sprouted from his back. Ky couldn’t hear what Liem was saying, but the Relic looked sick, exhausted, and barely able to sit upright as he swayed on the floor.
Liem abruptly leaned down and yanked hard on the Relic’s ear. Ky flinched at the pained noise the wolf demon made and quickly looked around to see if anyone else heard. No one even looked Liem’s way. A group chatted obliviously, and Ms. Mahoney pointed out the parts of Ky’s technique she found impressive. Out of the entire class, it seemed only Liem and Ky were able to see and hear the demon.
By the time Ms. Mahoney finished her critique, her main hope being he would try some more structured, realism inspired pieces to broaden his abilities, Ky was ready to find something heavy to beat Liem with. Liem kept pulling on his ears while the demon whimpered in pain and struggled not to fall over. The Relic was clearly starving, the strong, toned muscles on his form doing nothing to hide the ribs peeking through. Ky’s glare grew when Liem glanced his way. The student smiled chillingly right before he deliberately grabbed the demon’s nipple and twisted. The wolf demon arched and howled in pain, the movement finally revealing his face.
The Relic’s eyes were ice blue fringed with heavy dark lashes and filled with a wildness that made Ky uneasy. His fangs were long and sharp like he was waiting for prey. He was handsome under his bruises, his body and face littered in purple and blue welts. Even here, in a classroom of students, he was naked with only a heavy black collar around his neck. It was just as outrageous as how Liem was mistreating him.
Class was almost over. Ky grew more and more unsettled with each whimper of pain the wolf demon released. He had a feeling Liem was doing it just to piss him off; he kept grinning Ky’s way to watch his reaction to every cruelty. Liem was a terror and he couldn’t wait for class to get out so he could tell him as much.
There was a flash of silver, and Ky turned his gaze from the broken demon on the ground to meet Liem’s wicked eyes again. Liem slowly unfolded a pocket knife; his expression made it clear exactly what he intended to do when he reached for the demon’s ear.
Motherfucking psycho creep…
It was the last straw. Ky snarled as he stomped across the room. He grabbed Liem by the wrist hard enough for the knife to fall out of his hand and clatter to the floor. He was seconds away from teaching the stupid little dick what it meant to treat Relics as less than human, no matter how many people in the class thought he was crazy.
A deadly growl filled the air. Ky swallowed hard when the wolf demon unfurled from his crouch and towered over him menacingly. Liem smirked and whispered smugly, “Let me go or my pet is going to kill you.”
“You’re totally fucked in the head,” Ky hissed under his breath. He glared at Liem but all his senses were on the growling demon. Feral could have clawed Ky to shreds, and this wolf demon was much larger than the coyote. Sure, Feral might have seemed crazed when they first met, but the wolf demon was nearly foaming. He was starved, abused and showing signs of animalistic behavior. Whatever Liem did to the Relic, it turned him more berserker animal than anything else.
Ky reluctantly let Liem’s wrist go. He kept his chin raised defiantly and teeth grit in anger. “You have no right to treat a Relic like this. He’s an intelligent person, not some toy you can cut up for sick kicks. I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you should know he’s just as equal as you.”
Liem’s rich, blue eyes widened in surprise before he let out a loud laugh. “Holy fuck, you’re one of those types! What a total retard. You’re jeweled, which means if your demon gets hurt, you’ll get hurt too, and you’ve got a black link that will probably kill you before the week is out.” Liem grabbed the wolf demon by its black, bushy tail, and pulled hard. “Demons aren’t people. That you treat them like people is why they’re going to kill you. You need to show them who’s in charge or they’ll destroy you like the weak, pathetic imbecile you are.”
Ky stood taller, and his anger grew as Liem laughed in his face. He could hear the other students gathering their things. The class let out for the evening, and the teacher encouraged them to leave their portfolios and compare them later to their homework. It barely registered past the red throb in Ky’s head. He couldn’t remember ever being so angry before in his life. Even if the wolf demon was nothing more than an animal, the way Liem was treating him was beyond monstrous. Up close, Ky could see more bruises, a few burns, and long scars where a blade drew deep across the pale flesh. Liem was fucked up, and Ky was determined to find a way to get the wolf Relic away from him.
“You’re wrong,” Ky said once his throat wasn’t so tight with anger, and the sounds of the class leaving died down. “Lovely would never hurt me, and I would never put him in danger whether we were bonded or not. The same with Feral; after talking with him I know he’d never hurt me again. The demon black linked to me? He just needs my help. He’s not going to hurt me either. He’s trapped in chains I can’t open but I don’t mind feeding him so he’ll stay strong, alive. Your Relic is starving. All you’ve done is hurt him the entire time you’ve been here. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Liem huffed and folded his arms over his chest. He glanced disinterestedly at the wolf demon beside him. “What, like I’m supposed to feed him?”
“Yes!” Ky snapped. “You put a fucking collar on him so he can’t do anything for himself. You have to feed him, or he’s going to die!”
Liem looked unimpressed, his eyebrow raised in the face of Ky’s righteous anger. “So? Feeding a demon only makes him disobedient. I don’t want him strong enough to fight back. Eventually, Fido will learn to be meek around me. I might feed him more, then. Maybe. His magic is still strong either way, so what does it matter?”
Ky was starting to really understand how Liem saw the Relic and it was only making him more upset. “And if he’s dead? How’s your stupid magic, then? He’s not a fucking battery; he’s a person!” He turned to the demon and tried not to flinch under the manic, cold glare fixed on him. “You called him a pet. Even a fucking child knows enough to feed their pets. You have to be the shittiest sorcerer ever to fail at something so simple as taking care of the creature who gives you magic.”
Liem was as childish as Ky assumed, and his face twisted in rage from the insult. “I’m a skilled sorcerer. A powerful one!” Liem lifted his chin and pointed to the link on his collar. “I have a red link, unlike you. Fido thought he was a warrior when he got here and now he’s completely dominated by me. What, you think you’re stronger? You don’t even have a wand on you. You didn’t bring any demons to defend you. You’re completely weak and helpless with nothing but a lame, white jewel on your collar that shows just how stupid you really are!”
Ky took a step back when Liem raised his hand, and a wand fell into his fingers from out of his sleeve. How did Liem know he didn’t have Anselm’s wand on him? Ky didn’t know what exactly the wand could do to him, but given Liem’s horrible nature, it probably wouldn’t be good. “You can call me whatever you want, but it doesn’t make what you’re doing right. You don’t deserve to be bonded to a Relic if that’s the way you treat him.”
Liem narrowed his eyes, and a grim smile split his face. “Only weak, pathetic sorcerers would ever bind to a demon the way you did your jeweled one. I know what happens to weak things, they get devoured by the strong. You think Fido is so fucking sweet and should be fed? I’ll show you firsthand what it’s like to die from a demon’s fangs.”
Ky inhaled sharply and turned as the door across the room slammed shut. “Demons don’t kill,” he whispered. Liem lowered his wand as he turned back slowly. Ky flinched when he met Fido’s very crazed, ice-blue eyes. “They feed off of energy. They don’t need to kill to…”
“You keep telling yourself that, dumbass,” Liem said with a snicker. “Fido’s hungry and he’s as mean as they come. I watched him tear apart a cat a month ago. He doesn’t care what you are just as long as he gets some food.”
Dread twisted in Ky’s stomach. He stumbled back when the tall demon lurched forward with a bloodcurdling growl. Fido might have been weak and abused, but he also looked mean as fuck and really, really hungry. Ky knew the demons at his home ate rats. He damn well knew Demencious, the horrible overseer, ate other Relics, human beings, and animals to stay alive. Ky didn’t want to believe it was possible, but he couldn’t dismiss the reality this wolf demon looked like he would be more than happy to kill him if he could finally eat.
The Killer Wardrobe
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Episode #3. When furniture attacks…
Ky’s tumble into the wardrobe leads to a heartbreaking discovery; Lovely either has a boyfriend, or a really possessive demon stalker. Either way, the wardrobe fiend is ready to slash Ky a new one until Lovely gets the brute under control the only way the sexy catboy knows how.
Ky grows more concerned about what’s going on in his new house, from creatures hiding in the dark to the persistent scent of blood and rot. He ends up in the basement again as he tries to feed the murderous monster he’s certain is chained up in the darkness.
Lovely wants Ky to name him with collar in hand, but the magic is far stronger than first thought. Ky hears the truth about what happened to Anselm. If they don’t hurry, no one left in the big mansion is going to survive.
Each episode in this sexy, suspenseful gay monster harem serial is over 10,000 words, and should be read in order to be enjoyed fully.
10,000+ wrds, First Published January 15, 2016.
Heat Level: XX
Ky, who was supposed to have only stepped into his wardrobe, was naked, lost and surrounded by absolute darkness. His nose filled with dust. He sneezed and immediately smacked his head into his hand. “Ow.” For some reason he was certain he was in the attic. He didn’t have a way to confirm it with everything dark and impossible to see, but something about the smell and dust made him think of the place and the hole where all of Anselm’s sorcery equipment was hidden.
Ky really didn’t have a moment to think. Something soft and fluffy rubbed against his bare leg in the utter darkness. He grabbed for it, careful not to yank when he recognized Lovely’s tail. The catboy gave another angry hiss, and Ky quickly reached out and found a mess of limbs, claws, hot flesh and heaving breath. Without thinking, he grasped tight and pulled.
It really wasn’t the smartest idea. With a crash, Ky fell backward. Two solid, muscular bodies toppled on top of him and they all clattered out of the wardrobe door and onto his bedroom floor with a thud. The light was blinding to Ky’s addled senses as all the air knocked out of him. Red pain throbbed where he slammed against the hardwood and where the other two then crashed into him. He groaned weakly. His face was full of silky white hair, and he was pinned by bare flesh at every angle. Aches and dull throbbing pain ran through his body as he struggled to breathe. Damn, he was seriously starting to hate his wardrobe.
Ky tried to keep the room from spinning as his head gave a stubborn flare of pain where it hit the floor. Lovely continued to struggle with his attacker. His ears were folded back on his head and he hissed loudly as he slashed claws behind him. As he fought, Lovely pushed himself off of Ky to keep from crushing his fallen form.
Ky watched in a haze and wondered just what a concussion felt like. Maybe he fell out of bed and was dreaming the entire thing. Surely it would make more sense than having the pale, beautiful Lovely fight claw to claw with a golden, punkish looking ruffian who was snarling fangs while he pushed the slender catboy down to the ground and kissed him fiercely.
Ky released a weary sigh as his bruised and battered brain clicked something together.
Crap. Lovely had a boyfriend.
A jealous boyfriend who was not happy with him, or, at least, his clothes.
Maybe Lovely had a thing for people in clothing, and the feral, nude thing couldn’t compete? Ky just couldn’t catch a break. Stupid Blackstone Falls didn’t have any goddamn options for gay and gorgeous.
Ky tried to get up only to quickly dismiss the ridiculous notion as the room spun again and pain flared everywhere. No, he needed to fix this. He somehow got in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel. Given the two of them had no problem slashing the hell out of each other, he’d feel really bad if they did something they’d regret.
Ky rolled awkwardly to his side and tried not to groan in pain as he got onto his hands and knees. He was all skinned up; an elbow raw, one of his toes mangled on the lip of the wardrobe, not to mention the bruising everywhere.
“Please, stop fighting,” he croaked out and winced at the sound of his voice. No, he wasn’t doing well at all. “I didn’t know Lovely was spoken for, and, well…”
Wait. Why the hell was he apologizing? It wasn’t like he even had a chance to see Lovely, never mind ask if he was in a committed relationship. If anything, wasn’t Lovely just a really bad boyfriend for sleeping around with people who couldn’t see in the dark?
Ky shook the thought from his head, and grabbed his skull when it throbbed painfully in retaliation. “Hey, stop fighting!” he yelled and slammed his hand down on the floor. He was ignored. Lovely kicked the bronze skinned, muscular young man off him. Ky only had a moment to sit back with a plop as the catboy jumped up and followed after his target.
On Lovely’s back fluttered a pretty set of white wings. They were small, petite and flexed when he grabbed his tall attacker by the hair. Gold glinted from sharp ears reminiscent of a coyote. Ky just caught sight of the piercings right before Lovely twisted the furry triangles vindictively. Wardrobe guy was in serious trouble, and after what Ky went through, he didn’t feel remotely bad for him. Given the punkish hairdo of his golden blond and purple colored messy locks, as well as his eyebrow rings, the long scar which ran down half his face, and permanent snarl, the jerk was probably asking for trouble.
Wardrobe guy’s wings weren’t white like Lovely’s. They were black and feathery and made Ky wonder just what the hell both of the two creatures were. As cat-like as Lovely was, and as coyote-like as this jerk was, the wings just didn’t really make much sense.
Then again, nothing made a lot of sense lately.
What Ky first thought were just growls and snarls started to form a pattern. The two were having quite the argument in their respective language. His suspicions grew when Lovely pointed in his direction, hissed heatedly and wrenched one of the wardrobe guy’s ears. Ky flinched when the other’s gaze met his; his eyes were a startling gold with pinprick pupils full of malice.
Feral. The thing was absolutely feral and totally hated him.
As if to prove his point, the muscular attacker swiftly grabbed Lovely around the waist, pushed him down to the floor and bit him on the back of his neck. Lovely gave a loud cry and tried to push back up, but the other pinned him down with his larger body.
“Leave him alone!” Ky yelped. He stumbled forward on his knees, then stopped short when Feral glared up at him and growled with his teeth still buried in Lovely’s neck. Ky gulped. He hated he was hesitating. He knew the creature could totally tear him to pieces, and given his glare, would be happy to do it.
“Ky,” Lovely gasped out. He reached a clawed hand forward. Long strands of his white hair tangled around his arm.
Ky already had his face nearly slashed off. Not only did he fall into a bottomless pit in his wardrobe, but was crushed by two fighting creatures just after getting out of bed. He’d deal with the beating the fucking wardrobe guy wanted to give him.
“Lovely, I’m right here.” With a defiant glare into Feral’s golden eyes, Ky reached for Lovely’s hand. He gasped loudly when Lovely grasped his fingers and pulled him down roughly to the floor. Ky’s chin burned as it scraped against the hardwood painfully.
“Oww,” he groaned petulantly. No, it was not a good day.
Ky’s eyes cracked open, and he came face to face with Lovely’s mismatched gaze of blue and violet. “Lovely, that totally hurt…” he trailed off when Lovely cupped him by the head to pull his face closer, and his tongue licked out to move over the wound on his chin. Ky released an unsteady breath. His body felt like a hot, melted puddle of goo as Lovely’s tongue teased up and slid over his lips, then slipped between them firmly.
Ky’s eyes fluttered shut and he pressed closer. His mouth opened eagerly as his lips sealed with Lovely’s, who curled fingers into his dark hair and kissed him deeply.
There was a fierce growl and Ky immediately snapped his eyes open. Somehow he managed to forget about Lovely’s very angry boyfriend, who was glaring down at him.
Well, he assumed his boyfriend. They fought like they damn well might be dating, and the kissing could be a sign and all. But maybe the wardrobe guy was just a jerk who thought he should be allowed to kiss Lovely, and not actually his boyfriend?
There was no way Ky could win a fight against this weird, brutish creature for Lovely’s affection. Still, if he waited until Feral went back into the wardrobe, he could get a big padlock and chain and lock the jerk in there. With that thought hot in his mind, Ky dared to meet the golden glare burning into him.
Even though he had a scar running from his eyebrow all the way down to his jaw, Feral was actually really hot. Not in an aristocratic way like Lovely, but more like a model turned street thug with his heavy eyebrows and dangerous sharp eyes. His full red lips would probably look a lot nicer if he wasn’t snarling. What the hell was the guy’s problem, seriously? Was he, like, living in the damn wardrobe?
It was difficult to concentrate no matter how mean Feral’s snarl was. Lovely’s tongue again lapped over Ky’s face and teased against his lips.
“Lovely, uh, I don’t think this is the right time for… Oh. Okay.” There was just something about Lovely and it made him really dizzy. Ky gasped softly as he was pulled closer. Claws tickled the back of his head when Lovely lapped between his lips and stroked his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Ky barely noticed the hand slam down right next to his face. Lovely did. He pulled away to grab the offending wrist, and his otherworldly eyes glowed anger directed solely at Feral.
Ky couldn’t understand the exchange of words. Even though Lovely was shorter and delicate in appearance, he looked like he was more than capable of slashing Feral into ribbons. Ky bit his lower lip as his eyes were drawn to Lovely’s razor sharp fangs and narrowed eyes. Yeah, Lovely was a badass no matter how pretty he was. It sent a flutter through Ky’s stomach; he wasn’t sure if it was a good feeling or bad.
Feral gave another low growl and turned his glare back to Ky, who tried his best not to flinch.
“Stop being so mean,” Ky muttered. His chin pointed out defiantly as he struggled to push up from the ground. “I haven’t done a damn thing to you.” Feral slammed his other hand down and Ky yelped before he could stop from cringing away. “Asshole!”
Lovely hissed again, dragged Feral down, and slammed his head tight against the floor. Ky hesitated from trying to escape, unable to take his eyes off the catboy as he effortlessly pinned Feral. Yeah, Lovely was really hot when angry. Ky bit the side of his thumb as he watched the two growl in their angry language. Lovely was really strong, his muscles long and graceful, and nude body sleek and smooth. Even his strange ears and tail were sexy; claws, fangs, wings and all. Lovely definitely wasn’t human, neither were, but wow, they were seriously sexy.
Ky wasn’t sure what changed exactly since he was unable to understand what either of them were saying. Something in the timbre of Lovely’s voice and the way Feral’s glare turned smoldering made Ky swallow hard and his face heat up. Lovely ran his tongue over Feral’s scar and purred low in his ear. With a growl, Feral twisted and pinned him again. Lovely moaned as he was pushed face first down to the floor while Feral nipped at his shoulders and neck ravenously.
He should probably go. Really. Clearly Lovely wasn’t averse to being kissed by the wardrobe creep as much as he hoped. Ky couldn’t seem to get himself to move. He bit his thumb harder as he watched Lovely gasp and arch his ass up in the air. His elegant tail wrapped around Feral’s thigh and pulled him down on top of him.
Feral had strong looking hands. They were large, rough, and when he ran them over Lovely’s pale skin, part of Ky wanted to know what they felt like. Stupid. Feral slashed his face and was an absolute menace. Just, there was something in the way he was possessive, consuming and rough in his touch that made Ky’s breath grow short and his mouth dry when he thought what it would feel like to have such attention of his own. Lovely was definitely enjoying it. He moaned lowly and kept shifting his hips to ground back against Feral’s hard dick with rocking pushes.
Drunk, Blind, Stupid Cupid
Exclusive Library
An angel, a demon and a love-wary teenager walk into a cemetery…
Aiden Fisher hates Valentine’s Day with a passion saved only for holidays and annoying public displays of affection. He’s spent his teenage life trying to be as unapproachable as possible even if his cute face has heads turning. This Valentine’s Day he finds he’s failed his goal; a secret admirer wants to meet him.
Aiden has a lot of reasons to avoid love at all costs, many he can’t seem to remember when he’s approached by two foreign, beautiful boys that say they’re destined to meet. He tries to avoid the alarming feelings welling up, but when they’re attacked and he brings his new friends home, there’s nowhere to run.
Trying to hide as much of his embarrassing home life as he can from these quirky winged boys, Aiden finds himself faced with a choice. Does he wants to suffer in love or suffer alone?
Disclaimer: This slightly dark, sweet novella contains explicit m/m sexual content between multiple partners, graphic language, first time experiences, and hot winged boys and a pretty punked out bottom in a committed threesome relationship. Made specifically for Valentine’s Day, beware of sappiness, sarcasm, angst, and plot. All sexually active characters are 18+.
33,000+ wrds, Published February 12, 2016.
Heat level: XX
on March 16, 2017
Sadie again writes a beautiful erotic story. Human Aiden loathes valentine’s day. When he gets a rose and a request to meet, he’s furious. He goes, but only to tell the giver off. When he gets there, 2 stunningly beautiful boys are waiting. The halfie Damien to translate and the angel Gavril. But Aiden is not gay, or is he, he seems to be the last to know. Craziness goes down and he takes them home and into his heart. Is this relationship even a good idea? Yet, I could not put it down until it was done
The claiming and the fact that Gavriil was drawn to both Aiden and Damian from so far away, maybe even from another world? I just love the pull of fate and destiny type of stories.
Can’t wait to read the next book of this series.
It’s the last Valentine’s Day I’m going to have to endure at school. Somehow it seems to be mocking me, starting from the horrible amount of red and pink everyone’s wearing. Even the other guys are wearing the garish colors while I’ve resolutely dressed in my normal black.
I can’t stand the holidays, Valentine’s Day especially. It has nothing to do with the forgotten religious saint or the fertility festival the damn thing originally represented. No, it’s the way couples just disregard all decency and once again shove their happiness in my face. Like being single means I should automatically be miserable? Like a relationship is the end-all of being a satisfied human being? Fuck them. At least I’ve never had to listen to some girl tell me off for not calling her every hour.
I have no interest in being in a relationship. Seeing everyone acting like it’s the only thing a guy could want is really annoying as fuck.
Dropping my book bag on the floor, I take a seat for my first class of the day, trying to ignore the obnoxious amount of snuggling going around. When exactly did Valentine’s Day become an excuse to ignore all acceptable forms of public displays of affection? I might be running to the bathroom soon to vomit if this keeps up.
“Aiden, you look like someone pissed in your cereal this morning.” Ben, my best friend, sits down next to me, his hands smacking on his desk. He flashes me a toothy grin, clearly not actually caring that I hate today with a passion.
“What are you so happy about?” I finally ask when he insists on smiling at me.
“I got Vanessa a rose. I even wrote her a bitchin love poem.” His smile somehow manages to grow. “If that doesn’t get her to agree to go out with me, nothing will.”
Scowling at my terribly happy friend—Seriously, it’s Valentine’s Day; happiness is not welcome today—I pull out my math book and notebook. “What exactly do you mean by ‘bitchin love poem?’ Is this like some modern art thing?”
“Nope, even better. I wrote it myself.”
Nodding slowly, I duck my head so he can’t see me wince. “That sounds… um, bitchin.” Hideous. Seriously repulsive. God, I hate Valentine’s Day.
“Wanna read it?”
I bite my lip, knowing if he so much as shows me anything he’s written that’s supposed to convince anyone he’s in love with Vanessa, I’m going to laugh my ass off. “I’m good. For real.”
Ben smiles obliviously, his hair brushing into his eyes. “So?”
“So?” I repeat, folding my notebook open and wondering when the hell Mr. Jacobs is going to get here so the idiots will finally sit their asses down and stop making out around me.
“So, who did you get a rose for?” Ben asks, sounding even chipper than when he first sat down.
I glare at him sideways. He looks ridiculously young and happy and I sort of hate him right now. “No one. You know I don’t buy into this stupid holiday.”
“Pssh. You’re just mad because you haven’t found your ‘one’ yet,” Ben says with all the conviction of a hormonal eighteen-year-old that hasn’t had a relationship last more than three months. “When you fall in love, you’ll totally love Valentine’s Day.”
I debate whether I want to tear his love theory apart verbally to pass the time. I’m in a terrible mood, but I don’t know if I want to take him with me. He’s got that hopeful puppy-dog look he gets right before his heart is broken—This time by Vanessa, who has been looking at Ryan H. for the last month. Seeing as Ryan has a car, Ben is so outmatched. I settle for grunting noncommittally and scribbling doodles in my notebook.
There’s a commotion at the door and I sigh. Finally, the teacher is here and we can start. Except it’s not Mr. Jacobs, it’s a ridiculously cheerful girl carrying an armful of roses. I glare, realizing I’m going to have to go through the receiving, squealing, and all around vomit inducing lovey-dovey crap that comes along with girls getting flowers from secret and not so secret admirers. Fuck my life.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Ben says, grabbing my arm before I can get up and go hide out in the bathroom.
“What—Why the fuck should I stay around for this shit?” I mutter but sit down. Most of the girls are swarming the doorway anyways—There’s no getting by them to escape.
“Cheer the fuck up, Aiden. It’s just Valentine’s Day. It’s not like people are going out of their way to make you unhappy.”
“Aren’t they?” I snap, pointing at the group of giggling girls. “If I never have to hear that noise again, I’d be happy.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “Nothing makes you happy. Not the many holes in your head, your punk music, or even those funky combat boots. You are determined to be unhappy and you shouldn’t go blaming the rest of the world for your state of being.”
Glowering, I hunch over my desk, deciding to ignore him and the class until the stupidity dies down. Having eyebrow rings and a tattoo on the back of my neck isn’t some statement in being unhappy, it’s just a statement in being me. Ben wouldn’t understand, always wasting his time and energy trying to get with the next pretty, vapid thing he sees instead of figuring out himself.
Something flashes out of the corner of my eye, a red rose landing on my notebook. Blinking, I looked up in disbelief as Callie—super smiley cheerleader—hands me a white card. “Looks like you have a secret admirer, Aiden.”
“What?” I say dumbly, glancing sideways to find nearly everyone in the classroom suddenly looking at me.
She continues as if I hadn’t said anything, the card landing on top of my desk when I refuse to take it from her hand. “You know, you’re the first boy that’s gotten a rose this year. Usually guys send them to girls,” she says with a slightly accusing look.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? Am I not good enough for a rose now? Or… is she saying a guy sent me a rose?
“Hey, just because Aiden’s a guy, doesn’t mean he can’t get a rose,” Ben speaks up before I can actually ask what she’s implying. Throwing her bleach blond hair over her shoulder, Callie gives a bored huff and just steps away to the next person on her list.
“It’s the fucking twenty-first century. Geez,” Ben mutters before pasting another huge smile on and smacking me on the back. “Well, what does it say? Who sent you the rose?”
“What?” Scratching the back of my head, I look at Ben warily. My friend of forever has been acting weird ever since he spent his summer in New York with his cousins. I’m not sure exactly what he’s got in his head all of a sudden when it comes to me, but he’s been saying a lot of stupid shit like how I don’t need a girlfriend if I don’t want one, and he’d never judge me no matter what. It’s been really getting on my nerves but I don’t know if now is the time to bring it up, especially when half the class is trying to snoop over my shoulder to read the stupid card on my desk.
Shaking my head, I flip the plain white notecard open, glancing briefly at the one line before flipping it shut and pocketing it.
“Well?” Ben asks, curiosity clear in his voice.
“Well, what?” I go back to scribbling in my notebook, pointedly ignoring him.
“What did it say?”
Sighing in annoyance, I glance his way, finding two other people looking at me just as curiously. Fuck this stupid shit. “Nothing.”
“Like fuck—They wouldn’t have given you a card if it was blank.” Ben isn’t going to let it go. Actually, he looks about ready to wrestle me to the ground so he can get the thing and read it himself. That I’m only five foot ten, and slender will not stop my taller friend. That I also fight like a crazy bastard and enjoy biting will probably keep him from trying it.
“It’s just a time and place for a meetup. No name,” I finally grunt out, looking down at my desk. “I’m sure they just got me confused with someone else. There are like seven guys named Aiden in the grade below us.”
“Aiden…” Ben just sighs, something else I choose to ignore. He can tell me till he’s blue in the face and I want to beat the fuck out of him that I’m actually a likeable guy, but I know better. I barely tolerate people and people, well, they keep their distance. I might have a cute face but with the right scowl and mean enough piercings, they back the fuck off. It’s how I like it. I don’t want people in my life—My life is difficult enough.
“When is it?” Ben asks when I relax enough to think he’s dropped the subject.
“When’s what?”
“Stop fucking with me. The meetup?”
Grunting, I pull the note from my pocket and hand it to him. He reads it, his brows furrowed as he gives me the card back. “That’s a weird place to meet someone.”
I shrug. “I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are. Someone bothered to write you a card and buy you a rose. You’re fucking going—Stop being such a dick. What if they really like you?”
“Then they’re fucking dumb.” I shove the note back into my pocket, eyes falling on the rose. It’s actually kind of cool looking, the edges of the blood red petals blackened like they’ve been burnt. I reach out, letting my fingers brush over a silky smooth petal. Even the thorns are tipped in black. Do they dye roses now?
I pick it up, pressing my thumb against a thorn. It certainly feels real. Ducking my head, I give it a hesitant sniff, a small smile stealing across my lips.
Fine, it’s a cool rose. Not one of those girly pink ones or I would have tossed it already. But it’s not like you can fuck up a flower. Whoever had the nerve to send me one doesn’t automatically get a meeting with me just because the rose doesn’t suck.
The pack of girls finally leaves the doorway, the sound quieting down as the last of the class trickles in. Observing the way the black edges make a spiral pattern as they wrap around the rose, I’m pulled away by the weight of someone’s stare. It’s the new kid, the foreign transfer that showed up a month ago, currently standing halfway in the room and staring at my rose like he’s never seen one before.
Gavriil Strife is a weird one. He has golden blond hair, weird violet eyes and looks like some fucking model out of a magazine. He’s tall, built, and just has this ease about him with his stylish hair and graceful walk. Every girl in the school is chasing him hardcore, his nickname being ‘the golden prince.’ Annoying enough, but he doesn’t talk, like ever. I think I might have heard him say something once when answering a teacher, and his accent was so thick, I didn’t understand a word. No one can understand him but everyone loves him. It’s bullshit.
That he’s staring at me now, those weird eyes rimmed in black piercing into mine is unsettling as fuck and I find myself biting my lip. But I refuse to back down; he’s staring, and it doesn’t matter where he’s from, it’s still rude. Then the jackass grins at me, his expression turning mischievous like he’s got some fucking secret before he looks away and crosses to his seat. He’s seriously annoying. Weird and annoying, and I’ve caught him staring at me before. Like every class we share.
“What was that about?” Ben leans over to whisper in my ear.
“Fucking weirdo,” I mutter flatly, looking again at the rose and trying to fight the urge to glance over and see if Gavriil’s still staring. Maybe he’s pissed his didn’t get a rose, seeing as he’s a total pretty boy… Hell, maybe his ex sent me the flower? Has the kid actually taken any of the swarms of girls up on a date? He doesn’t speak a word of English yet he’s in my English class. I chance a peek, violet eyes meeting mine for a moment before I look away.
Weirdo.
The idea of Gavriil dating anyone is annoying as fuck too, like the weird boy himself, and I huff and turn to another page of my notebook so I can draw myself a maze. I take small joy in adding spikes and pits filled with vipers for any wanderer to get stuck in. It’s a shit day and only promising to get worse.
***
I’ve dodged Ben’s incessant questions throughout the day about if I’m going to the stupid meetup. The only reason I’m even considering it is just because it’s on my way home. If some idiot wants to wait out in the fucking freezing cold in the middle of February after a damn snowstorm, that’s really their problem, not mine. Throwing a $5 rose in my lap doesn’t mean I’m required to freeze my ass off.
I’m actually pretty angry about the whole thing. Seriously, what stupid idiot got me a fucking rose? Who the hell thought that I’d be into some stupid romantic rendezvous on the sappiest fucking day of the year? I was embarrassed during class, everyone keeps looking at me, and the questions will not stop. If I do go, I’m probably going to do it just to tell the person off for making my Valentine’s Day even worse than normal.
Scowling into my locker, I pull my black jacket on, hunching into the heavy material. It has a few holes but layered with my sweatshirt it does the trick for the fifteen-minute walk home. Tugging my slouchy on over my shaggy dark hair, I glare sideways at Ben who is, of course, waiting for me to tell him if I’m going to meet my ‘secret admirer.’
Fuck, even the name annoys the fuck out of me.
“Well?”
“Fuck off.” I slam my locker shut, ducking around him.
“Stop being an ass, Aiden. It’s just one little meeting. Just give the guy a shot—Shit.” Ben stops short as I whirl, his hands held up defensively.
Guy? Glaring at the cringing brunette, I stomp back. “What the fuck do you know?”
“N-Nothing, it just sort of slipped…” Ben sucks at lying, especially to me. I take a quick look around the hall, way too many of my classmates staring at me. Growling, I grab Ben by his collar and haul him into the empty science room.
“Tell me. Now.”
“Really, it’s nothing. A guess…” Ben coughs awkwardly while I stare him down. I’m not buying it and he knows it. “Fuck… Fuck, stop snarling at me.”
“Tell me, you jackass! Who is it!”
Stumbling back, he ends up sitting heavily on the teacher’s desk. I glare as he smiles at me sheepishly. “I don’t know his name. I just… I’m pretty sure it’s a guy.”
“Why?” I growl when he feels the need to stop at that fucking revelation and not explain. Why the fuck would a guy be looking at me? I’m an asshole to everyone, and I’ve never shown an interest in hooking up with anyone, especially guys.
“Well… um… Someone asked me if you’d… might be interested…”
“Oh my god—Fucking whore, Ben! Why? Why would you tell someone that I’d—Fuck.” I whirl, pacing away before I do something uncalled for, like punch the idiot. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why would he do that? Does he hate me or some shit? He’s like my only friend—Do I have to worry about him spreading fucking rumors about me liking dick or something? Fuck.
“Aiden, you have to understand. I just thought, well… Well, I just thought,” Ben finishes lamely, wincing when I turn and glare his way.
“You think I’m gay?”
Looking uncomfortable, he gives a weak shrug. “It could explain a few things.”
And what the fuck is that supposed to mean? “Like what?” I growl, my hands on my hips as I wait expectantly for whatever stupid is going to come out of his mouth. There is nothing remotely gay about me. Fuck, if I’m anything, it’s asexual, but I hate fucking labels so I wouldn’t even say that. I have no interest in being with anyone, period.
“You don’t date,” Ben points out.
“So? You know my fucking home life. You think I want to bring anyone into that shit?”
“Bullshit,” he says, standing up and glaring back at me. “Do you think I’m blind or something? Like I can’t see when you’re checking a guy out? You spent nearly half of last class staring at Chris.”
“He was cheating off of Duley,” I snap, really not liking where this is turning. I do not check out guys.
“Was his ass cheating? Cus that’s where you were staring.”
“Are you shitting me—Did you just seriously accuse me of…?” There are no words. “Ben, I’m not gay!” I yelp in frustration.
“Whatever, jackass,” he mutters, like I’m fucking lying to him or something. “I’m not the only one who thinks it, man. Ever since Gavriil transferred in, everyone has been talking about it.”
Blinking dumbly, I hold up my hand. “What? What the fuck does that weirdo have to do with anything?”
Ben growls in exasperation. “Dude, you stare at him all the time!”
“Only because he keeps staring at me!” I turn away, my hat coming off in my hands as I grab my hair and tug. Stupid Gavriil Strife—Of course that fucker is to blame for all this. The damn pretty-boy came in here acting weird, and the second I glare at him everyone just assumes I have a thing for him because he’s gorgeous. The fucking bastard.
“Who did you tell?” I ask, spinning back to Ben. “Who fucking asked?”
Huffing, he folds his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure.”
“Like fuck you’re not—”
“I never saw the guy before. It was a couple of weeks ago during that football game you left early from.” He gives me a look and I wonder if he’s going to start accusing me of staring at their asses too. “He came up and asked if you were into guys. He had long black hair, green eyes. Tall. Really good looking.”
“Why the fuck do you feel the need to tell me he’s good looking?” I hate him so much right now. “So you just told this absolute stranger that your best friend is into guys?” I say in frustration.
“No,” he snaps back, his jaw squaring defiantly. “I told him it was a possibility. That you’re not the dating type so there was really only one way to know for sure.”
God, my life sucks so much right now. My mom is probably home drinking our fucking food money away, and here I am standing, listening to my best friend explain how I could be gay.
“Did you ever once think to ask me?” I can’t stop my angry growl. He winces and I feel a mild satisfaction that he at least feels guilty. It’s extremely mild.
“Aiden, I watched you eat half a raw potato before you realized it wasn’t an apple.”
“So—What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“So, you’re fucking oblivious, man. If I was going to ask someone about you, I’d ask me first because, fuck, I know you better than you know you.”
Scoffing, I glance away. “No, you don’t.”
“Oh yeah? Favorite food—Cheeseburger with extra pickles, but on a grill because you like the burn but still pink in the middle. You’re two homework assignments away from failing Mr. Pincer’s class. You spent all of yesterday with a pink barrette in your hair because you didn’t notice I put a fucking barrette in your hair. Dude, you’re a fucking space case,” he says with a wave of his hands.
I pause at that, remembering vaguely something pulling on my hair yesterday when I took my hat off. Fuck. “Pink? You jackass.”
“Do you even know how many people check you out?” he continues sternly. “Like every fucking day? I have chicks asking all the time if you’re, like, not allowed to date or something. I see guys looking at you all the time, and hell, I’m as straight as they come, but even I can admit you’re totally sexy, man.”
I splutter, glaring at him while my tongue refuses to work. I am not sexy. I am angry and unapproachable, and that is how I want to be.
“Aiden, go meet the fucking guy. For once in your life stop wandering around aimlessly after cleaning up your parents’ mess, and just live a second for yourself. People want to get to know you, so give them a fucking chance already.”
It probably would have been more poignant if my best friend wasn’t trying to send me off because he thinks I like dick. As it is, I’m just more annoyed that there are at least two people on the planet determined to make this day as fucking miserable as possible.
“I’ll go,” I finally growl, glaring him down as he beams in reply. “But only to tell this guy that you were mistaken. Bad enough he’s so retarded he thinks I’m dating material to begin with.” Seriously, you’d have to be a fucking idiot to think I was worth hanging around for any amount of time. I’m pretty sure Ben’s an idiot, and he’s well aware of my opinion on the matter.
“Seriously, dude, if it’s the guy from the game, he’s hot. I’d never do you wrong like that.”
I shake my head. There are really no words for how dumb he is today. Fucking Valentine’s Day.
“Did Vanessa like her rose?” I grunt out, feeling spiteful. Ben gives a heartfelt, woeful sigh. Answer enough. Yeah, he’s a fucking idiot and now I have to go let some really confused gay guy down on Valentine’s Day. Fuck my life.