DRAFT SCENE FOURTEEN
The car, Sage whimpering alone with Frey all over him, the man growling and relentless. Where are we going? To my house. Your house now. Frey… You’ll like it, sweetness. It’s clean. No more garbage everywhere. No one to hurt you. You’ll never have to worry about food or wearing the same rags everyday. Sage moans, his eyes half closed as Frey sheaths inside him again. In his mind, Corey’s dead body flashed for a moment, the wall and floor coated in his blood. It was his fault. He never would have died if he had never gone to the werewolves. And his body, his cursed body that could still beg and demand sex when his stomach wanted to wretch—he was a monster. Corey had been right to hate him, to try to stop this fucked up power from awakening in him. He had even broken Frey, the once controlled werewolf losing his calm and justifying it on saving him instead of seeing that the man had killed for no reasons besides he wanted to. Because his wolf had wanted blood.
Sage was barely aware of the mansion they pulled up to, the tall gates and feel of magic wards.
Give us a little tour from the front door to the bedroom. Sage knows he can’t go back. He has nowhere to go, nowhere he belongs. If he goes, Frey will follow, will kill everyone.