SCENE #1

It was Wylie's first burglary and he already wondered how bad it would go down. It was off to a shit start and his expectations weren't rising as time ticked by.

They’d been sitting outside the huge gates for a good ten minutes now. The engine of the black van rumbled while the group waited for the little tech-wiz to hack them in. It was a small crew and they were all new to the game except their asshole leader for the night, Diego. He was the driver, his job to point out shit to steal and all around bark orders like an angry motherfucker. Adam was the kid genius who kept humming nervously as he typed on his mini keyboard up front. Wylie was the freak in the back of the van. Muscle would be the preferred term, but Diego had insisted on calling him a freak since meeting an hour ago. Wylie chose to embrace it for the night instead of getting pissed off. The lookout with his hand in Wylie's pocket and lips wet on his neck was his recent boyfriend, Beck.

Wylie was ready to smash Diego's face in. The gangster was as mean as a junkyard dog and just as foul. He was surprised the vicious bastard didn't turn into a wolf or even a badass mangy dog. But Diego smelled all human, just like the rest of the crew, which left Wylie as the only guy who could transform into something else.

What that something might be, he had no freaking idea. It wasn't a full transformation, just his arms. Wylie’s black scales didn't look like any shifter animal he knew of. Even so, the shift allowed the blond eighteen-year-old to break through locked doors, metal gates and even safes with a strength no human possessed. Not knowing what he was didn't make it any less impressive, and Wylie’s demon arms were enough to get him into the initiation with Roth's gang that night.

He hadn't actually set out to join a gang when he started hanging with Beck a few months back. Beck was a tight piece of ass who liked to get into trouble to piss his religious nut-job parents off. He was the first person to not freak when Wylie's arms transformed into scaled, demonically powerful weapons. Actually, it kind of got Beck off. Wylie never thought he'd find someone that fucked. But then again, he had demon arms and liked dick, so he supposed they were even on the freak level.

Diego’s irritated growl from the front of the van made Wylie again think of a mutt. Their timetable was going out the fucking window. Adam's hands kept shaking and they had no damn clue if the kid was getting the job done. Wylie knew nothing about computers. Still, better to fuck it up while no crime was committed, than fuck it up shit deep in the mansion they were planning on emptying.

Wylie had only met Adam once before. The kid reeked of so much fear, he couldn't understand what the hell he was doing running with Roth. But maybe Adam was one of those types who didn't want to be afraid anymore. Wylie sure as fuck didn't know. He stopped being afraid years ago when he realized no matter how many foster families told him he was no good, he could still survive on his own. Even if he didn't get into the gang, Wylie knew he'd be fucking fine.

Beck's hand drifted lower and Wylie grabbed his wrist. He gave him a look his boyfriend couldn't see in the dark. “Quit being a pervy kink. Focus.”

“Don't be that way.” Beck pressed his lips to Wylie's jaw and smirked against his skin. “You're going to fuck me tonight. We're going to ace this shit, and you're going to come over to my place and fuck me with those studly arms of yours out while my parents sleep.”

Beck was fucked and Wylie really had no complaints about it. Well, except the screwing with his scales out. He was always worried he might accidentally hurt him. When you could tear through metal, human flesh was fucking butter in comparison.

Wylie didn't get a chance to answer. The gate gave a sudden shudder and the wrought iron blocking the driveway opened smoothly on motorized tracks. Hallelujah. Diego muttered a long line of relief-filled curses—apparently he was shit with computers, too—and pulled the van up the long drive. They parked close to the side door, their entry point into the downstairs lounge and bar.

Diego glared at the group as he killed the engine. “Remember, the house will be empty. It's almost winter and the owner flies south to some fucking island. Beck, you're lookout, at the door, ear on the scanner for signs of cops. No matter what we're carrying, you don't leave that post until it's time to go. Adam, get your ass out. I want you tagging stuff that needs to be moved.”

All the outside lights were on along with a few internal ones, but that was to be expected with the place empty for months at a time. Looking full of people was as much a deterrent as actually being full of people. They didn't bother wearing masks. Adam had taken the cameras down along with all the other security, and there was no fear of being spotted.

Wylie left Beck with the van. He gripped his boyfriend’s shoulder in farewell, which earned him a smile. Beck wasn't fearless but he got off on adrenaline and that was good enough.

Adam practically threw himself backward when Wylie approached. He stared up at his heavily scaled arms like he was some hellspawn demon there to kill him and his entire family. It was a look Wylie had grown used to since the age of eight and was sometimes more comforting than Beck's unique response.

Diego growled at him and pointed to the door just in case Wylie was too retarded to figure out the reason he was there.

“Alarm dead?”

“Of course it's fucking dead. Open the shit and shut up,” Diego snapped.

Wylie licked his teeth; his fangs itched to bite the aggressive fucker on the face. He reached across and drew a long, black talon down between the seam of the door and molding. He found the metal bolts, three in all, and with precise slams of his palm, knocked each one through the reinforced door and into the room behind. Satisfied, he wrenched the handle, opened the door with a flourish and waved the scowling Diego in. Adam took longer to enter; he was very busy trembling like a hyperventilating rabbit. Diego snapped at him and he finally scurried past.

Adam's fear scent was getting to Wylie and made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Sure, the kid could get past security but he was useless in the house. He was too waif-limbed to carry shit and skittish to trust as a lookout. Beck was a sweet talker and if some nosy neighbor came sneaking her head over the fence, Beck could come up with a lie and a smile on his pretty face in a second flat. Not so much Adam, who managed to trip twice just walking through the empty room.

“Start grabbing anything that looks worthwhile,” Diego ordered the shaking Adam. He pointed to the wall of electronics in the downstairs room to the right. Wylie followed with his eyes, brows furrowed. He really didn't know shit about computers and tech and stuff, but there was a lot of shiny metal and plastic shit there. If he went by Adam's expression, it wasn't the run of the mill stuff you usually found in some rich bitch's house.

“This is military grade,” Adam whispered. His eyes widened as he reached for something that looked to be solid steel and more than twice his weight.

“Figure out what's important and we'll be down to move what you can't lift,” Diego said impatiently. “Come on, freak. The safe's upstairs.”

His eyes strayed to where Adam was flicking something on that looked disturbingly like a laser. Wylie followed the muttering gangster through the long hallways. They must've gotten the plans to the place in advance or Diego had been there before. He seemed to know exactly where to go and didn’t bother to turn on lights even in the darker hallways. Wylie admitted to a mild appreciation of his skill, glad he wasn't some bumbling idiot who didn't know what he was doing. He could put up with the asshole if Diego managed to get them through the night alive and out of jail.

The stairs were a huge, wide expanse, easily able to fit a damn concert on the steps alone. Wylie kept his senses alert. He heard Diego's breathing as the man muttered under his breath. There was a ticking as they passed a large echoing room housing a tall grandfather clock, along with…

Wylie turned his head as he caught a whiff of the flowers sitting in a vase on a table down the hall. Worry prickled in the back of his mind and without a word, he turned and walked toward the scent.

They were fresh, daffodils and small white daisies. Diego gave a low grunt when he realized Wylie was no longer behind him, and stomped over to his new location. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Fresh flowers,” Wylie said tightly. He glared when the gangster looked ready to go off on him. “They're not even wilted. Who puts flowers out in an empty house?”

His eyes narrowed. Diego stepped forward and smelled the flowers briefly to see if they were real. He shrugged. “Look at the fucking place. Do you really think someone this rich does normal shit? Maybe the fucking maid put them out just in case they got robbed and wanted to make things look nice for us. Now hurry the fuck up.”

Not even remotely convinced, Wylie considered getting the fuck out. It was midnight and whoever was there—maid, butler, guest, or owner—would likely be in bed in one of the many rooms in the maze of a place. It was one thing to steal shit; it was another to terrorize people while stealing shit.

Diego turned and waved his hand in an exaggerated movement to tell him to get the fuck over there already. Wylie bit his tongue and followed. Fuck, for all he knew the fucking rich put flowers out every day even when no one was home. Rich people were fucking crazy where money lifted them as far from reality as drugs ever could for a strung out crack whore. Shit, whoever lived there had rooms for their stuff, not for their people. Who was he to say for certain what went on in the minds of the ultra-rich?

Diego led him surefooted down a long corridor. He touched doors and counted as they went. He stopped where dim light greeted through a narrow band of an open door. “The office. Jewels and bonds are in here, some cash.” He pulled something from the inside of his black leather coat, and unfolded a canvas duffle bag. “Safe's on the far side wall past the windows and desk. Bunch of books opens up like a door. Empty the entire thing and then meet me in the bedroom, five doors that way, left side.” He pointed down the hall.

Wylie took the bag while wondering what the fuck was in the bedroom Diego wanted to go alone for. He kept his mouth shut. He was there for one purpose; to do what he was told so that he could get in with Roth. Wylie stepped into the study and paused on the threshold. He looked around carefully but the dim table lamp revealed no sign of life. Still, he was pretty sure he smelled the distinct scent of human flesh, only mildly stale. Older, male… Cigar smoker…

The butler, he told himself briskly as he walked the length of the room. Whoever left flowers probably checked the rooms on occasion during the day, and did dusting or some shit. He didn't know; it wasn't like he'd ever be in a situation where he’d need to keep a mansion looking nice. He found the false wall of books easy enough, and raised a brow at the ridiculousness of it all. The house alone screamed money. Clearly anyone who looked would know money was also inside.

The safe was large and bolted to the floor. A dial and handle revealed the need for a combination. He considered the metal contraption in silence. Wylie punched his hand forward, then his other, and slowly curled and bent the metal door down. He twisted it like a thin tin of spam. He really was just made for this shit.

He swept each shelf into the black duffle and paused as the stacks of money flipped past his view. Fucking rich people. If they put their money in a bank, people wouldn't walk into their house to steal their shit. But hell, maybe the tens of thousands swiftly sailing into the bag was equivalent to spare change in the couch for normal people? Giant mansion, giant tech, giant amounts of dough; the rich were just too fucking large to comprehend.

The jewelry was harder to ignore, harder to resist the strange urge to grab, touch, hold the gems and stare at them for hours. He wasn't a materialistic person, not really, but sometimes Wylie had issues, strange ones that came up when his scales were out.

The crazy wealth brimming in the mansion would have been a total orgy for Beck. Probably for the best they left him in the driveway. Thoughts of Beck got Wylie hustling faster; he didn't want to linger and leave him exposed outside for too long.

The bag was bursting by the time the safe was empty, but he just pushed his scales further up his arms to reinforce his shoulders. Wylie’s demon arms were limited. Where the scales reached, his muscles and bones beneath changed to something beyond human, but only there. The shift also imbued his senses with the creature he couldn’t fully turn into. The scents in the room were vibrant with information when he breathed in again.

Yeah, there was a man in there recently. He could smell the sweat now and found a glass by the stand of alcohol that held the slightest sour hint of clinging saliva and bacteria. If it was the butler, he sure as fuck wasn't afraid to leave his booze stealing ways out for all to see.

Wylie didn't bother counting the doors. Instead he followed Diego's scent down the hallway. The door was closed and he pushed it open only to inhale sharply as scent and sight revealed a shit storm.

“Don't fucking do it, man.” Wylie stepped into the room.

Diego glanced his way and waved him off with the hand not holding a gun. “I'll meet you downstairs. Help the twerp with the—” He fell silent when Wylie threw the heavy duffle on the ground defiantly.

“Pick it up and get the fuck downstairs, freak!” Diego yelled. He now pointed the gun at Wylie instead of the bleeding man crumpled on the floor of the bedroom. There was a safe built into the wall, door currently wide open with cash spread out on the hardwood like a paper waterfall.

“Why? So you can kill this guy?” Anger filled Wylie’s voice. “We're here to rob, not fucking kill. You think Roth is going to pat you on the back for murdering some poor slob in his fucking bed? He's going to fucking kill you for fucking things up so royally.”

“You don't know what the fuck you're talking about.” Diego sounded tough but doubt crept into his beady eyes.

“We've got the money. I cleared out the fucking safe, and the little shit downstairs is rolling in enough tech to give him a woody. Just walk the fuck away, man.”

“I can't!” Diego shifted from one foot to the other and pointed his gun with two hands back to the man on the floor. The stranger’s eyes were open, hazy from the head-wound. Blood that looked black in the dark room flowed down his forehead and cheek. “The rich fuck saw my face. I'm not going back to prison. I am fucking done with prison!”

Wylie began to feel the first signs of fear trickle past his strong defenses. Diego was going to waste this guy. It didn't matter what the fuck he said, no matter how much money was at hand; Diego was more afraid of being caged again than of taking a life. Wylie hadn't realized he still had something left to be afraid of, but apparently seeing an innocent man get shot to death was it.

“Listen to me, really closely here.” Wylie took another step into the room. He was about seven feet from Diego. It definitely wasn’t close enough to do a flying leap faster than a bullet. But if he could just inch a bit closer…

“Let's say he manages to describe you even though the lighting is total shit in here and he's got an egg on the side of his head the size of my fist. Let's just say he doesn't have brain damage or memory loss and he can describe you.” He stole another step closer. Diego was still staring at the old dude and not at him.

“What's he going to say? It's just a face. There are a fucking million people who look like you. You're not pretty, you're not ugly. It's just a damn face, man.”

“I'm not going back!” Diego snarled and snapped his gaze back to Wylie. “You don't fucking understand what it's like in there, freak. What they fucking do to you! Hands like yours, they might leave you the fuck alone. But me? You think they care if I'm pretty or not? You think they care if I run with anyone? They—”

“Stop. Chill the fuck out.” Wylie could just pick up the sounds of Adam calling softly down the hall; he was probably wondering what was taking them so long. “If it all goes to shit, you're either in for robbery—which is a fucking cakewalk—or it's murder. They'll never let you out if you kill this guy. You fucking hearing me? They will lock you away with the animals forever!”

“Shit… shit!” Diego shook with indecision and his expression twisted in fear. “I have priors… It's not robbery, it's fucking armed robbery.”

Wylie’s patience was done. “This isn't just about you, you selfish fuck!”

“What, I'm supposed to give a fuck about the rich asshole who wasn't supposed to be here!” Diego shouted back, his face red.

“The lookout, you dick! The fucking nerd! Me! You're setting us all up for life if you—”

Adam pushed into the bedroom and Wylie felt the trigger squeeze before it happened. His muscles screamed as he lunged forward and knocked into Diego's tall form.

The gunshot was an explosion of sound in his ear. Wylie's hypersensitive senses reeled from the sudden light and noise. Diego went down heavily. He fired off another shot before Wylie wrestled the gun from his hands.

Wylie lurched to his feet, and he hauled the whimpering gangster up. Diego's flesh was torn and bloodied from where Wylie’s inhuman claws and sharp scales had sliced and scraped. He turned to the door. Adam smelled of piss and fear. His eyes were wide and fixed unblinking on the man huddled on the floor. Wylie didn't dare look; he could scent the blood quickly pooling and heard the man's shattered breaths gasping for air.

“Get to the van, kid.”

“What about… W-What about the stuff?” Adam choked out. Tears began to stream down his small face and with an effort, Adam turned from the view of the dying man. He looked green. Wylie really hoped he wasn't going to hurl.

“Now!” Wylie shouted.

Adam quickly backpedaled away when Wylie stormed to the door. He dragged the now-screaming Diego, who couldn’t escape the clawed hand that gripped his arm and carelessly sliced deep into the muscle of his bicep. Wylie followed the scent of their trail and strode through the mansion. They left far faster and much less cautiously than when they arrived. Wylie held Diego’s slumped form under one of his monstrous arms as they descended the wide staircase. Each step of pain wrenched more blood and weaker sounds from the flailing gangster. Adam scurried behind and bit his fingernails. He was silent as he watched Diego’s clothes and flesh shred in Wylie’s merciless hold.

They found Beck at the outer door. His dark eyes revealed he heard the gunshots.

“You're driving, B.” Wylie moved to the back of the van and threw Diego's barely conscious form in with the pile of electronics Adam had salvaged. As an afterthought, he reached in and grabbed Diego’s cell, then slammed the door.

“What, are you getting in front—Wylie!” Beck chased after him when he headed back to the house. “What the fuck are you doing, man?”

“Making sure that guy doesn't fucking die!” Wylie turned and jerked away when Beck reached for him, his scaled arms too dangerous to touch. “Get them the hell out of here, B. Diego might need a hospital. I fucked him up bad trying to get the gun from him.”

“Don't! Just come with us—baby, fuck, don't do this!” Beck pleaded frantically with tears glowing in his eyes. “No one will know it was us. No one will fucking know and we can just… just…”

“Hurry up, B. That asshole is going to need you to help him after his huge fuck up.” Wylie’s smile was grim when he leaned down and pressed a swift kiss to Beck’s cheek. “Don't let him pin this on you with Roth. I gotta call an ambulance so I need you safe and out of here first, okay?”

“Shit… Shit, you're such a fucking idiot,” Beck whispered. His eyes still pleaded for him to come with. Hesitantly, he stepped backward. His gaze never left Wylie until he reached the open driver's door. He disappeared in the van and the headlights glared to life. Beck’s voice was rough when he snapped something at the hysterical Adam and turned the van around in the driveway.

Yeah, definitely. He was as fucking stupid as they came.

SCENE #2

Wylie didn't stay to watch Beck and the crew leave. He ran back into the house and to the stairs, and took them in large leaps. He found the shot home owner crawling on the floor in the hall. His blood streaked the hardwood as he tried to get to something.

“Stop moving. You're just going to bleed out more,” Wylie muttered. Relief unclenched like a fist in his chest to see the man was alive enough to move. He knelt down to help, then flinched when the guy tried to wrench away. Which clued him in to the fact that he was still holding the gun in his clawed hand. Wylie growled in exasperation.

“Shit, sorry. I just didn't want to leave it with that trigger happy fuck. I'm not going to shoot you.” He got up and left the mangled gun in the nearest room so it wouldn't be used against him. He’d seen enough thrillers to learn that little lesson, thank you. He shifted his scales and absorbed them back into his flesh until his arms were as normal as any other human's, then pulled out the cell phone and dialed 911.

While the phone rang, he knelt again. He pulled his sweatshirt off and wadded it up to press on the man's wound. Either the old guy was too exhausted from blood loss and pain or he figured out Wylie was helping because he didn't fight when the material was pressed to his chest.

There was a click before the buzz of background activity. A woman's voice drawled coolly in his ear. “911. What's your emergency?”

“I got a guy with a gunshot wound.” Wylie really hoped his voice sounded more stable than he felt at the moment. Okay, maybe there was still a lot of fucking fear left in him. He wasn't sure where the hell it was all hiding. With Beck safe and faced with a wound that looked absolutely death resulting, Wylie managed to find a shit ton of terror. “It's in his chest. He's bleeding out and I don't know what to do.”

“Where are you?” The voice sounded much calmer, like it was a fucking walk in the park.

Wylie blinked, his mind a blank. He was robbing a fucking house and he didn't even know the address. Fail. Total fail.

“Shit, dude, what's your address?” He asked the gasping man, not sure if the old guy could even talk.

“Woodcrest… 135 Woodcrest Ave,” the man said after a moment. Blood trickled from his lips.

Wylie swallowed hard. He knew that was a seriously bad thing. Hopefully, the guy just bit his tongue or some shit.

He repeated the address to the woman on the phone, then followed her instructions on how to place proper pressure on the wound. When she let him know the ambulance was actually on the way, Wylie hung up the phone and tossed it down the hall. He knew the police would be there soon and he didn't want to hear her say that too.

He crouched in the hallway and stared at his black, blood-soaked sweatshirt and the man's crimson white nightshirt. Wylie found himself praying to the god he’d given up on since he was eight to not let this guy die. He didn't know a thing about the man except that he was rich, kept too much tech and money in his house, and might like daffodils. Suddenly it was like the old guy was the most important person in the world. Even more than his own life because he knew what he was doing by staying.

It was jail time. Juvy, if he was lucky. If the guy died—fuck, he had picked up the fucking gun, hadn't he? Wylie wasn't sure if his clawed hands left fingerprints. Still, he was the one there after breaking into the guy’s house. He had the gun that shot him. It wouldn’t look good.

The man's breathing increased in raspiness. Wylie hesitantly raised his eyes to meet deep, piercing blue. The guy looked a bit military. His gray hair was shorn close, jaw squared, shoulders broad. Maybe a retired soldier or something… Although, maybe not retired. Besides the pain twisting his features, there wasn't much for wrinkles.

“They're on their way.” Wylie wasn’t really sure if there was anything else to say.

“Your hands… Let me see your hands,” the man gasped out and reached for one of Wylie's. “Before… they were…”

“Yeah, freakish.” He studied him for a long moment. Wylie sighed and transformed one of his hands. He instantly regretted it. The scent of blood was overwhelming to his enhanced senses.

“You're a shifter.” Shaking fingers gingerly touched Wylie's claws.

“Sure, a demon shifter who can only turn his arms,” Wylie muttered. “Careful. They're really sharp so don't go cutting yourself up even more.”

The man coughed and clutched Wylie's smooth talons like they were a lifeline as his body shook. “Dragon… No such thing… as demon shifter.”

Wylie raised his brows at that and looked more closely at his scaled hand. “You think I'm a dragon?”

“Know it… I know another.”

“Well, fuck.” He might be going to jail but at least now he knew he was a failed dragon shifter. It definitely sounded cooler than demon. Maybe God didn't hate him automatically after all.

“Spit.”

“Huh?” Wylie raised his gaze from his talons and black scales to look at him in confusion.

“Your spit… can heal.”

“Err, I think you've lost way too much blood, old man.”

“Transform… and spit.” His bruised face twisted in pain as another cough shook him, and more blood spilled from his gasping mouth.

“I can't do a full transformation.” Wylie tried to explain. The man didn't seem to hear or even care; he just kept repeating himself, voice growing weaker each time. With a sigh, Wylie decided to give it a shot if only to calm him down. If the weird old guy wanted to be spit on, who the fuck was he to deny him his dying wish?

Wylie closed his eyes and focused on his hands. His nose wrinkled as again the scent of blood tried to overwhelm him. He let the talons grow on his other hand and was careful not to press down too hard on the compress he was holding. He pushed the scales as far up his arms as they would go and as he did, his other senses woke, and fangs poked free. Wylie kept pushing, seeking a further shift. The hopeless situation called for something that was normally beyond him. He was so desperate to be able to do something, anything that could give him some scrap of control and hope.

Blood… he needed to focus on the blood…

He let his senses target the heavy scent rising in the air. The blood sounded wrong in his veins, too sluggish, too empty… Wylie groaned as saliva abruptly flooded his mouth. It wouldn’t have been too terrible, except he was also suddenly rock hard. Totally not cool when there was some old guy bleeding out beneath him.

“Spit,” the man pleaded, his voice a dry rasp.

Wylie’s eyes snapped open. The light blue of his eyes had seeped away to an otherworldly white. He pulled the sweatshirt from the man's chest and tore his sticking shreds of shirt away. His lips hovered over bare flesh. He allowed the fluid in his mouth to drip into the black hole cut through the man’s chest.

“Aw, crap.” Wylie barely noticed the odd smoke rising from the wound or the gasps of pain from the old guy. The scent of blood was so overpowering, his eyesight dimmed and darkness encroached on the edges. Which probably explained why he was lapping the blood and moaning from the divine flavor.

“Sorry… really fucking sorry,” Wylie mumbled. His embarrassment wasn’t enough to actually get him to stop licking up the man's collar where his head wound had pooled blood. He moved higher to his jaw where his chin still dripped that terrifying trickle of scarlet. Wylie tried to stop but it was no use. His tongue followed the perfect elixir, pushed between the man's gasping lips and drank down every taste he could find.

Fuck, he was kissing a dying old guy. There was no way he could redeem himself after this. Sure, he was kind of hot in a brutish military way, mid-forties to fifty—not completely decrepit. His lack of say in what his own tongue was doing was really Wylie’s issue. Blood always fucked him up in the head. Apparently, a whole lot of blood got him horny beyond control.

Thankfully the flavor faded enough from his victim’s mouth so that Wylie could pull away. He didn't get far. His lips attached to the heavy stream where the gun handle had cracked across his skull. He held his head tight and Wylie drew his tongue up the side of his face. He gasped at each touch of wet red. God, it was good… So fucking hot, and tangy, and fucking perfect…

“Kid… my back.” The man’s voice was stronger. “The bullet went through.”

Wylie pushed him over before he even understood what was said. He tore the stained shirt in half to reveal strong muscle, wide shoulders, and another black hole dripping divine blood. Shit, nothing should taste this good. Nothing should be able to take him over like a fucking puppet, have him attack some defenseless man… who tasted like a fucking god.

He moaned and roughly lapped across the burning hot wound. He was vaguely aware that it was changing under his touch; the flesh knit together and the blood flow slowed to a trickle and then stopped. It wasn't as important as finding more blood. Wylie followed down his back to steal every red drop and stain away with greedy long licks of his tongue.

He whimpered in despair. The flavor was nearly gone now, the scent diminished with each lap of his tongue on smooth skin. As if he knew exactly what was wrong, the man held his hand up with Wylie's blood-soaked sweatshirt balled in his grasp. He threw it a few feet down the hall and Wylie was on it before it hit the ground. He rolled and pulled the fabric into his mouth with a sigh. He lay on the ground and sucked on his fucking shirt like some goddamn pacifier. He glared at the man who was watching him back warily.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” Wylie asked hoarsely. His teeth bit into the fabric to squeeze more blood free. The heat in his head was fading; the scent of flesh mixed with blood was more powerful than just blood alone.

“Nothing, kid… It's just bloodlust.” He went to push himself up only to immediately collapse with a loud expulsion of air. “Hell.”

Wylie watched him passively. He wasn’t in a hurry to go near the old guy again. “The ambulance will be here soon. Stop killing yourself.” He sought out a fresh spot of blood on the shirt.

“Run, kid. They'll destroy a thing like you.” The man tried to push up again. “The cops will… shoot you on sight.”

Wylie’s nostrils flared. He didn't say anything for long minutes while he pulled drinks of watery blood from the fabric. The old guy continued to try to get up, apparently a glutton for an early death. Wylie couldn't help but wonder if he was healed on the inside. Healing the front of the gunshot wound hadn't healed the back of it. It took turning the man and healing that side too. For all he knew, everything on the inside was still a bleeding mess in the guy.

Wylie rolled to his knees. His shirt was firmly stuck between his teeth as he went and sat on the guy's back. Collapsed flat under his weight, he finally stopped struggling.

“You need a doctor,” Wylie said with a growl. The man, who was obviously in need of said doctor, didn't have the strength to argue.

“Just… Just get me outside the house,” he finally said. “I don't want them in my house.”

Wylie licked the back of his teeth in thought and then nodded. He stood and pulled his weak companion up with hands under his armpits. By the low hisses, it wasn't a pleasant feeling. Fresh blood spilled where Wylie’s impossibly sharp scales sliced into his flesh. He tried the best he could to not hurt the guy—he didn’t intentionally mangle him like he had Diego—but there really wasn't much to be done about it. Wylie’s demon arms were things of destruction no matter the situation.

He pulled the man down the main stairs, unlocked the front door, and dragged him out on the lawn where the outdoor lights illuminated them against the night.

Sirens could be heard in the distance. Wylie stared out into the dark. A heavy weight of resignation settled on his shoulders. He pulled his claws and scales back in until he was smooth pale skin, then sat beside the man in the stiff, cold grass as he waited for whatever hell was soon to come.

“What's your name, kid?” His face was upturned, and eyes sought out stars in the sky obscured by the white puffs of his breath.

“Wylie. Wylie Doe.” He pulled a crushed and bloodied cigarette from his sweatshirt pouch pocket. The lighter was there too but the damn thing was too wet to burn. With a sigh, Wylie just held the stick in his mouth. He glowered when flashing blue and red lights started to bounce off the dark houses down the lane.

“I'm Collin McPherson. Just in case you wanted… to know the name of… the guy you saved.” The sentence seemed to wear the man out and his eyes closed wearily.

Wylie glanced over; the old guy looked like hell frozen over. “Yeah, don't get ahead of yourself there, pops. You lost a lot of blood and I'm pretty sure you're still bleeding on the inside. Still plenty of time for me to be an accessory to murder—or fuck, just plain old murder,” he added with a scowl. No one would go looking for Diego when they had him right there.

He really was an idiot.

“Hey, don't fall asleep,” Wylie snapped. He reached over and knocked his shoulder. “They're right down the fucking road. Stay alive, damn it.”

“Right… right…”

The sirens blared and lights flashed all around them. It was surreal to watch the cold October night transform into a carnival. The reds drew his eyes the most. Wylie stayed perfectly still, his hands open and out at his sides while people swarmed to the gasping man beside him.

“He your dad, kid?” A middle aged man in a blue uniform with shiny badge and hat in place knelt down to Wylie's level. He looked at him like he was some poor, simple teenager who just watched his daddy get shot.

Wylie smirked around his broken cigarette. “Nah. Never saw the guy before in my life.”

Fucking cops.

SCENE #3

Wylie sat in holding with a handful of drunks, one guy so drugged out of his mind he thought he could fly, and an assortment of punks who were picked up for vandalism throughout the night.

“I will fucking wreck you!” Butch, who didn't think his name was ironic at all, was starting to threaten to beat the shit out of him with a little more conviction than previously stated. His little punk friends snickered meanly.

Wylie wasn't sure what the guards would do to him if he sprouted bulking black scaled arms, beat the fuck out of Butch, and then tore the bars apart like paper to escape, but he imagined bullets would be involved. He kept his claws in, and smiled sassily at the ugly fuck that thought he could take him.

Besides the old guy's blood drying into his jeans, Wylie didn't have anything on him to link him to the shooting. The house was all locked up with the gun and Diego's cell phone safe inside. Still, the cops hadn't offered him a phone call to an attorney yet. Not that he knew any attorneys. He sure as hell wasn't talking to the cops.

The door down the hall buzzed and opened the same way it had nearly every ten minutes. He didn't give it much attention. Nothing more interesting than a bitching punk had been dragged in since he arrived there. Except this time, Wylie suddenly found himself inexplicably on his feet as a weird energy in the air moved with the footsteps coming down the hall. Drunk #3 raised his head but no one else seemed to think anything of it. Wylie couldn't relax. The hair stood up on the back of his neck and goosebumps shivered over his arms from the strange, crackling sensation in the air.

Two people came into view; the hard-eyed cop he’d seen walk past a dozen times and someone… Wylie's breath caught.

He was beautiful. Tall with straight, waist-length red hair flowing loose. His skin was golden and stunning. He had strange eyes. They were a pale violet that shone from handsome, aristocratic features. He appeared to be in his thirties and was dressed in a suit. His floor length jacket with silver detailed cuffs added a feel of mystery, but the guy's magic did enough for that alone. He was a sorcerer. For some fucking reason, the police were leading a sorcerer to the holding cell, and he wasn't wearing handcuffs.

Wylie didn't turn to look behind him when he felt everyone in the cell abruptly stand at the sorcerer's appearance. There was a whistle and then another. Wylie raised his eyebrows. As fucked-up as some of these guys were, they were, to the best of his knowledge, all completely straight. But they were drooling now; even Butch was making eyes out of his ugly mug at the beautiful redhead.

“The one you looking for here?” The cop asked tightly. His gaze kept straying to the sorcerer like he didn't want to be looking at him but couldn't seem to stop himself. It seemed to be a problem all around.

“I do believe he is.”

Wylie's head turned back at the rich, melodic sound. Definitely a sorcerer… but maybe a shifter too. The man's eyes were fucking weird, and Wylie knew from every time he looked in a mirror, his eyes were fucking weird too. It was a shifter thing.

“Mr. Doe, I would appreciate a word with you.”

Right. That would be him. He wasn't shocked at this point, just really confused. Wylie moved to the door when the cop told him to, and held his arms out for the handcuffs. He hadn't been allowed to call an attorney so unless Beck had spoken to Roth about helping him out, he doubted Red was his lawyer.

He was led to a small room without any windows and pushed down into a chair in front of a rickety wooden table. The sorcerer sat across from him. He folded his jacket and hair into the seat and managed to look somehow proper even with the dim lighting and dingy walls. Wylie waited as the cop removed his handcuffs and then stepped outside the room. The door clicked shut.

Violet eyes bored into him and that strange energy rose up like a suffocating blanket in the air. Wylie remained silent. He wasn’t sure what the fuck the guy wanted but was certain he'd find out soon enough.

“Tell me what happened last night,” the sorcerer commanded, his voice a low purr. Wylie's mouth opened before he knew it when the strange energy compelled him to speak. He immediately snapped his jaw shut and glared. They stared at each other for long minutes. Wylie felt the energy pulse like waves trying to beat him into submission. He fought it with everything he had. He clenched his hands into fists until his talons were out and slicing his palm for focus.

Suddenly the weight in the air dispersed and the sorcerer sat back with an annoyed purse to his lips. “Mr. Doe, my name is Theodore Howld. I've been sent by Collin McPherson to ensure you are treated fairly in the proceedings about to take place.”

He couldn't have just started with that? Wylie raised his head and relaxed slightly. “He's alive?”

“Yes. Apparently because of you.” For some reason, he didn't seem happy about that fact. Wylie had a feeling it had to do with who saved the old guy, not so much that he was alive.

“So, what, you're a lawyer?” Wylie tucked his claws away.

“No.” Theodore didn’t offer any information as to what his actual occupation was. He crooked his finger. “Let me see your hand.”

Wylie glared warily and slowly placed his right hand on the table and let it rest facing upwards. Blood was wet in his palm from where his claws had scratched. Theodore stared at his hand like it was covered in filth.

“Could I see one not so bloody?” Theodore said testily and moved further away in his seat.

With a shrug, Wylie raised his left hand and held it out to show it was also bloody. He ran his tongue over his palm and licked away the crimson in slow laps. He smirked to see the sorcerer squirm. With his flesh healed, he placed his hand back on the table and licked his other palm clean.

“Well, that at least confirms that.” Theodore carefully took in his wound-free palm before his eyes flashed angrily and fixed back on Wylie’s face. “What were you doing in Mr. McPherson’s house last night?”

“Robbing him,” Wylie answered bluntly.

Theodore didn't look shocked at the revelation, but the curl to his lips suggested he’d like to punch Wylie through the wall. “Why?”

“He's rich.” He emphasized the word to point out just how dumb the question was. “He was also supposed to be on some tropical island and not at home.”

Theodore dismissed his opinion on where Mr. McPherson was supposed to be. “How did you get through the gate? The security system was completely shut off.”

“Sorry, not my expertise.” Wylie shrugged. “I'm just the muscle.”

“So there were others with you?”

Wylie rolled his eyes and snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. Crap. Maybe the old guy completely forgot about Diego—fuck, maybe he barely even remembered he was there either. It was a damn nasty head wound.

“Listen attentively, Mr. Doe, because I would prefer to not have to prove my words.” Theodore leaned closer and his violet eyes burned. “What you felt is only a very small percentage of my ability. I could make you a puppet to my whims, where you speak the truth at my preferred pace instead of this obnoxious game you seem to think you are winning. Tell the truth or I’ll force you to. My way will not be pleasant.”

Wylie glared. He was certain he hated the beautiful bastard with his arrogant attitude and all. “I'm not incriminating anyone just because you want to play magic with me. I'm the one in jail, no one else. That's how it's going to stay no matter how much you threaten me.”

“Oh, are these associates of yours somehow important?” Voice silky, Theodore straightened in his chair. “I've been flipping through the cell phone you left behind and, I must say, I cannot agree with the quality of people you have chosen to surround yourself with.”

His nostrils flared and eyes narrowed. Wylie took a deep breath. Who the fuck would be on Diego's phone? Would the gangster have been retarded enough to put Roth on there? Had Beck somehow managed to make it into the list of people worth calling? Did he just fuck over his boyfriend by not using the old guy's fucking house phone?

“It's not my phone,” he said after a long moment.

Theodore grinned as if he had won some big fucking victory and at this point, Wylie honestly didn't know if he had. “Oh, I'm aware. Foster children in a detention house are not allowed to own cell phones. The owner of the phone, a Mr. Gould, has an outstanding bill. His last address is states away, likely coinciding with the day his credit cards were stolen. You seem to be very good at stealing, Mr. Doe.”

Impotent rage swirled in his stomach in realization to what he was trying to do. Wylie huffed. “Whatever. It's still not my phone.”

“Then whose is it?” Theodore’s voice vibrated with anticipation.

Wylie was feeling vindictive and snapped, “Your crack whore momma's, dickhead.”

It was very much the wrong answer. A terrible wind of power whipped up. Wylie found himself chest flat on the table, face squished to the wood as an invisible force held him down. If not for his inability to breathe, it would have been a damn cool trick.

“God, I despise mouthy teenagers.” Theodore placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his folded hands. “Mr. Doe, an eyewitness saw a van pull into my employer's driveway around midnight last night. Four people got out. When the van left, only three individuals were in it. One of them was bleeding heavily. You were seen returning to the house. You carried an injured man, my employer, through the front door and the two of you waited for the police to arrive. Does any of this sound familiar to you?”

Wylie gritted his teeth and struggled to breathe around the weight threatening to crush his lungs.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Theodore said with a bored drawl. He grabbed Wylie by the back of the head and pulled him up by his blond locks dyed blue. “Why did you return to the house alone? Please be succinct with your answer.”

With a snarl, Wylie bit out heatedly, “I didn't want him to die!”

Theodore did not look impressed. “Is that a common theme with criminals? Do you steal from people but draw the line at killing?”

“I'm not a criminal.” Wylie struggled in the hold. Whatever the hell Red was, he wasn't letting go.

“You were robbing a house with a gun in hand. I hardly believe—”

“It wasn't my gun! Now let me the fuck go!”

“No.” Theodore's grip on his hair pulled tighter and Wylie gasped. The man was ridiculously strong, steel muscle hidden beneath his seemingly limber form. “Whose gun is it?”

Violet eyes bored into his. Wylie felt crackling energy again push into his brain. His mouth opened against his will and words tumbled out.

Each question led to another and the whole fucking story came free while Wylie watched from outside himself. What was worse was when he continued. Theodore pulled his personal information from him, things he didn’t share with anyone. Things like how much he hated his fucking demon arms, how he never healed anyone until the old man told him he could and how he discovered bloodlust was really fucking embarrassing. How he worried; metal just so easy to tear apart, never mind flesh, and it made it really difficult to even be around people. But Beck was different, the only one who didn’t freak out at his arms. And what did it matter if the bitch at the detention center locked him out after curfew? He was getting out soon. He just needed the cash from working with the gang and he'd be able to get into some sort of community college or trade school and have a life of his own. That was all he wanted, his own fucking life, but seeing the old dude bleeding out changed everything.

Theodore's eyes lost their otherworldly glow. He sat back and released the grip he had on Wylie’s hair. Wylie slumped onto the wooden table with a groan. “I want the name of your social worker.”

“Fuck off,” Wylie muttered, only to gasp when the invisible weight immediately pressed on his chest. “Fucking—Winchester. Diane Winchester, you piece of shit!” He took in a huge gulp of air when the pressure disappeared again.

“That wasn't so hard, was it?” Theodore scrutinized him silently, stood and crossed the room. He looked unfazed, his hair perfect and gait smooth. Wylie looked away when he knocked briskly on the door.

The same officer answered. He grunted as he came in and grabbed Wylie’s arms and cuffed them behind his back. Wylie glared stonily straight ahead and tried not to think of all the things he told the sorcerer. He’d never felt so helpless before. It was absolutely violating to have his will stolen with one simple spell. He was left feeling small, raw and vulnerable; feelings he spent years trying to not have.

He was pushed out the door and back to the room with the holding cell. Butch gave him a vicious smirk but Wylie was walked past him and led further down the hall to another cell. This one had slats of metal instead of bars. Forced inside the empty cage, everything clicked into place when a switched was flipped and energy crackled up the walls and ceiling. Magic now fortified the once seemingly surmountable steel.

Wylie's handcuffs weren't removed. He was left standing alone in the small cell, his nose full of burning ozone and foreign magic. The cuffs felt different, thicker like maybe they were designed for a shifter and not just some teenage fuck up. Fuck. They might not have known it before, but they knew it now; they knew he was a shifter.

Wylie sat and made sure he didn't sway too far to the left or right. His feet felt numb when they reached too close to the edge of the cage. He wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but maybe it would involve a lawyer now. Or maybe not. They knew he was a shifter, which put him in a huge gray area when it came to the law because of the many extra things shifters could do that normal people couldn't. Apparently a leg up on the genetic tree meant you had to compromise your rights to exist.

If he wasn't fucked before, he definitely was now.

SCENE #4

The next guard that came for Wylie was like him, a shifter. He smelled like dog, but was probably wolf. It’s not like he knew any shifters; he chose to avoid his own once he realized most saw him as some weird alpha competition. The cop had rippling muscles under his uniform, and deranged yellow eyes that glared at him like Wylie had murdered and raped a family, in that order.

Wylie kept his head down. He was disoriented by the missing buzz of the walls. He wasn't really interested in challenging the shifter cop with eye contact.

The guard didn't tell him where they were going, and he didn't bother to ask. He'd figure it out soon enough. Two of the drunks were gone along with Butch and his little punk friends. A random scattering of people replaced the others in holding. Wylie was relieved to see Beck wasn't among them. He didn’t have much time to think as he was pushed through a door, down another hall, and then another. Daylight assailed his senses so suddenly, he hissed and tried to crouch in on himself.

“What are you, light sensitive?” The guard huffed when Wylie nodded and turned his body away from the large windows that opened the side wall to a view of the city. The guard stepped over to a desk, and returned with a pair of sunglasses he slipped on his face. Wylie did his best not to flinch; the scent of shifter was almost as alarming as the blinding sunlight.

“Come on, kid.” His voice gruff, the guard renewed his grip on Wylie's arm and pushed him towards a new door. It was some sort of conference room, except it wasn’t full of police. Inside stood the redheaded sorcerer from earlier and Wylie's case worker from social services.

“Mrs. Winchester?” Wylie stared at her dumbly and allowed himself to be pushed towards a chair. Petite with long, curly black hair, Diane smiled weakly at him like he was arriving for an execution.

Shit, was he ever going to get a lawyer? Television was a fucking lie.

“Cuffs on or off?” The cop looked to Theodore like he was in charge. Apparently he was because with a nod, the cuffs were off. Diane shoved a blueberry muffin in Wylie's hand along with a cup of coffee. Both of which he nearly dropped. His hands prickled uncomfortably as blood rushed back into them.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Wylie quickly placed everything on the table before he made a mess. He was shaking, he realized with a start, and beyond embarrassed by the fact. He threw himself into the chair and hoped it would stop soon.

The shifter officer left to stand outside the door. Wylie felt a little better when the guy's weird scent was no longer in the room.

“Wylie, I'm here to explain what's going to happen next.” Diane’s big brown eyes were watery with concern. It wasn’t reassuring.

Wylie's hands were feeling steady enough to try the coffee. He took cautious sips while Diane explained all the terrible things going to happen if he ended up in prison. There wasn’t a juvenile center for shifters; the population was too small to warrant it. He would be sent to the place up north called Daiker Prison with the fully grown, testosterone brimming, psycho monsters who had lost their shit and never found it again.

Fucked. He was totally fucked.

“So… no trial?” Wylie lifted his gaze from the table long enough to see her eyes do their pity watering thing. Mrs. Winchester was a nice enough chick and all, but he really didn't want to be cried at.

“Not yet.” Diane released a long breath. “You’re at a crossroads right now. What happens in the next couple of hours decides the next five years of your life.”

Wylie swallowed hard. Five years. Could he survive five years with a bunch of fucked-up shifters? He was only six feet and, although fit, there was no way he could compete with the full grown, muscle-bound monsters the aggressive shifters became. Fuck, he wasn't even strong enough for a full transformation. The guys up in Daiker would not have that problem.

“Alright,” Wylie said after a moment. His fingers mindlessly tore at the plastic flap on the lid of his cup. “That guy's still alive, right? The owner of the house… he's still okay?”

“Yes, it looks like he'll make a full recovery.” Diane tried to read Wylie's face, but his head was ducked and the sunglasses obscured his expression.

Wylie gave a nod. He felt some sort of satisfaction that if he was going to end up in jail for five years, at least he succeeded in what he set out to do. The old guy was alive. “Alright. So, I go back to the cage now?”

“Mr. Doe, I would like to make something clear to you before Mrs. Winchester continues,” Theodore turned from where he'd been looking out the window. “My employer, Mr. McPherson, is not now, or will be in the future, pressing charges for your actions in breaking and entering his house. He has been emphatically rigorous in his attempts to get the State to not press charges. But as you are going to find out, this being your first time in police custody, there are automatic procedures which are followed when dealing with shifters.”

A strange tension in his stomach uncurled when Wylie heard the old guy wasn't angry enough to press charges. The other shit—his life again fucked because he was a monster—he tried to block out like he'd been doing since he was eight.

Theodore was looking at him expectantly. “Okay,” Wylie finally answered. What was there to say? He was fucked. He knew it the second he saw Diego with his gun out and looking like some crazed animal about to do something really fucking stupid. It was done and now he had to face the fucking music.

Diane placed her hand on Wylie's. “The State is very clear on where they stand with shifters under their care. Remember when we discussed why you were treated so harshly for the simple bloody nose you gave Thomas? Three years in that detention house didn't really equate, but the state has a no tolerance policy. They don't care that you're young or that you saved a man's life. I don't want you to think you shouldn't have done what you did, Wylie. I am so proud of you for doing everything you could to save Mr. McPherson. Just sometimes… sometimes you don't get a reward for it. Sometimes it's just a punishment.”

Wylie glanced away. He really wished she would stop crying at him.

“Diane, if you cannot continue, I will,” Theodore said gruffly. “We still need his answer before we can proceed.”

“You're right, of course.” Diane wiped her cheeks. “Mr. McPherson has offered an alternative to Daiker, Wylie. His associate is at the governor’s right this minute trying to negotiate a compromise.” A folder was pushed across the table and Diane looked at him hopefully. “It's a good deal. I've read it front to back. Under different circumstances, it could have been a safe haven for someone like you.”

Wylie’s tongue slid over the edges of his teeth. He flipped the plain manila folder open and was greeted with a pamphlet and nothing else. “The Academy?” He read the top and looked at the colorful image of a large building surrounded by trees. He carefully skimmed through, greeted with text and more images of dorms and classrooms. “I don't understand… Is this some sort of school for shifters?”

“Not exactly.” Theodore stepped over to stand next to Diane. “It's an institution to help out-of-control paranormals gain mastery over their abilities, to prevent them from harming themselves and others. You would be among magic users, halflings, as well as other shifters. There is equipment to contain you if you become out of control, as well as experienced individuals who can help guide you to use your powers responsibly. There is even a reintegration program to prepare you to return to life among 'normal' society once your five years are complete. The Academy contains everything a shifter on the brink might need to regain his control.”

Wylie blinked and gnawed on his lower lip. He looked up to fix his gaze on Theodore. “I'm not out of control. I am very good at keeping control. No matter how many times I knew I could seriously hurt someone, I didn't. Ever.”

Theodore nodded in understanding. For a shifter, it was about as important as it got to know he had something which kept him from being taken over by the beast inside. “You can only do a partial transformation. Has anyone ever explained to you what that might mean?”

“Right, like I talked to anyone about that. Just because I can smell a shifter doesn't mean I'm going to let them know they can take me because I can't transform right,” Wylie said tightly.

Theodore ignored his defensive tone. “When did you first transform? What happened that revealed your power?”

Wylie involuntarily winced. He bit agitatedly at the side of his thumb and turned away. “Uh… I was a kid. Eight,” he muttered. He shrank away when Diane reached for him.

“And?” Theodore pressed. “What happened?”

He huffed and glared at Theodore. “I don't… It was a long time ago and I don't want to talk about it.”

“Someone hurt you?”

“No,” he snapped and his glare grew. “My sister. Someone hurt my sister.”

“You defended her in a time of crisis when you were young,” Theodore said carefully.

“It scared her,” Wylie answered reluctantly. “Scared everyone. They got rid of me after that.” Adopting an orphaned baby was fine enough, but when Wylie and his family discovered he was also a shifter, it was too much for the Andersons. So much so they even changed his surname back to 'Doe,' as if it would be enough to erase the eight years they called him their son. He lost the only family he ever knew when everyone found out he was a shifter.

“Sometimes when a shifter first transforms in a crisis, especially at an early age, their abilities are impaired," Theodore explained. "They repeat the same half shift. Their bodies relive that moment and what they were hoping to accomplish. Do you remember what you tried to do to defend your sister?”

Wylie did. He bit on his thumb harder as the vision flashed in his mind's eye. “Kill.” He was unwilling to describe who or why.

If Theodore was surprised, he didn't show it. “So now you have killer hands that can tear through reinforced steel like it's nothing. With the proper training, we can show you how to transform and not be a walking razor blade. There are plenty of animals in the wild, but they only choose to harm when they are hunting, defending, or protecting. You can have that option as well.”

Wylie stared at him, not sure if he understood. Everything to do with his demon arms was death. It was always that way. He couldn't even imagine being able to transform and not have scales which would flay someone if they merely brushed against him.

“The thing is, Wylie, they're not going to just let you go to the Academy like a normal kid would,” Diane broke in. She exchanged glances with Theodore when Wylie curled up and seemed no longer present. “They want to treat it like a sentence in a juvenile facility. Five years. The same as what you would get if you went to prison.”

“If they'll let me at all,” Wylie whispered.

Diane nodded and her narrow shoulders slumped. “They haven't booked you yet, which is a good sign. The police were holding you, waiting to see if Mr. McPherson was going to press charges. You gave the arresting officer your real name, though, and it was flagged as paranormal. I don't think any of these guys really want to put you in prison, Wylie. They've been dragging their feet all day trying to keep you off the record, but the law is the law, no matter how biased it is. If Mr. McPherson can give the governor an option that still fits in that law, I think they're going to take it just to avoid sending a teenager to Daiker.”

His fingers twitched on the table and tapped an erratic beat. Wylie smiled weakly. “Shit, I must really be a fuck up, huh? First teenager sent to Daiker Prison. How the fuck do all those other kid shifters do it?”

Diane gave him a pained look and folded her hands on the table. “I'm not…”

“They've got parents, kid,” Theodore said bluntly. “Shifter fathers with enough ability to control their kids. Sometimes uncles, brothers, grandfathers. Shifter families work as a team to keep the younger ones contained. The adults who realize their kids are struggling contact the Academy for extra help. They don't let their children get into trouble because they know what the State will do to them.”

“Oh.” Wylie sighed and slouched in his chair. It only raised the question of just why the hell his parents abandoned him as a baby. If shifters were so fucking family oriented their kids never got into trouble, his parents had to have known they were setting him up for some huge fall from the very beginning. The shifter gene was in the male chromosome. His parents would have known just by having a baby boy there was a possibility of him being a shifter.

“Wylie, will you accept the terms needed to get you set up in the Academy?” Diane tapped the folder on the table to catch his attention. “This will be a deal done outside the reach of this station. As long as we can keep you from being put in the system, the process for booking a shifter won't move forward. A note will be added to your name with the paranormal registry. You'll be placed in the Academy like you would any detention house, forced to abide by their rules. If they don't think you're cooperating or you get caught doing something illegal, you'll be brought back here and the police will have to continue with the process required by the paranormal registry. After five years, the note will be removed and you'll be free to live your life.”

Wylie snorted humorlessly. “Sure, as much of a life as a paranormal can get.”

“Wylie.” Diane sighed heavily.

“It's fine, whatever. I'll do whatever they want,” Wylie muttered. “If it keeps me away from the fucking psycho howlers in Daiker, what the hell else matters, right?”

Diane pulled her phone out at his answer, stood, and moved to the window after patting him on the shoulder. Wylie hunched further down in his seat. He wished he didn't feel so cold all of a sudden and the coffee didn't make his stomach churn. He could feel Theodore staring at him, which was just annoying, on top of everything else.

“You sleep at all, kid?” Theodore folded his arms over his chest and leaned his hip on the table.

“For a moment.” Wylie shrugged. “Too many people at first, then the walls were all buzzy like I was going to be electrocuted.”

“Nullifiers. They keep magic from passing through. Not quite an electrocution, but it can burn the skin on contact, especially shifter flesh.” He fell silent again and Wylie was glad he didn't have to pretend to listen. Diane came back eventually, her cranberry stained lips twisted in a small frown.

“He's still in negotiations with the governor,” she said quietly to Theodore as she sat back in her chair. “His exact words were 'obstinate bigot.' I don't know how this is going to turn out.”

“Believe me, if anyone can do this, it's Michael,” Theodore said resolutely. “He'll wear him down.”

She nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “Wylie, I'm going to have you stay here with me for as long as possible, okay? I have my whole day cleared. Whatever happens, I'll be right here with you.”

Wylie bit his lip and nodded. He didn't have the heart to thank her, not when she kept looking teary. But he didn't pull away when she insisted on patting his arm, and that seemed to be enough for her.

He let his eyes close under his sunglasses and wondered what things would be like if he was raised with shifters for parents. After the Andersons, everything went to shit. If they were shifters…

It didn't matter. Just water under the bridge now. A lifetime of what ifs still added up to nothing.

SCENE #5

Michael Whiteheart turned out to be the closest thing to a lawyer Wylie was going to get or possibly even need. He read through the legalese with ease, and even explained it all to Wylie in a way he could understand. Michael had spent his day with the governor convincing a compromise, and personally delivered the contract that promised to keep Wylie out of Daiker. With his golden blond hair, shining blue eyes, and a tanned, towering form which could only be described as Herculean, Wylie first thought Michael was a model. Instead, he was a sorcerer like Theodore but without the strange eyes common with shifters.

When Michael first arrived, he and Theodore snapped at each other like kid brothers. In front of other people, the Greek god was definitely a prince charming. His bright white teeth flashed and the man rumbled laughs that the police kept joining.

Everyone was in love with him. Bro love, not the pure lust Theodore inspired in absolute strangers. As a shifter, Wylie seemed to be immune to it but the cops weren't and they were falling all over themselves. It was interesting to watch, and he wondered if it was a sorcerer thing or an Academy thing. Both men were instructors at the Academy. Theodore taught Body Magic, and Michael was the Human Reintegration Specialist. He was the guy to get patients back to the real world once they got their powers under control. It was probably a good thing he was so smooth with the politicians.

Wylie would spend the next five years of his life at the Academy as long as he followed the rules and didn't engage in illegal activity, which included reaching out to his old friends from the gang. It took a lot of negotiating, but Michael convinced the governor's office that a year of monthly check-ins was more than enough to gauge his progress.

All Wylie would have to do was keep his head down and stay out of trouble and he'd be fine. He wouldn't be entered into the criminal system, wouldn't be labeled as an out-of-control shifter for the rest of his life, and wouldn't have to go to Daiker. It was a miracle and he still couldn't fully grasp it.

“I'm going to see you first chance you're allowed visitors,” Diane promised with another hug. “For now, I’ll collect your things from the detention house and have them sent over to the Academy for you. Was there anyone there you wanted to say goodbye to?”

Beck's face flashed in his mind's eye and Wylie winced. He’d be fine; Beck had parents and he wasn't in jail. He could finish up school and figure his shit out. Besides him, there was no one Wylie really talked to, no one he gave a crap about. And Beck, well, Beck clung too much. He was a good guy but just really fucking naïve and always looked to Wylie to fix his superficial problems. Wylie had enough problems with his own life, few of them small.

“Nah, I'm good.” A part of Wylie resented how he could tally up anyone important in his life and end up at zero.

He held still when the heavy shifter handcuffs were clapped onto his wrists. The State insisted he be transported in one of their own vehicles like he was going to jump ship the second he left the station. Wylie didn't make a fuss. He'd won and he could deal with the embarrassment of being led around looking like a criminal.

Fuck, he did some bad shit. He probably deserved worse.

SCENE #6

The sun had set some time ago. The drive was long and uncomfortable in the back of the cruiser. Wylie's arms ached and his wrists were raw again now they were cuffed behind his back. He almost wished Theodore was there just to have a familiar presence in the car. Probably stupid, the guy being a total dick and all. But Theodore saved him even if just because his boss had told him to. And yeah, there was something familiar about the guy. Not family or even friendly, but definitely familiar in a way nothing else ever felt before.

What he really wanted more than not being alone with the hard-eyed officer who smelled of fear, or stuck in the back of the cruiser with the buzzing of escape-preventing nullifiers on all the doors and ceiling, was a cigarette. Food, drink—whatever. A cigarette would be fucking heaven.

From the flatness of the pasture land, mountains rose up in the distance, peaks darker against the star-bright sky. He could see lights up ahead creating a warm bubble of atmosphere in the air above. It had to be the place. There was nothing else out there and the car was heading straight for it. Fields broke into trees and trees became a winding forest. It felt sudden when they stopped. The cruiser's headlights illuminated a dark, wrought iron gate. Barbed wire spiraled at the top and glinted sparkles in the light. Wylie bit his lip. Just what sort of institution locked patients up behind barbed wire?

The officer honked his horn in two short bursts and a moment later the gate slid open. It was eerily similar to when Wylie watched Mr. McPherson's gate slide open before the heist. Dread curled in the pit of his stomach as they drove through. The gate closed once the cruiser behind them entered. Locked in. He was locked in with a man he personally wronged.

What if Collin McPherson wasn't an understanding, generous guy? What if he was a vengeful billionaire with enough funds and charismatic people to get him anything he wanted, including the thief who tore his house open like a tin can?

The woods closed in. Heavy foliage blocked out the light from the stars and moon above. It felt like hours and Wylie's mind whirred. Had he made a mistake by trusting Theodore Howld and Michael Whiteheart? Sorcerers were tricksters by nature, with so much power they were feared by everyone. What if the only thing Collin McPherson wanted was to keep the police out of a house filled with military-grade tech and gobs of money? He had sorcerers at his beck and call and enough money and power to run an institution to keep the unstable ones in line.

But… What would be the point? What would be the point of going through all this just to lock him up in his own institution? Daiker would be torture, possibly death. Could the Academy truly be worse than that?

The building rose up, white and startling among the dark of the trees. Lights shone across the front and illuminated the Academy in the night. Pillars spotted the wide stairs and made it look like a stately plantation style manor more than an institution. There were people outside on the steps, huddled in small groups against the cold to watch the cruisers approach. Wylie looked away once he realized they must be the other patients. Guys so fucked-up they ended up in the Academy to get fixed.

They wouldn't have been driven in by cops. No, their parents would have brought them in, stepped them through the large double doors and held their hand or shoulder while they explained it would only be for a little while. Just until they got their powers under control. The other patients had people waiting for them on the other side of the gate and a part of Wylie hated them for it.

The cruisers pulled up to the front. The officer who drove Wylie’s car stepped out to talk to the cops from the other one. Wylie caught a flash of Michael's golden hair while the man argued with the police. They wanted to go in and he wanted them out.

Wylie had to hand it to the cops; Michael was a six-foot-seven-inch slab of golden muscle, and when he was angry, you felt it. The cops stood their ground. Procedure. It was like a fucking mantra for these people. Procedure would have gotten him locked up in Daiker for five years without any formal charges filed. He would never love procedure.

The officer returned and opened Wylie's door. “Come on, kid. Let's get this done with.”

Arms bound, he wiggled toward the man, then stopped when he felt the numbing effect of the door. “The buzzing. Could you turn it off? I don't…” he trailed off. The cop's expression was clear he was shit out of luck. Wylie sighed and did his best to get to the opening of the door while not brushing against anything.

He didn't succeed. His head hit the top of the door frame and pain burned through him so great he fell sideways and hit the gravel of the circular drive. He twitched there for God only knew how long, stunned and in pain. It more than hurt, it felt like the energy was drained from him. His head was foggy and all he could do was blink blearily. Wylie's legs weren't listening to his insistent cries to get the fuck up before someone attacked him. He could hear Michael in the background but he was very far away, almost like he was underwater.

Suddenly Wylie was lifted by his bicep. His head refused to raise, it was that heavy.

“Wylie, can you hear me?”

It was Michael, still far away even though the man was lifting his head and standing right in front of him while a cop kept him from falling.

“I want these cuffs off,” Michael demanded. “We were officially on the grounds the instant you were let through that gate. Take them off and get the hell out of here.”

“You know I can't do that, sir,” the officer responded tightly. “He needs to be checked in to a building. I can't leave him outdoors where he can just run off.”

“He's as weak as an infant from the damn nullifier and the area is surrounded by an impenetrable fence. Just where the hell do you think he's going to run off to? He can't even walk on his own.”

Wylie was starting to gain enough sense to realize he was surrounded by a bunch of guys his own age watching him sway like a rag in the cop's grasp. He really wished the two would stop fighting and just throw him in a building already.

“I have my orders. Procedure states—”

“Fuck your procedure!” Michael shouted. Snickers cut through the air around them. Michael might be able to sweet talk when he wanted to, but when he was tired he just got angry. The officer only became more obstinate from Michael’s attitude. He gripped Wylie by the arm and half walked, half dragged him to the stairway. His neck still didn’t respond so Wylie stared at the steps where his sneakers feet stumbled. He was hauled to the door in a minute flat.

“Now you can open this door and allow me to sign off on this, or I can put him back in the car and take him to Daiker,” the cop growled at Michael while he shouldered Wylie's swaying form upright.

“Fine, but I'm filing a formal complaint—”

“Master Whiteheart, you might not want to open the door,” a voice spoke up from the side. It sounded full of worry.

“I don't have much choice, Will.”

“No, it's just… Well, really, you don't want to do that right now. Leo's in there and they've been—”

“This is not the time.” Michael grabbed the handle of the nearest door and wrenched it open. Wylie was pushed unceremoniously inside. There was a coughing noise from his captor and Wylie abruptly found himself on the floor. His knees hit the ground heavily and he could only pray he didn't fall sideways again and have to struggle to get up like some pathetic upside down turtle. That was until he took a breath in and he stopped thinking at all.

The world dimmed around the edges of his already narrowed sight and blood filled his senses. Blood. Damn crazy, delicious blood.

SCENE #7

“What the fuck is that?”

“I believe it's a deer,” Michael said without interest. “Now if you would kindly unlock my charge from these damnable cuffs and get the hell off this private property, I would be extremely grateful.”

“What are they doing to it?” The officer asked. He seemed oblivious to the insistence that he get out.

“Are you blind? They're eating. The keys, sir!”

Wylie only half heard the bizarre conversation. His ears roared with the sound of his blood pounding through his veins. Saliva filled his mouth. He was apparently hungry. Really, ravenously hungry, and the blueberry muffin Mrs. Winchester offered him earlier had not been appetizing. No, he smelled something familiar, something he first tasted last night and a crazy heat was moving through his body he couldn't fight.

“There are kids eating a fucking deer!” the officer said with a strangled noise. “I need to call for backup. Get a squad in here to—”

“What? Kill my shifters?” Something in Michael's voice changed. It grew deeper in tone like a rumble of thunder and his anger turned the air black. His aura of power filled the large room and promised pain and death even though Michael’s posture remained the same.

“This is private property. All they're doing is eating their dinner. Should I walk into your home and shoot you for eating dinner? Should I? Because I am honestly starting to consider the thought.” Michael spoke with a false sense of calm no one believed, his perfect white teeth grit so tight it was a wonder his jaw didn't break. “Give me the keys.”

There was a clatter of metal when the officer dropped instead of handed the handcuff keys.

The keys flew up to his open palm. “Thank you,” Michael growled roughly. “Now get the hell out of my school before I forcefully remove you, your companions, and your vehicles.”

Wylie heard a gasp, the sounds of shuffling, and then the officer and Michael were both gone and the air immediately lightened in the room. He ended up sideways on the floor no matter his best efforts. It was frustrating, but fuck, the smell of blood was even better down near the floor.

“Holy shit, I thought Master Whiteheart was totally going to tear that guy a new one,” someone whispered in a voice full of awe. “I mean, that was a cop. With a gun and everything.”

“You really think a gun's going to kill Michael?” another voice grumbled. “You're so fucking retarded sometimes.”

“Leave him alone, dickhead,” someone else snapped. Wylie wondered if he was going to be dazed and handcuffed while a bunch of blood dripping shifters fought. It wasn't a comforting thought. Oh, but that blood smelled good. Really fucking good.

A pair of dusty, jean-clad legs came into view, followed by a tanned, grinning face topped with a bandana. His lips were smeared red with what he could only presume was dinner. He was sporting premature gray hair and teasing orange eyes, and gave a wicked smile to reveal sharp fangs. “Hey there, newbie.” His accent was Hispanic. “You look like shit. But I dig the hair color. Blue is definitely a bitchin’ color. I've got a few blue inks, actually.” He pointed to a tattoo on his scrawny arm.

“Fox, leave the kid alone. He looks like he's been hit by a nullifier. You probably sound like shredded glass to his ears.”

“Cram it. I'm just talking to the kid. Shit, man.” He huffed at someone behind him. Fox suddenly pulled his other hand forward. Blood dripped from between his narrow fingers. “Hungry, dude? Whoa, yeah, you are. We got a shifter, brothers!” he shouted. He slammed a chunk of meat on the floor in front of Wylie while a weird assortment of howls rang out.

Before he could even question what the hell he was doing, Wylie pressed his tongue forward, and reached for the flesh that smelled like nectar. He moaned as blood hit his taste buds. Under his very loud dragon brain, his rational mind was telling him it was sick. Slimy, bloody, and sick. Thankfully he couldn't hear that voice well. His hunger won as he chewed greedily with sharpened teeth.

“Ha, look at him go. There's no way he's going to be able to keep that down,” someone snorted from afar. “Fucking dumbass.”

“God, you're a dick, Leo.” A new face peered down, head tilted sideways to meet Wylie's only half attentive gaze. “Uh oh, Leo, you have competition. He's got that crazy eye thing going on and he smells totally butch. Mmm… Actually, what are you? You smell… shit… reptile? Is that what you smell like?”

Wylie blinked up at the dark-haired shifter with yellow eyes and black spots littering his pale skin—a leopard? He licked his lips. “More and I'll tell you,” he promised as his stomach grumbled.

Fox returned beside him and smacked another piece of meat down. He lay out flat on the ground to stare at Wylie face to face. “What are you, dude? Like, a turtle or some shit?”

Wylie wondered if there was such a thing as a turtle shifter. The dubious look on the spotted shifter’s face suggested no. “Dragon,” he said before he latched onto the raw meat.

“Whoa, un-fucking-believable!” Fox crowed loudly. He shoved his leopard friend’s leg and sent him sideways in his enthusiasm. “Hear that, Forest? A bona fide dragon!”

“Yeah, I heard, Fox. I'm right fucking here,” Forest muttered. He rolled his yellow eyes in annoyance and pushed up to sit where he ended up sprawled.

A third person suddenly sat, then got down on his stomach so he could reach Wylie's line of sight as well. Hair the color of rosewood and brown eyes expressive and wide, he smiled sweetly while nibbling delicately on a piece of deer. “Hi there, I'm Justin. I'm a werewolf… so, that. What's your name?”

“Wylie,” he mumbled. He felt self-conscious with three sets of eyes staring while he chewed. Whenever he ended up at a new home, he was faced with fear, distrust and was ultimately ignored. This was very different.

“I'm going to eat it all on you dumbasses,” threatened the final rumbling voice that still refused to acknowledge him.

Fox turned and yelled over his shoulder. “Stop being a dick, Leo. Shit, you totally suck, man.”

“Leo's a total dick,” Forest agreed as he licked his blood covered fingers. “What about you, new guy? Are you going to be one of those fucked-up, testosterone alpha types? I mean, it's cool if you are and all. Just probably not going to want to hang out with you much.”

The food was gone and Wylie was stuck staring back at three very odd young men. He'd never spoken to a shifter before, never mind three. “Um… I don't think so. I usually just keep to myself.”

“Oh, don't be one of those guys,” Fox sighed. “We've got enough broody types around here. The sorcerers are so fucking emo. So what did you do? Kill someone? You're the first guy to be dragged in by cops with null-cuffs on.”

“Uh, I didn't kill anyone.” Wylie really didn't want to go into why he was there.

“Fucking told ya, dude,” Fox said to Forest, who just shrugged.

Thankfully he was saved from any more grilling. The front door slammed open and Michael stomped in. A pattering of more tentative footsteps followed. Wylie felt very exposed all of a sudden with his back to the door where he was unable to see who was behind him.

“Hey, it's cool. No cops,” Justin assured with a soft smile. “Master Whiteheart's going to take your cuffs off. That's all.”

“Sorry about that, Wylie.” Michael knelt down. His large hand rested with reassurance on his back while he fiddled with the keys. “The gall of that man. Did he push you into the nullifier? I was too far away to see, but if he did—”

“No, I just couldn't move with my hands like this.” Wylie didn’t want him to get upset over nothing. Not when he was still tied up.

“Well… Alright, then. I'm still filing a report for that crap he said about my guys. Damn asshole.” Michael grumbled under his breath and eventually managed to get the null-cuffs off his wrists. Wylie rolled from his stomach to his side and held back a whimper once he could finally move his arms again. Pins and needles buzzed through his limbs relentlessly while he clenched and unclenched his fingers.

“How's your head?” Michael pressed Wylie’s forehead where he struck the nullifier in the cruiser. Wylie flinched, and hissed as pain erupted from the touch. “Yup, that sounds about right.” Michael looked up with a stern look for the three shifters who were talking to Wylie. “What did I tell you all about eating in the foyer? People walk here.”

“Sorry, Master Whiteheart.” Justin straightened in his seat on the floor. “We saw the cruisers and thought if cops saw us eating in the dark we’d get shot.”

“Yes, well, I didn't say it was the wrong choice. Just really gross, guys,” Michael added in a less stern tone. “I want this cleaned up by the time I'm back out here. And heaven help you if Theodore sees it. You know how he gets around blood.”

There was a chuckle of laughter around the room. Wylie winced from the sound. He raised one of his inflamed wrists up to his mouth so he could lick the red flesh and heal it. Michael shook his head and smirked in spite of his best efforts. “Yes, well, Theo is pretty ridiculous when it comes to blood. I need to get Wylie to Dr. Rob to deal with the after effects of the nullifiers. Can you stand, Wylie?”

With a nod, Wylie pushed himself up. Only to slip to the floor when his arms gave out. "Fuck." Michael caught him before he could smash his face in.

“That a boy,” Michael said cheerfully. He hauled him up and threw Wylie over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Don't worry, the nullifiers do it to the best of us. Surprised you're still awake, to be honest. That was quite a hit.” He turned his head. “Guys, don't just throw what's left in the yard this time. It's not a funny surprise, Leo.”

Wylie kept his eyes down as his stomach lurched from the embarrassing position. He really didn’t want to see what everyone thought of him being carried down the hall. His first night there and he had collapsed, eaten raw meat like a crazy person, and was now being hauled around like a small child who stayed up past his bedtime. After such a terrible first impression, there was no way anyone was going to take him seriously at the Academy.

SCENE #8

A new patient was always a big deal at the Academy. Dorian had a feeling no one was going to be sleeping that night after Wylie Doe's flashy entrance. With the shifters howling up a storm from gaining a new pack mate, and Master Whiteheart losing his cool and almost slugging that cop, he was pretty sure they were all going to be up talking the night away. That was, once the shifters got the damn deer carcass out of the hall.

Even though Dorian was a pure magic user with no shifter blood in him, he still struggled with bloodlust. It wasn't as uncommon as some would think, at least in the Black family. There was something in their family history. It was demonic, but his parents would never admit it. Either way, the deer was making things really uncomfortable, especially now the shifters were bitching over it. Leo, of course, was at the center of the problem.

“Shit man, you didn't have to actually try and eat it all, Leo.” Fox glared at the large shifter who was possessively crouched over what was left of the deer.

Leo with his dark hair, gold eyes, and tanned skin, curled his lips back in a defiant snarl. The lion shifter had an attitude problem, plain and simple. The hulking slab of aggressive muscle had staked his claim to his territory the instant he scented the new shifter. Dorian couldn't blame him. The new guy didn't have Leo’s mass or extreme muscle, and was restrained on the floor the majority of the time he was there, but Dorian had seen enough shifters come through the Academy to know. Wylie was something. Something dangerous. Something powerful. Interesting.

Really fucking hot.

“Dorian, leash him or something.” Fox’s eyes went big and puppy dog when they fixed on him. Brat. Dorian turned from his study of the hall where Michael had disappeared with the new kid over his shoulder. He supposed he could go for a smoke.

“Leo, you're just going to make yourself sick,” Dorian pointed out as he stepped up next to Fox. “We all ate tonight. You really don't need to add an entire deer on top of dinner.”

Leo huffed loudly. He stood and towered over everyone in the room. He was taller and more bulked than Michael, with a default of angry. “What the fuck do you care, Black? You my mother now?”

Nearly a foot shorter than the powerful lion shifter and much slimmer, Dorian smirked and pulled the cigarette case from his back pocket. “I'm worried for you if you're confusing me for your mom. Last I saw Mrs. Princer, her chest was out to here.” He held his hand out so no one was confused about how big her breasts were.

Fox's eyes widened and he jumped back. “Dorian, are you fucked in the head? You can't just—”

“Shut it, Rafael. You asked for help; this is how I help.” He glanced briefly at the fox shifter. Dorian walked to the outside doors and waved the growling Leo to follow. “Come on, you damn pussycat.”

Leo stomped after with a scowl twisted on his face. Fox scrambled back from the hulking shifter’s swinging arms. “Dick.”

Dorian lit up while waiting in the shadows of one of the pillars. The lights from the cruisers were long gone, the autumn air cool, the night dark. Leo stepped up nearly silent. His large hand wrenched the slender sorcerer around to slam him against the pillar.

“You're a cocky son of a bitch, Dorian.” Leo snarled. He plucked the cigarette from his long fingers and took a drag. He released Dorian’s shoulder but refused to step too far away.

“Actually, an ape, right? Since I'm not a shifter.” Dorian’s hazel eyes tracked him while he pulled another cigarette from his case and lit it with his finger. “So what is he? Another lion? I can't imagine you'd get this worked up over much else.”

His eyes narrowed, Leo took another pull on the quickly diminishing stick. “Looking for my replacement?”

Dorian combed through his dark hair. His fingertips glowed red in the dark. He had an odd relationship with Leo and lately it seemed the shifter was perceiving things inaccurately. He remained quiet while he took a slow drag. Leo stared blatantly at his mouth and refused to look away when Dorian raised his eyebrows. Yeah, he was pretty sure he was confusing shit.

“I help you, Leo. That's all this is.”

Leo tossed the cigarette to the ground. He pushed Dorian up hard against the pillar and fisted his hair. He pulled and Dorian gasped softly. “I'm stronger than him—I'm a fucking alpha. I know you, Dorian. You want someone strong. Someone who won't die the instant you lose your shit. Someone who doesn't care you're a fucking monster.”

“Shut up.” Dorian snaked his hand around Leo’s muscular arm so he could take a drag from his cigarette. “You're a dick, Leo.”

“I know, gorgeous. You should let me fuck you some time.” Leo went to kiss him only to freeze when Dorian raised two fingers and held them in front of his face meaningfully.

“You know I don't like to be touched.”

Eyes wide, Leo tried to jerk away but Dorian pressed lightly to his cheek. “Dorian—oh, fuck.” Leo groaned weakly and fell to his knees. All the strength drained from him with the simple touch of his fingers.

“Not tonight, Leo. Not in the mood.” Dorian stepped around him and finished his cigarette in silence while Leo swayed weakly beside him. It was always too noisy at the Academy. There were so many patients, and everyone full of beast or magic and needed to yell and talk about it all. He missed the quiet.

It wasn't really Leo's fault he kept chasing Dorian. Sorcerers, by whatever quirk of nature, were all fucking gorgeous. Magic did something to the body and Dorian was about as powerful as they came. Leo liked the quiet guy for his power more than his looks. He was strong enough to chain the shifter, and when you were worried about losing your shit every day because of being full of testosterone and lion instincts, that was a damn appealing trait. Leo never worried about hurting him because Dorian easily put him in his place.

Leo might be relieved to know he could stop him if he went crazy, but Dorian couldn't truly say he could be prevented from killing Leo if he lost his own control.

One death was enough for him. No more wanting. People were too fragile, even the shifters, and Dorian couldn't control himself when he was touched.

He disappeared his cigarette between his fingers. Dorian gave Leo a companionable pat on his broad shoulder before he turned back to the building. The lights inside were warm and brilliant in contrast to the cool night, and the deer and scent of blood were finally gone.

Leo would be fine in ten, mellow and likely buzzed. He was just having trouble with the new kid—stupid territorial shit the bigger shifters couldn't turn off. Alphas. It was a total pain in the ass way to live. Dorian had a hard enough time keeping his energy in check. He couldn't imagine what it was like to have a whole other brain in his head. One that told him to act like a fucking animal all the time.

No, he might have gotten the raw end with too much power but at least he wasn’t born a shifter.

Leo felt Dorian leave. He struggled but was still unable to move. Fuck, there was nothing hotter than Dorian Black knocking him down with a simple touch. No matter how much Leo kept trying to prove he was good enough for something more, Dorian never seemed interested. Leo was not a subtle guy and he wasn't stupid. It still didn't mean he was just going to let some pretty-boy dragon shifter encroach on his territory and catch Dorian's eye.

He could flex his fingers now, his fists followed as he pushed himself to his feet. He only swayed a little. If Dorian was actually angry, it would have been a lot worse. But Dorian never got angry. People died when the beautiful sorcerer got angry.

Leo growled. The low sound rumbled through his chest as he caught a whiff of Wylie’s strange reptilian scent on the breeze.

That Wylie guy might think he was tough shit by coming in with cops and cuffs and covered in human blood, but Leo was a goddamn terror—a king among monsters. He’d make sure the dragon knew he was in charge. Dorian was his, the shifters were his, and the Academy was his. If Wylie didn't bend to him, he'd just have to fucking break him.

SCENE #9

“Are they ever going to shut up?” Vincent asked, his tone a dull drawl as he stared up at the ceiling from his bed. The shifters were still awake and laughing it up in the large lounge connecting all the dorms.

“They got themselves a friend. Everything's a party to them.” Dorian's studying was done and class was usually light the day after a new arrival. The instructors knew how they got riled up. Vincent had only been there a couple months and didn't know it all just yet. He was a pure magic user like Dorian and came from old blood. He made for a boring roommate but at least he was usually quiet.

“I heard he's a dragon.”

Dorian snorted. “I heard he murdered a classroom full of students. Who the fuck knows.”

“He's got the fucked-up eyes. He could be a dragon.” Vincent glanced his way. His gray eyes gleamed in the dim light. “Do you know what I could do with a dragon? The kind of magic I could raise up? Hell, I bet just one of his pretty ice-blue eyes could keep me charged for ten years straight.”

Vincent was really old blood. Dorian's parents had modernized a bit, but Vincent talked just like Dorian’s fucked-up grandfather. “Shifters aren't fucking pets, Frost, they're people. Living, breathing, thinking, feeling people. I'm sure the guy’s not interested in giving you his eye.”

Vincent shrugged dismissively. “With the right spell, he'd give me anything I want. If I ask nice enough, let him touch me a bit, I might not even need a spell.”

“You're fucked in the head.” He was also probably right. Vincent was stunning; his waist-length hair was so black it was nearly blue, and his skin was so pale he looked like he was glowing half the time. But the German had an ugly mouth on him and most people couldn't stand to spend more than five minutes listening to his fucked-up opinions of the world. Dorian wasn't sure exactly why he was in the Academy. He had a feeling it was less about Vincent’s power being out of control and more the fact people wanted to beat the shit out of him left and right. Just a guess.

“You play with that lion all the time. What do you care what I do with the new dragon?”

Dorian didn't play with Leo. He helped him keep his control so he didn't have to wear a null-collar twenty-four seven. That Vincent couldn't see the difference was telling of something damn wrong in his head. “I didn't say I cared,” Dorian answered coolly. “I said you're fucked-up. Talking about dismembering a guy you just met for a power boost is pretty messed up.”

That gave Vincent pause. Maybe he was just a sociopath. He wouldn't be the first sorcerer who was. Fuck, Dorian wondered half the time if he was walking the line. Magic fucked with the head. It made you think that just because you could, it was okay. It wasn't, it really wasn't, but he could sure do a lot if he didn't care about things like morals.

“He has very pretty eyes… Wild. Sexy.”

Dorian blinked when the new guy’s face flashed in his mind's eye. Wylie Doe looked like some sort of ice elf. Tall, strapping and pale skinned; his eyes were an icy white with dark pinprick pupils. His short, white-blond hair was tinted blue and streaked with fading hair dye. He looked like a predator. Not beastly like Leo. No, a creature with allure, dangerous and deadly, even more so because you couldn't help but stare at him.

Dorian assumed staring at a predator would make it less dangerous because you saw it, but no. Staring was just that until there was nothing else left. Just him burning in those wild eyes, stock still and unable to move. The shifter would know, would see him frozen and vulnerable and stalk him down. Wylie would be on top of him in an instant while he panted, trapped in his unbreakable stare. He'd move his large hands over him… sink his teeth into his throat, taste his flesh, pull cries and moans from him as he claimed him…

“Shit.” Dorian sat up in his bed with a dark scowl as magic sparked over his skin. Shit. He needed to get it the fuck together.

Vincent turned his head with an eyebrow raised in bland amusement. “Never seen you do that before.”

Dorian ignored him. He focused on his breathing and channeled his thoughts into some sort of order that didn't involve extremely sexy-ass shifters trying to mate with him.

“You're not going to explode or some shit, are you?” Vincent sat up as well and watched as Dorian tried to meditate his power back. “I really don't feel like dying if you blow up.”

Dorian laughed, the sound bitter and angry. “Listen, you can interrupt me or you can shut the fuck up so I can concentrate. Only one is going to keep me from losing my shit.”

Vincent looked like he was going to say something more like the arrogant ass he was, only to close his mouth when someone rapped sharply on the door.

“What!” Dorian snapped. He crushed his hands together as another wave of magic shot fire over him. It was no one's fault but his own, but he still really wished everyone would stop interrupting.

Michael pushed the door open and hit the lights. He took one look at Dorian sparking like a firework and waved Vincent to the door. Thank fuck.

Vincent huffed in annoyance. He reluctantly got out of bed and left. Yeah, Dorian felt like a jerk for keeping the guy from sleep but Vincent just didn't know enough to shut up. God, he missed the quiet. Why couldn't people just exist and not talk all the fucking time? It wasn't like they ever said anything important.

By the time Michael returned, Dorian was nearly under control. Only the smallest of sparks traced over him in random bursts. Michael leaned on the door and waited until he was done. He waited until Dorian could look up and not yell, or throw something, or just break apart into tears.

The Academy masters were the best. His parents hired help after his accident three years ago in the hopes to keep Dorian home with them and his little sister. He had gone through four private masters, and had almost killed the last one before they finally relented and sent him to the Academy. He hadn't wanted to go at the time. Now he didn't know if he ever wanted to leave.

“Do you want a null-collar?” Michael held the device up. He already knew the answer because he was there with a collar less than a minute after Dorian started sparking. At his nod, Michael crossed the distance and helped to clasp the metal around his neck. It was a cocoon of fog on his magic once the collar clicked in place. Dorian’s power flat lined immediately and no longer lapped at his core in angry, frantic waves.

Too powerful. He used to laugh at such a ludicrous concept. Vincent still did. Dorian was only flesh and blood, and magic was something so much more. One day he woke up more magic than person. That was when it all went to shit for him. While Dorian’s peers would spend a lifetime trying to gain more and more power to silence the crazed voice whispering inside it would make them complete, he already knew the truth. Magic was a disease, a cancer which could only feed off of certain bodies. When it did it hollowed away from the inside out until there was nothing more than a husk left.

Why else would sorcerers and sorceresses be so beautiful? Magic took over every aspect of them from appearance to voice. It imbued grace, agility, charisma and even intelligence and unmatchable will. When his power took over, Dorian felt like nothing more than a puppet, some sort of doll made flesh with foreign energy bubbling inside him. And when the null-collar was on he felt so ordinary, so incomplete and dreary and disconnected from the world. Without his magic, he wasn't whole, just that unliving doll.

He spent most of his life in halfway existences where he tried to balance between those two extremes. One was life in the null-collar; the other was him sparking out of control. It was exhausting and disheartening to know he would never have a steady state of being. He would always just be a moment in between before it went bad again.

“What do you want to do?” Michael rested his hands on the foot of Dorian’s bed. “I have a feeling they're going to be loud the entire night. I can set up a sound dampener but that won't quiet down Vincent if he's in a mood.”

“Just cast me to sleep.” Dorian slid back into bed. The metal collar was an unyielding yet comforting weight on his throat. With the collar, he could sleep and dream safely, and that was what he wanted. To dream; to feel emotion and not trigger his magic into overload. Dorian didn't get angry anymore. He didn't get scared, sad, upset. He wasn't allowed if he wanted to survive his fucked-up imbalance. But with the collar on, he could indulge, if just for a few hours. It was the best he got.

The collar always came off. Depending on it would only invalidate the last year of grueling work spent learning mastery over his power. But for the night, it was okay if Dorian dreamed, even of those crazy, wild eyes.

SCENE #10

Dawn shown through the sheer curtain windows of the unfamiliar room Wylie woke in. He stared at the ceiling while trying to put it all together. The last two days were a damn blur of crazy in his head. He finally took the initiation for the gang. Stopped Diego from killing some rich stranger. Saved the old guy's life while finding out he was a dragon shifter and could heal wounds with his spit. Nearly ended up in Daiker prison, which would have been total death with all those huge psycho shifters. And now he was at the Academy, in the hospital after he ate handfuls of raw deer and looked like a weak-ass idiot in front of his new peers.

Yeah, it still wasn't making a lot of sense.

Last night after Michael dropped him on the hospital bed, Wylie fell asleep immediately. He vaguely remembered being poked and prodded, mostly his aching skull before drifting off. He wasn't sure why he was even awake now. He was tired and feeling cranky. Likely it was the sun blaring at him. His sensitive skin twitched from the sensation. It could also be the young man looking down from the foot of the bed whose dark eyes observed him from behind stylish rectangular glasses.

“I'm glad to see you're awake, Mr. Doe.” The man’s voice was steady, soothing, and one Wylie immediately trusted. “I'm Dr. Robert Toras, but everyone just calls me Dr. Rob. I can't help but notice you're having difficulty with the sunlight. Would you like me to adjust the blinds?”

Wylie nodded and licked his chapped lips while looking around. There was a lot of white. Two lines of beds that could fit a football team took up each long wall, each decked out with a pillow and blanket at the ready. He wasn't sure how many were housed at the Academy but he was getting a suspicion it was more than he'd first assumed.

“How do you feel?”

“Dry.” Wylie’s skin was tight and eyes bleary.

“Yes, that's a normal side effect of the nullifier. Sucks the energy right out of you including the moisture. I'm going to administer an IV. Any allergies or phobias I should know of?”

Wylie focused on his kind face while Dr. Rob waited calmly for him to respond. Dr. Rob was handsome in a big brother sort of way, average height and build, with soulful black eyes and a soothing smile. He wasn't drop dead gorgeous like Theodore or a Greek god like Michael, but he reminded Wylie of his mother when she still loved him, and that somehow seemed to be more impressive than all the crazy beauty he'd seen so far.

“No phobias.” Wylie’s voice was hoarse and cracked. Dr. Rob handed him a ready paper cup of water. “No allergies. Um, a lot of medicines don't actually work on me. Something about my body processing them too quick.”

“You're a shifter; that's to be expected. I'm more than equipped to counter that. Any history of illness, serious injuries, genetic deficiencies?”

There really wasn't much to contribute since Wylie didn't have a family. Dr. Rob asked him a few more questions. A lot of them concerned his arms and how he transformed. Wylie was pretty sure he was trying to figure out if they were broken and he really didn't know the answer. They didn't hurt or bleed, and he couldn't transform past his shoulders.

“Don't worry if you don't know all the answers. We're going to have plenty of time to figure out what makes you tick, Wylie.” Dr. Rob straightened on the stool he was sitting on and twirled a pen between his fingers idly. “I run the Magical Healing Arts program here, as well as teach an array of small courses on emergency first aid, health, and fitness. I also co-host a monthly course with Bear on wilderness survival. It's very important that shifters exercise, not only because it's great for the body, but it helps keep the more animalistic urges in line. For a type 2 shifter, we have a few obstacle courses set up on the grounds to focus your energy. Type 2's don't usually hunt the way the type 1 shifters do to burn off steam, although it's not unheard of if you choose to.”

Wylie wiggled his way up the bed until he was sitting propped on a pillow. “What makes me a 'type 2' shifter? I thought besides the animal form, shifters were all the same.”

“That is a very common bit of misinformation, actually.” Dr. Rob stood and set up a saline drip as he talked. “Type 1's are the most common shifter, where a male who possesses the shifter gene transforms into his inner animal. Type 2 shifters, which dragon shifters fall into, are rarer. Even with a full transformation, you'll never truly resemble a dragon, just a humanoid with dragon characteristics.”

“But I thought…?” Wylie trailed off. The only time he'd even heard of humanoid type creatures like that, it was always the cursed variety. Werewolves, specifically. But they only transformed once a month and he could change at will.

“We actually have another type 2 teaching at the Academy. He doesn't like to disclose it, but I'm sure Theodore would be willing to share some of his experiences with you about it.” Dr. Rob skillfully stuck a needle into Wylie’s arm. It didn't hurt but pain was a rare thing for him, even in human form.

“So, Theodore's like me?” Wylie wasn’t fully surprised once the words were out. The instructor was familiar in a lot of ways. Annoying as fuck, but familiar.

“He's a dragon shifter, yes. It's actually remarkable to have two in the same building.” Dr. Rob smiled crookedly. “He can be a little territorial so if he gives you any trouble, it's probably that.”

Wow, okay, very familiar. Suddenly he wanted to find Theodore and ask him a million questions, the main one being why hadn't he told him.

“How about you close your eyes and let that IV do its thing? I'll get you some breakfast.”

Wylie nodded and sank back into his pillow. Dr. Rob patted him on the shoulder before he left and he fought the urge to hug the man. Dr. Rob might be more like Theodore and Michael after all; he had some sort of innate charisma that drew people in and made them trust. Even so, Wylie was pretty certain Dr. Rob was someone worth trusting.

Actually, there seemed to be more than a few people who gave a fuck at the Academy and he had no idea how he felt about it.

SCENE #11

Wylie half expected prison food when Dr. Rob brought him a tray. Hospital food probably would have been a better guess, but it wasn't that either. He didn't know who cooked for the Academy but he had a feeling they did a lot of it from scratch. The smells were delicious, the flavor even better. He stared at the hearty spread of meats and vegetables that replaced his usual cavity-inducing breakfast of sugary cereal. He wondered if he asked for raw meat if the Academy would provide it. Not that he wanted raw meat… Much.

Not too much.

God, he was fucked-up.

He could feel the dragon inside him. Last night had done something to the creature and it was awake, alert and was looking around. Wylie wasn't sure how he went so long with his dragon disconnected from him, but feeding it had anchored the being in his body and it didn't seem in a hurry to go back to sleep.

It was absolutely bizarre. It was disconcerting to feel a living, conscious soul inside of him so different from his own. But also, it was familiar. Maybe even a little comforting. He wasn't alone. All the shit he went through growing up, all the times he struggled in silence; he was never alone. The dragon inside helped fuel him and keep him going. Now he finally had a name for the beast.

Wylie ate swiftly, his head ducked, shoulders hunched forward in a stance learned when fearing a desperate hand might try to take his food. He forced himself to slow and peered up at the rows of empty beds. The patients he saw last night weren't scrawny and large-eyed, underfed and undernourished like kids in the many foster homes he'd been to. They weren't even defensive with chips on their shoulders bigger than they were. They had seemed—well, beyond the eating of the deer—really normal.

Not quite like the students he chose to avoid at his new school, where he met Beck. The students were so blithe about anything bad in the world, completely unaware life existed different from their own. They were full of the superficial happiness born from an ignorance of pain that made Wylie's jaw clench and his heart twist in bitter jealousy. The shifters didn't seem like that either, nor had any of the adults he met so far.

He pushed his empty tray aside, untangled from the hospital sheets and stood. He only swayed a little. The incident with the nullifier was a dull ache to his forehead now. He was still dressed in his clothes from the burglary and the dry blood made his jeans stiff as he explored the long hospital room.

He hadn't expected magic and technology to go side by side, but the room was full of it. They had electronic monitors for vitals along with potions and salves he felt radiate with magic. Most were locked up in the large glass cabinet that took up a whole wall of the room. His eyes fell on a stack of metallic loops, thick and collar sized. They were kept away from everything else, no lock on the glass door that housed them. Either they weren't expensive or they were too important to waste time to unlock.

He wandered to the shaded window and peeked out with squinted eyes. He hated how sensitive his eyes were to sunlight, the effect more pronounced since his dragon stirred. The grounds were beautiful during the day. Expansive fields of gold grass were dusted with frost, and gray woods in the distance bordered it all. He knew somewhere on the other side of those woods was the gate that locked him in this strange place. There was no city, no noise of cars or smell of exhaust. There was no one kicking him outside until dark for fear he'd steal if left alone in a group home. It was all so foreign and unfamiliar.

For the first time, Wylie felt completely disconnected from the world he’d always known and he didn't know who he was outside of it.

He knew what he did. He knew why he did the many things he did. Like hunch over his food to keep others from stealing it, or tell people to fuck off in case they thought they could intimidate him and make his life crap. He knew why he let a naïve guy like Beck spend time with him. Even if Beck was one of those superficial kids just looking to piss his parents off, he was the closest thing to normal Wylie was ever going to be able to stomach.

Even Beck was far from perfect. He belittled Wylie’s dream of college like he was just some idiot with super strong, fucked-up arms. It was selfish. Beck wanted him to never leave while Wylie knew they were never going to be long term. He didn't do long term, not in his situation. Still, it hurt.

He spent a lifetime reacting to a world he came to understand. It wasn’t a nice world. Certainly it wasn’t a loving one. If people weren’t hateful when they found out he was a shifter, they were indifferent. Now he was in a place where people asked how he felt and sounded like they meant it. Michael bothered to look him in the eye. Theodore, who Wylie was certain hadn’t even liked him in the beginning, became begrudgingly protective in the short time they’d known each other.

No, he didn’t have a fucking clue what the hell he was supposed to do in a place like this.

Part of him hoped it was a lie. Maybe Collin McPherson was some sort of crime boss or something. Maybe he was some rich psycho who scooped up violent, vicious shifters and turned them into his own personal army. Except, there was nothing remotely vicious about the guys he met last night. Damn.

Five years of this place. He didn't want to fuck things up with these people. He liked Theodore, even if the man was a grumpy bastard. Michael was weird and was willing to take a swing at a cop for him. Mrs. Winchester acted like this place was damn near heaven, and even though the social worker wore her heart on her sleeve, Wylie trusted her opinion. It was the first time anyone made a stand for him—and it was right after his biggest fuck-up. He robbed a guy’s house to get into a gang.

Wylie turned from the window and stared at the door that led out to the hallway and the rest of the Academy. Things could be different if he gave it a shot. He could be different. He had a dragon inside him and was surrounded by people that understood what that meant.

Five years.

In five years, he could be a person he actually liked. If he didn't fuck it up.

SCENE #12

Michael showed up to collect Wylie later in the day when his headache had gone and his strength returned. He had a pair of sunglasses in hand and offered them with a rueful grin. “Sorry about that, Doe. I was supposed to drop these off this morning but the guys were acting up. I don't think any of them slept last night.”

Wylie slipped the shades on with a sigh and the world became bearable just like that. “How's that McPherson guy? Do you think I'll get a chance to see him?”

“I do believe there's a good possibility of that, given he's usually at the Academy three days a week.”

“Ah… So the others probably all know him, huh?” Wylie shoved his hands in his pockets. He really needed to shower and change. He was still covered in the old guy's blood.

“Everyone here knows and likes Collin,” Michael said with a meaningful look. “And we don't discuss what brought a person to the Academy. It's completely up to you if you want to disclose that information.”

That was a no, he was pretty fucking sure. To have it known he broke into the owner's place wouldn't win him any favors, even though he saved the guy's life after. “So what's next?” He followed Michael out into the corridor.

“We get you a proper bed. It's two to a room and we have a few openings currently. I was thinking of putting you in with Fox. You met him last night. He has ADD up the walls, but he's a good guy and I think he'll understand where you're coming from.”

He was pretty sure Michael wanted to say the ghetto. He smartly kept his mouth shut. Rightly so because when Michael did follow up, Wylie felt like a total ass.

“He's a shifter. Fox has the ability to be aggressive, but he controls it even though he struggles. I think you can learn a lot from him and maybe he can pick up a bit from you about how to be assertive while walking the line.”

Yeah, he felt like an asshole. “Is that something you want your patients to be? Assertive?” It sounded like a fight waiting to happen.

“Shifters have this weird pecking order because of all their animal instincts.” Michael led them down another hall. Wylie was starting to realize the place was huge, a maze of corridors that all looked alike except for the paintings on the walls.

“You have guys like Leo, alphas who want to rule everything. They can't help it. The voice in their head tells them it's the only safe, right way to be to keep everyone else safe and right. Then you have guys like Forest and Fox. They're not submissive types; they're independent freelancers who adapted to a pack setting once at the Academy. Leo wants them to be submissive, though, to the point he makes their lives hell because he can't stop that voice in his head. The guys get quiet after a while because they just don't want to make waves. It's not great. Not for them and not for Leo, who fails to learn that a communal pack can be strong.”

“What, so you think I'm different?” Wylie scoffed. “I'm not going to challenge some angry alpha for the right to tell his whipped friends what to do. I have to be here for five years and I doubt fighting is allowed.”

Michael stopped walking, turned and fixed him with a serious look. “As long as you're within the compound's boundaries—everything inside the big gate and fence—you can do anything you want, Wylie. We would prefer you did not try to kill anyone, but accidents happen. You're a shifter, a very powerful one. Part of controlling that power is learning how to get along with your inner dragon and, believe me, that beast is going to have an issue with Leo no matter how resolved you are to keep your head down.”

Wylie was getting a feel for the Academy, and he still wasn't sure if he liked it. To have an authority figure just outright tell him he could beat the fuck out of anyone who gave him the stink eye was damn dangerous. He could feel the dragon inside perking up at the thought.

He met Michael’s gaze directly. “You want me to let that thing loose? Do you even understand how crazy it is?” Michael wasn't a shifter so Wylie didn't know if he really understood them. But the look he was giving suggested Wylie was the one being unreasonable.

“The more you try to chain your beast, the more it's going to act up. You need to look at it as another entity inside you who needs to be fed, exercised, and given affection. Otherwise, it's going to get twisted and bitter, and you're going to have serious issues. Like Leo. He's been fighting a fully grown male lion all his life and he's only just now started to relax his hold. If he doesn't get the proper negative response to his lion's aggressive, territorial actions, Leo’s lion is never going to understand boundaries. We work as a team here and you have just joined a pack of shifters whether you realize it or not.”

Wylie blinked when he felt his dragon respond to the news. It was uncomfortable after he spent a lifetime ignoring the beast inside. But he fed it last night, and talked to shifters, and finally named it for what it was. Everything was different and he was really confused by it all. “I've never been in a pack. Never even saw one.”

With a wry smile, Michael started walking again. “It's probably going to be a lot like that gang you were trying to get into. But, you know, much more hunting, howling, and smelling trees.”

Wylie wasn't sure if he was joking. He didn't smell trees. He was pretty sure that was a dog thing.

“I want to warn you about Justin.”

“What, the sweet guy?”

Michael glanced back with an unreadable expression. “The werewolf. He's part of your pack but he's very different. Type 3 shifters are unpredictable. He'll only transform fully on the full moon and he has to be sequestered at that time as a class-1 alert. The whole compound goes into lockdown for him. The cursed are contagious only on that one night, and we do everything to keep the others safe.

“That said, Justin goes through mood swings. He can get mean when his wolf is talking in his ear, and it's a really mean, crazy wolf. Just remember he's still a sweet guy when he's suddenly trying to tear your throat out with his little bitty fangs, okay? He gets really depressed after an incident. How people bounce back helps him bounce back.”

Wylie scratched the back of his head and nodded after a moment. “Hey, it's cool. I've seen a lot of fucked-up kids in my days of foster care. Just because he can turn into a wolf doesn't make him more different than the rest.”

“That's what I like to hear.” Michael smacked him on the back. “The cursed get a lot of flak. People are scared of being turned and all. The guy is sweet. Loves music. A total puppy.”

They turned a corner and Wylie stopped short. He almost slammed into someone before he got his feet to stop. He instinctively grabbed for the guy’s shoulders to keep from knocking him to the ground. “Shit, sorry there…” he trailed off. His breath hitched as he took in the startled young man. Holy fuck.

Burning hazel eyes met his. His chocolate hair was all stylish and sexy. His skin was a crystal clear olive and lips… He had pouty red lips Wylie immediately wanted to devour. It wasn't just him; his dragon was fucking awake and hissing in his ear. Wylie might have actually been hissing as well. He quickly took a step back so he was at arm's length.

“Sorry,” he said again because you really couldn't say anything else after hissing at someone. The gorgeous guy just stared at him, cool as could be, and carefully pried Wylie's fingers off his shoulders. Because he was apparently still holding him. “Sorry.”

“Chill. It happens.” He looked at Michael and Wylie could breathe again. Fuck. Holy fuck.

“Master Whiteheart, I was hoping you'd take my collar off. I want to practice some spells before the practical tomorrow.”

“Sure, Dorian.” Michael gave Wylie a look he really didn't notice because he was staring at the young sorcerer and trying to figure out what he looked like without clothes. His guess was good. Really fucking good. Dorian was half a head shorter than him, slender, and compact with a sexy kind of lithe he wanted to run his hands all over. Maybe his tongue; he could totally lick every fucking inch of the guy. He smelled amazing; a mix of light, male sweat and cool, expensive cologne. Very tasteful. Damn near preppy, actually.

Wylie took in Dorian's fitted, fashionable clothes. Add his pretty face and quiet, aloof attitude, and he might be dealing with a snob. A sexy as fuck snob who should be an underwear model and he really needed to stop staring at him.

Dorian’s collar came off and Wylie's dragon lost it.

“Wylie?” Michael was at his elbow in an instant. He blocked his view. His piercing blue eyes tore into Wylie’s when his sunglasses went flying. But Wylie couldn't see him. His dragon was clamoring for the white-hot energy it felt only five feet away and it didn't need to see Dorian to sense him.

“I need to not be here right now,” Wylie gritted out as scales peppered up his arms. “Shit! Get off me!” He jumped back. Michael just avoided being shredded by his demon arms when they made a full, black-scaled, wicked-clawed arrival against his will. Fuck.

“You need to talk to me, Wylie.” Michael held his hands out to show they were empty like they were fighting or some shit. “What's it saying to you? What's triggering the dragon?”

Saying? It wasn't saying fuck. The damn thing was trying to throw itself across the fucking room at that damn delicious energy Dorian was giving off. Wylie thought his dragon wanted blood but whatever the fuck Dorian was, it would be happy to eat it.

Great. He was a fucking cannibal. Fuck his motherfucking life.

He was unable to voice any of his crazy thoughts. Instead Wylie crouched on the floor with his arms over his head while he hissed like some weird lizard and did his best not to touch anything.

“Do you…? I can leash him,” Dorian said softly. His buffed bright leather boots came into view. He really needed to get the fuck out of there and apparently Wylie's hisses weren't communicating the obvious to him. “I do it for Leo all the time.”

“Leo's not a dragon, Dorian.” It was Theodore. Wylie felt him more than saw as he strode down the hall. He’d never been more relieved in his entire life. “Wylie, is it blood?”

“No.” He peeked through his claws to find Red looking like a king and possibly about to go dragon just in case he lost his shit. Yeah, Theodore was his best fucking friend after this.

“Power?”

Wylie nodded and a groan escaped him. “White-hot… Burning white… Can't…” His gaze drifted against his best efforts and his view was consumed by Dorian, who was staring down at him in confusion. He was fucking gorgeous and now glowing in damn near angelic light. Wylie's dragon lurched toward him with another loud hiss and everyone took a step back. “God, it's good… I can't, can't control it…”

He wasn't sure exactly what happened. One second Dorian was angelic and the next he sparked fire over his skin. At first, he thought he was seeing things, but then Michael swore and patted down his smoking shirt.

Theodore looked from Wylie to Dorian. He grabbed the metal band Dorian was holding and wrapped it tight around his neck. The fire went out, the white-hot burning pillar of power dispersed, and Wylie's dragon eventually sat its ass down.

Wylie collapsed on the tile floor. He panted loudly while he tried to comprehend what the fuck just happened. He wasn't the only one; Dorian hit the ground hard and groaned as he glared at his charred clothes. Yeah, he'd be hot without clothes on.

“This isn't going to work,” Wylie said to Theodore when he stood over him. “I just got here and I've broken down twice. What the fuck am I going to do if someone starts bleeding?”

Theodore raised his eyebrow and his lips twitched in a grim smirk. “You're going to heal them, you dumbass punk.”

Shit, he hated him. Wylie ended up snickering even though he didn't want to.

“Would someone kindly explain?” Michael muttered as he spelled his clothes back into perfection with a few waves of his hand.

That shut Wylie up and he glanced anxiously at Theodore. “I'll deal with it, Michael,” Theodore said simply. “I think you better see to your sorcerer. That's the first time he's gone up in flames.”

“Not the first,” Dorian snapped icily. “Just the first time here. The first time in three fucking years.” He glared at Wylie, who swallowed hard in response. The guy was really hot, especially when angry. Dorian also totally seemed to hate him. And had not gotten burned by his own fire. He was really hot.

Michael hauled sexy to his feet and Wylie watched him walk away. Dorian had a nice ass too. Really nice.

“Are you going to put your arms away anytime soon?” Theodore broke Wylie from his very distracted thoughts.

He pushed off the floor and pulled his scales in. It got him thinking about how through all of it, the only one who gave off even a hint of fear sweat was Michael, and that was when he sprouted scales inches from his face. “He wasn't afraid of me.”

“Who, Dorian?” Theodore snorted softly. “That kid's the most dangerous thing here and he's well aware of it.”

Wylie stumbled as he got to his feet. “He's human. Can't be that dangerous…” he trailed off at Theodore's expression. “Right. That pillar of power. God… Does your dragon—Am I a cannibal? I think my dragon wants to eat him.”

Theodore inhaled sharply and pointed down the corridor. “Not another word. That is not a rumor you want to start in a place like this.”

Wylie bit his lip and followed him in silence.

SCENE #13

Theodore's private quarters looked straight out of a modern bachelor’s magazine; leather couch and armchairs, sleek furniture, large open space and stone floor. He nodded Wylie to a chair and slammed a drink down in front of him. It was whiskey and Wylie stared in confusion.

“It'll barely touch you. Dragons metabolize alcohol in minutes,” Theodore explained.

“Then why?”

“Because it tastes good and will calm you down.”

Was he trying to get him drunk? Wylie dismissed the thought and sipped the drink. It did taste good in a burning, rich kind of way. “Is this when you tell me I'm going to start craving human flesh?”

Theodore sat, sprawled out on the couch, long leather boots crossed at the ankle. “Tell me what happened, every detail. I'll have a proper answer for you after.”

It wasn't reassuring. Wylie recounted it as best as he could. The beast had never done that before and it was hard to explain, hard to comprehend. Theodore seemed to know the right questions, though, and was all over him the second he mentioned that the dragon was up before the collar was off Dorian.

“You're certain?”

“Yeah. It was hissing at him.”

“Not growling?”

Wylie shook his head.

“So you saw him and the dragon sat up and started hissing so much you started hissing as well?” Wylie nodded. “And then the collar came off and you went dragon? You couldn't see anything else but his power?” He nodded again. “And something about this interaction made you think the dragon wants to eat him?”

“Err… his power.” Wylie paused. “Well, maybe a bit more than that. He was very… yummy.” He licked his teeth; his fangs itched from the memory.

Theodore fixed him with a stern look. “I'm assuming you're intentionally leaving out the fact that you're hard for the guy, right? If you just said that in the first place, it would have made a lot more sense.”

Wylie scowled and hunched down in his chair. “You're telling me this is because I think he's hot? I think a lot of people are hot. My dragon has never given a fuck before.”

“Your dragon has never met Dorian Black,” Theodore said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn't.

“Are you saying he's like catnip to dragons?”

“Nothing like that. I'm saying your dragon has a thing for him. Mine doesn't have a thing for him, so I can only assume it's just you.”

“Oh.” Wylie mused on that for a while and finished off his drink. “Is my dragon going to want to eat him?” Theodore huffed like he was the biggest idiot out there. “Hey, I didn't even know I was a dragon until a day ago. Cut me some slack.”

Violet eyes burned into him and the instructor huffed again. Yup, apparently he was an idiot. “Dragons don't eat their mates. They obsess over them, protect them, and screw them. That energy you couldn't stop focusing on was Dorian’s personal signature. Your dragon was memorizing it. He wanted to taste his power the same way you would want to kiss him. You're actually lucky you and your dragon agree on the same person. A lot of times the inner beast never finds a suitable mate.”

There was a trill inside Wylie at Theodore's strange words, like his dragon was purring. The whole thing was getting fucking weird. “When you say mate…?”

“Lover. Maybe more, but it's Black and he’s cold as ice, so probably not even that.” Theodore shrugged unconcernedly. “Actually, I'm pretty sure he hates you. He lost his shit and started sparking because of your freak out, and he can't stand losing control. Not sure you even have a shot.”

Theodore was a really difficult guy to hold a conversation with. He would tell him shit and then just shit on him. “How do I keep my dragon from… um… trying to kiss his energy?” Wylie scowled at just how weird he sounded.

“Avoid him. Sit your ass down with your dragon and explain that it's hissing up the wrong tree. Hope it grows bored. Masturbate a lot.”

Wylie scratched the back of his head and glanced sideways at Theodore. “Is this, like, personal experience here?”

Another huff. “My brother had a thing for one of the cursed. It was a bad, messed up girl and she was only going to drag him into her shit.”

“Oh.” Not sure what to say, Wylie tapped his fingers lightly on the glass. “Did he…?”

“No. Dragons are stubborn as fuck. He died. Fought it as long as he could then got caught up in her drama. A rival pack of werewolves took out the entire group of them one moon.”

“Crap. Sorry.” Wylie knew stories about werewolves back in the day going crazy on the full moon, but this was the first time someone he knew confirmed it.

Theodore shrugged. “It was a long time ago. And all the more reason you need to come to some sort of understanding with your dragon. You can't ignore it, kid. That beast is half of you. You might hate it, fear it, resent it, but if it dies, you're dead too. You can't survive without it. Your dragon being happy and healthy will improve your quality of life faster than anything else.”

“It scares the fuck out of me,” Wylie admitted quietly.

Theodore glanced his way again and pointed the toe of his boot towards the bottle of whiskey on the table in offering. “I know. I used to get jealous of the pack shifters. Wolves, cats, even met a few rodents. All a big happy family of furry animals who have a part inside that just wants to keep others safe and be safe in return. Dragons aren't like that. Magical and not even mammals; they're almost alien. Intelligent, but so damn frightening.

“Your dragon just met a guy it wants to hump and the first thing it does is hiss like a monster and bare its fangs. Like that's not going to scare the fuck out of your love interest? Course, your dragon thinks it's giving a very obvious mating call and can't understand why the guy doesn't respond. Stupid beasts.”

Yeah, really fucking stupid. Wylie poured another drink and took larger sips. He wondered if he would've had a shot at Dorian Black if not for his fucked-up dragon. Beck got off on seeing his arms, but Beck was a rare breed of messed up. Dorian didn't seem afraid of him, but he sure as fuck didn't seem interested either.

“Why do you think he burst into flames?”

“Honestly?” Theodore rocked his boot back and forth as he thought. “The kid has a bad power balance issue; he's more magic than human. That means he's spending every waking moment keeping himself in check. You start hissing at him, go brutal arms and mention you can't stop wanting his energy… It probably freaked him out and his control slipped.”

Wylie stared down at the amber liquid remaining in his glass. “What happens if he loses it?”

“You felt his power. People die. Lots of people. Michael is magically tied to him twenty-four seven so that if Dorian slips even an iota, he'll know and be there to collar him. He's one of our most promising, most deadly students we've ever had.”

He looked up and met Theodore's gaze. “That why you suddenly showed up out of the blue? They tie you to me?”

“I deal with shifters. Bear does too, but he lives off campus and we can't depend on him.” Theodore glanced away disinterestedly. “If I feel one of my shifters start slipping, I deal with it.”

Wylie knew he was full of shit. It had to be a dragon thing where he watched his ass and refused to admit it. “I think you're wrong about Dorian. He didn't smell like fear and my dragon senses were on full alert. He wasn't afraid of me.”

“You think it really matters?” Theodore sat up, composed and stern again. “Don't feed your dragon on this. Dorian's ice for a reason. Magic and emotion go hand in hand. You push him, try to woo him or some ridiculous notion like that, and you put every single person in this institution at risk of his power unleashing. Your dragon made a bad choice, Wylie. An impossible choice. You can't have him and you better get used to it now.”

Fuck his life. Wylie exhaled heavily and sat back in his chair. “I need a cigarette.”

Theodore wasn't done making him feel like shit. Maybe the dragon needed to hear it; he sure as fuck didn't want to. “You're going to be here five years, kid. Dorian's probably going to be here forever. Focus on getting a proper transformation. Focus on finding a way to share your body and your life with your dragon. Think about what the hell you're going to do when you finally get to leave here for good and join the real world again. Learn magic and make friends. Never, ever touch Dorian Black.”

Yeah, fuck his life. This coming from the guy who apparently used to be a patient there but never moved on. “Your dragon ever fall for someone?” Wylie asked quietly.

“No," Theodore said with a sigh. "Thank fucking God.”

Yeah, he was totally fucked.

SCENE #14

Dorian's conversation with Michael wasn't going any better. Actually, it wasn't happening at all.

“I'm fine.”

“You're not and until you explain it, the collar stays on.”

With a glare, Dorian folded his arms over his chest. “You seriously think I don't know how to get out of one of these things? Do you really think I'd let myself be collared unless I knew I could get out if I needed to?”

Michael just stared at him impassively. This was not the first time they'd had this conversation but it was the first time Dorian had gone up in flames while in the Academy. Michael knew to take it seriously no matter how much Dorian tried to brush it off. “I have an institution full of brilliant but unstable young men who depend on me for their protection. If you don’t tell me how I can help you, I am not only letting you down but each and every one of them if you have an incident. Please help me out here.”

“Fuck.” He growled in exasperation. Dorian paced halfway down the hall, only to whirl back. His face still showed far too much irritation to warrant his collar being removed. “He was covered in blood.”

“It was dry. You're not passing this off as bloodlust.”

“Damn it, just back off!” Dorian snarled. “It was a one-time thing. I'll figure it out and I'll adapt like I always do. Stop acting like I'm going to take out the whole damn complex.”

That he was nearly yelling spoke volumes and Michael only grew quieter and more impassive with every agitated twitch Dorian failed to hide. “Would Dr. Rob be someone you'd prefer to talk to about this? I will get whoever you need if you don't feel comfortable enough with me—”

“Stop.” Dorian walked up to Michael while he hugged his arms to his body. “This isn't about needing to talk to someone. This is about you understanding I’m more than capable of figuring out my own shit without the entire Academy butting their heads into my business. You going to be calling McPherson in just so I can have a nice fatherly chat with him, too? Come on, Michael.”

Michael eyed him and finally answered. “You're sweating.”

“People sweat all the fucking time!” Dorian roughly raked his fingers through his hair.

“Yes, but you do not, as we are very much both aware, given how I and the other master sorcerers have instructed you in hours of meditation. You are having a strong emotional reaction. So strong, it is manifesting physically. You had a much milder one just last night, and that was dangerous enough. You can talk to me now or someone else later, but the collar will not be removed until I’m certain you’re not a risk to yourself and others.”

His eyes narrowed, Dorian turned abruptly and paced down the hall again in halting steps. Once he turned and made his way back to Michael, his face had regained some of its familiar coolness. “Everyone else is allowed to fucking sweat. Everyone else is allowed to get angry and yell and cry and be fucking human, you know. I'm not even twenty—I'm allowed to be emotional.”

Michael raised his eyebrows, and matched Dorian’s bitter tone with more annoying calm. “As long as you're wearing a null-collar, yes. You can be as much of an irrational teenager as you like. Is that what you're hoping for right now? To indulge a temper tantrum?”

“Maybe.” He glared again. Dorian whirled away and paced another round down the empty corridor. When he reached Michael again, he stopped and huffed at the floor. “It's not a fucking tantrum. A tantrum suggests an irrational reaction.”

“Oh, so you're being rational?” Michael sounded more curious than anything else. “You've yet to explain just how rational a reaction you're having.”

“Just because I burst into flames doesn't mean my reaction is irrational,” Dorian muttered. “If Leo was stung by a bee and suddenly turned into a lion and started mauling people, you wouldn't say he was throwing a 'tantrum.' You'd say he was having a perfectly reasonable reaction because he's a shifter. Well, I'm fucked-up magically and I'm having a perfectly reasonable reaction to emotional stimuli. You shouldn't be so condescending just because my reactions scare the fuck out of you.”

He honed in on his choice of words and Michael repeated, “Emotional stimuli?”

Dorian scowled. He turned and paced away. “You know why I'm here, Michael. You know what happened to me. What I did.”

“I do.” Michael watched Dorian run fingers over the wall as if he had claws. Normally the move would have left burns on the surface, sometimes gouges, but with his magic collared it had no impact. “Are you suggesting you know Wylie Doe from before your time in this institution?”

“What? Hell no.” Dorian snorted humorlessly. “The guy is clearly some sort of street thug. Definitely not the type to hang at my parent's country house.”

“Then I'm having a lot of trouble following. I asked if you were reacting to his dragon—Heaven knows, dragons can be intimidating and Wylie has very little control over that part of himself besides pure repression. You said you weren't, that you weren't afraid.”

“Why the fuck would I be afraid?” Dorian's pacing brought him back to Michael. His brilliant hazel eyes were full of annoyance. “He's just another shifter. They're all like that; fucked-up and loud and completely unpredictable.”

“He's the first dragon who’s ever hissed at you like that. The first dragon you've come across who doesn't have full control. You might not have been afraid, but I was concerned for you, and I wasn't the one being hissed at,” Michael pointed out calmly.

Dorian inhaled sharply. He gave a curt nod and avoided his gaze. “He hissed at me. Freaked out and hissed at me.”

“Yes. That would have been frightening to anyone. He's six feet tall, covered in dry blood and when he transforms he goes into an aggressive state every time, no matter the situation. Fear would be a very reasonable reaction.”

Dorian shrugged, his eyes narrowed as he looked off in the distance. “The fucker hissed at me. Took one look at me and started hissing. Never had that happen.”

Michael nodded. “It was a very strong reaction. He seemed just as surprised by it. Also apologetic.”

“I'm not angry at him. What? Stop looking at me like that, Whiteheart. I'm angry at myself for losing control,” Dorian grumbled. “I shouldn't have lost control. I don't lose control. I don't.”

“But you did. Twice.” Michael’s eyes pierced into his. Dorian didn't turn away this time. “He's going to be sharing space for a while. Whatever this is, you need to get it sorted.”

His jaw clenched defiantly, Dorian didn't speak for a long moment. “Master Howld is supposed to be a dragon shifter, right? What does it mean when he hisses?”

Michael frowned as he thought it over. “I've never heard Theodore hiss. Had him growl before and that was only before he was about to go dragon and beat the life out of someone. Never hiss…” he trailed off, his head tilted.

“What?” Dorian knew he was holding something back.

“Well, I don't know if it's relevant. But I do remember now when Theo and I were first in the Academy together,” Michael started thoughtfully. “He had a brother who would visit sometimes. He used to hiss.”

“What did he hiss for?”

“Food.” Michael gave a wry smile. “Visitors day was big back then and the kitchen always had a huge spread for everyone. Every time the kid saw chocolate cake, he'd hiss. It made it very difficult to ask for a slice, but we all managed.”

His brow furrowed, Dorian shook his head in annoyance. “Yeah, that's completely useless to me.”

“Dorian, you said it didn't have to do with the hissing. Is that going to be a problem? Because if it is, I can have Theo help to train the hissing out of him. You just need to tell me what's setting you off.” Michael would not be deterred no matter how many times Dorian rolled his eyes.

“It's not the hissing… Well… Damn it, alright, part of it was definitely the hissing,” Dorian admitted. His lips twitched in a smirk. “It was very… intense. He’s very intense. His fucking eyes are like, yeah… Intense.”

Wylie hissing at him had not been scary or creepy the way Michael suggested. No, it was really wild the way the foreign noise tingled through his body like a touch. And the way Wylie looked at him… so consuming… so damn hungry as if there was nothing else in the world but him. It made him feel wild no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

His heart started pounding and wouldn't stop. When he saw Wylie with his sleek black scales, features barbaric and animalistic as he fought the dragon inside him, Dorian hadn't wanted the human to win. He wanted to see what the dragon would do, wanted to find out just what that piercing, burning gaze from ice-blue eyes wanted from him.

Fuck, he had it bad.

“Fucking shifters,” Dorian muttered. He turned and paced away.

He’d never met a shifter before the Academy. He didn’t know much about them beyond the fucked-up shit his grandfather told him when it came to tearing them apart for spells. And the only slightly less fucked-up shit his parents told him about them being less than human but magically superior, so they were acceptable on some levels. Once living among them, Dorian found out shifters were just people, just like everyone else, but they were also wild.

There was a rawness to them that attracted Dorian while he fought every emotion he found within and learned to cage himself to keep from losing control. He’d done his best to keep his distance from everyone, especially the shifters, even though he knew he'd be there a while—fuck, maybe forever. He wasn't naïve. He knew his condition wasn't curable. It required constant treatment and there were still days he wondered why he bothered, why he didn't just give in and let the magic consume him and be done with it.

The shifters resonated with him while he watched them struggle with their own inner beasts. His inner beast was more foreign and bizarre, without shape or known thought or reason as it tried to consume him from the inside. He understood, he did. If he allowed that wildness to grow inside him, sometimes he was certain he would be beyond crazy, beyond reason. Just power.

In some ways, he would rather fight an animal than magic. He watched shifters come in and learn ways to befriend their inner beast. They found a peace, a balance he could only ever dream of. And damn, some of those beasts, like that wild black dragon, were really, really sexy. Dorian hadn’t had sex in years and for the last day and a half it felt like the accumulation was finally catching up with him. He was horny. Ridiculously horny.

It was just really fucking difficult to explain that to Master Whiteheart. To anyone, really. Slowing his steps, he turned back to Michael. He stopped in front of the man and shoved his hands into his pockets. “What do you need from me? I'm telling you now, I don't need the collar. I wouldn't lie about it.”

“I didn't say you were lying.” Michael carefully read Dorian’s expression. “But I don't fully believe you're in a state to be able to make the decision on your own. Especially when you're unable to verbalize what put you in this state in the first place.”

Dorian fought and failed to prevent another eye roll. He was raised by very conservative parents who refused to talk about anything. Feelings were things people experienced inside and did not discuss unless drunk and surrounded by loved ones they not so secretly hated. He sometimes discussed things with his little sister, but that was before he came to the Academy. Dorian barely spoke to his family any more. It was just easier in a lot of ways. He definitely didn't talk about his feelings to the other patients.

“I told you when he hissed at me I reacted. It was intense.”

“It's more than that.” Michael folded his arms.

“Of course it's more than that,” Dorian snapped, “But that's all I'm telling you. Now take the stupid collar off me already. I have to study.”

He sometimes wondered why Michael didn't try that charisma allure the sorcerer was known for in drawing answers out of people, but Dorian suspected it was a trust thing. Michael dealt with unstable, powerful and otherwise intelligent young men every day. If he started trying to manipulate them, he'd never get them to trust him. The thing was, he did trust Michael, probably more than he trusted anyone else in his life. It didn't mean he wanted to tell him about how fucked-up he felt over Wylie Doe anytime soon.

Something in Dorian's posture and expression must have been convincing. Michael unlocked the null-collar from around his neck. They stood there for a good five minutes in silence just to make sure Dorian didn't start sparking again.

“I want to see you in the reflection room in half an hour.” Michael’s tone left no room for argument. “Things have been crazy lately, and you need some quiet.”

Dorian nodded in agreement. His fingers glowed as he knit his charred clothing back together with magic. “Fine. Just don't come freaking if I'm late. I promised to help Will study, hence needing the collar off.” Dorian gave Michael a cheeky salute before he turned. His eyes were flat and devoid of emotion now the collar was off and he was again fighting down his magic.

Michael watched him go. He clicked the null-collar to his belt, fairly certain he'd need it much sooner than desired. Dorian hadn't fought the reality of his situation for as long as Michael could remember. He was so grateful just to have some sort of life after being stuck in a null-collar for so long. Something about the new shifter was setting him off. Hopefully they'd be able to get it straightened out. Michael was not willing to watch his prize patient self-destruct after Dorian worked so hard to finally find a balance.

SCENE #15

Wylie's first class was more a therapy session for shifters than anything else. After their talk, Theodore dumped him there. First though, he passed him some clothes from what Diane sent over so Wylie could change out of the bloodied ones he'd been wearing so long. The session was held in a huge and decidedly strange room. It was almost like an indoor gym. A small quarter of the space had a place to sit on the floor and talk, and the rest was dedicated to… something. Wylie wasn't sure what. He didn’t recognize much of the equipment, but it was either for exercise or torture. He smelled enough sweat and old blood in the room to consider both.

He was starting to comprehend just how much money went into the Academy, from their well-stocked hospital to the way there was probably hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of equipment in the gym. He didn't know if it was all funded by McPherson or if some rich parents donated money as well, but to end up in such an obviously expensive place was getting on Wylie’s nerves. That none of the other guys seemed to notice just how lucky they were might have been part of the problem.

Wylie hadn't expected to be separated from the sorcerer kids, most of whom he hadn't even met yet. At the moment he was relieved to know he wouldn't be facing Dorian Black at every turn. Although, Dorian didn't seem the type to retaliate for a simple hissing and charring of clothing. Wylie's dragon was the real issue. The creature was completely fixated on the beautiful sorcerer even though Dorian wasn't there. Not knowing a damn thing about him didn’t deter the dragon at all.

“Since we have a new addition, I thought everyone could introduce themselves and share a bit about what your goals are,” Bear started. Bear's real name was actually Derek Orso, but no one called him that. He was a full out shifter, who had very little magic outside of his ability to turn into a huge grizzly bear at will. It was a power he felt the need to prove to Wylie five minutes after his arrival.

Being face to face with an actual furry mountain of a bear when moments ago there was a much less furry, muscular human had been intense for Wylie. He’d never interacted with shifters before, and hadn't come across actual wildlife in general besides the flocks of pigeons and the many rats in the city. The bear scared the fuck out of him. Bear's cheerful smile when he transformed back wasn’t appreciated either. Wylie was pretty certain the shifter could smell the fear on him.

Fox started the circle. His tattooed leg bounced on the floor as he raised his hand for the chance to speak first. “Right, so I'm Rafael Alvarez but everyone calls me Fox because, well, I turn into a fox. But a big one, not those little cute things you might mistake for a cat. I'm actually like kind of wolf size and all silver, and yeah, fuck, you'll see eventually,” he said with a fanged smirk. His orange eyes flashed playfully. He’d heard Wylie was his new roommate and was determined to be as welcoming as possible. “As for goals… Shit, well, I have a lot of them. Let's see, my biggest one would be not to run into traffic chasing small animals,” he said with a self-deprecating bark.

No one laughed. Wylie looked around and realized this was an actual goal for Fox and maybe for some of the others. Okay. Well, he could at least say he mastered that particular problem.

“Oh, so another one would be to focus better—that's kind of hand in hand with that other one.” Fox fiddled with the bright yellow bandana he wore around his forehead. “Take my meds every day. Uh… don't explode things when doing magic. It's really easy to be distracted by all the smells and sounds of this place and mess up a spell.”

“Not that easy,” Forest teased while he elbowed the scrawny shifter.

“Hey, it's a skill. Anyways… I think that's it… nope, wait, a big one!” Fox yelped and held his hand up before Bear could speak. “No more sniffing people. It pisses off the sorcerers.”

“At least you're not pissing on them,” Forest chimed. Wylie looked around again to see no one laughed at that one either. Okay. This might end up being weirder than he first thought.

“Thank you, Fox,” Bear said. He raised his eyebrow at Forest who looked ready to tackle Justin for the chance to go next. “Forest, I can see you're ready.”

Forest nodded excitedly. Wylie watched as his pale skin, already peppered with dark spots, grew darker. A leopard pattern became more defined on his flesh. “Hi, so I'm Forest VanWilder, of the Manhattan VanWilders—” Leo sneered. Forest flipped him off and didn’t miss a beat. “I'm a leopard shifter, hence my spots. My biggest goal is to not kill anything by accident. Even those obnoxious squirrels. Oh, and I guess learn magic, but I suck at it so, yeah.”

“Just look out for Forest at night,” Fox said. His friend shot him a wicked grin. “He likes to practice his sneaking skills by scaring the fuck out of people. He's actually a black leopard so you won't see him coming.”

Forest just shrugged. He didn’t look apologetic. “That's really it about me. I've been here about half a year now, and have only slipped… three times?” he asked Bear, who nodded in agreement. “So yeah. I love climbing trees… And that's it.”

“Thank you, Forest.” Bear looked at Leo, who just curled his lip and shook his head. “I believe Justin would like to go next,” he said smoothly and turned to the quiet werewolf. “Justin?”

Justin swept his unkempt brown hair from his eyes, and graced Wylie with a shy smile. “I'm Justin Young and you already know I'm the werewolf. I like music, like, crazy obsess over it. Even though I don't, um, transform all the time like the other shifters, I get the same weird animal urges to do things.” He sighed and studied his hands as he tapped lightly on the floor. “My goals are to not be a crazy psycho who scares the life out of people. To never, ever curse anyone like I've been cursed… And to try and figure out how to keep my wolf from being an asshole.”

“You're not an asshole,” Fox assured him. Justin only rolled his eyes with a soft smirk. “Fine, your wolf is an asshole but you're not. It's totally not the same.”

“Right.” He peeked up through his lashes and fixed Wylie with an intent look. “Do you like Modern M? You seem like a guy that likes Modern M.”

“Um, is that a…?”

“Band. Indie. I just got this album I bet you would totally like.”

Wylie blinked for a moment and eventually nodded. “Sure, I could check it out.” Justin's smile lit up his face and Wylie felt like he had passed his first test for some reason, especially when he caught similar smiles from Fox and Forest.

“Alright, Leo. You're up, big guy.” Bear turned to the lion shifter, who was sitting in the circle but also seemed as far away as possible.

Leo grumbled under his breath. He glared at Wylie challengingly. “I'm Leonard Princer of the Boston Princers. I turn into a lion the size of a van, and my goal is to not kill people. And just so we're clear, I don't consider shifters people; they don't smell like them, don't act like them, and they all know what I am. They're not on the list of things I don't kill.”

Wylie raised his brows. He wasn’t sure why the hulked shifter was growling at him like he just pissed on his foot, but he wasn’t really comfortable with it. “Okay.”

“Would you like to elaborate on your goals, Leo?” Bear asked with the voice of unceasing patience.

“No,” Leo snapped, only to reconsider shortly after. “I don't want to be a fucking lion.”

Bear nodded approvingly. “Leo would prefer to be a person. One of his goals is to keep the lion from taking over his personality. Anything else, Leo?”

With a growl, he added under his breath, “I'm trying not to be so controlling of everything.”

“Yes, an alpha personality when not among peers can be very difficult in a group setting. Leo is working on curbing his lion's domineering nature.”

Wylie couldn't help but think of Butch from the jail cell when he looked at Leo. Daiker prison was full of personality types like him; guys who just couldn't handle their beast's aggression in the human world and ended up losing it and killing people. If the Academy could keep someone like Leo from going full psycho and losing everything in his life, Wylie was really glad the place existed. He didn't know a lot about his dragon yet, but he knew it had some territorial issues. This was proven when it bristled as the golden eyed shifter continued to stare at him without blinking. Hopefully the Academy would keep him from turning into some crazy slashing dragon.

“Alright, so that's the majority of us.” Bear clapped and the sound pulled Wylie's attention from the glaring lion shifter. “We have a few non-humans at the Academy who aren't shifters; you’ll probably pick up on their scents. This is a shifters only class dedicated to our specific needs. Wylie, how about you tell us a little about yourself and some of the biggest problems you've faced so far as a shifter.”

“Oh… Okay.” All eyes were suddenly on him and Wylie scratched his head distractedly. “Uh, so my name is Wylie Doe and I guess I'm a dragon shifter. But, well, I can't really transform all the way. Or, I guess, I'm never going to be able to because of how dragons transform.” He wet his lips nervously. He actually had no clue what the fuck a fully transformed dragon shifter even looked like.

“Show us!” Fox interrupted by stomping his feet on the floor. “Every newbie has to transform their first day just so we recognize you running around.”

“Heh, I really don't look that different.”

Bear looked just as expectant, so Wylie shrugged and sat forward to show his arms better.

“So, you really don't ever want to touch me when I'm like this,” Wylie cautioned as his razor sharp scales armored his limbs. “My arms can break through pretty much anything and my claws cut through metal with ease. I've had people brush up against me and get sliced up really bad, so it's just better to keep your distance.”

“Why are they like that?” Justin’s hand hovered far too close to his arm for Wylie's comfort. “Most dragons aren't so, well, spiky, right?”

Bear jumped in before Wylie could admit he had no idea. “From what I can see and what Dr. Rob has figured out, Wylie is dealing with a transformation disorder. No matter his reason for transforming at the time, his form reveals that way.” He pointed to the way Wylie's scales were puffed out. The razor edges were turned out so anything that came close would be slashed. “For whatever reason, he transforms aggressive every time.”

“Oh.” Justin ever so careful traced over the back of Wylie's knuckle. He jerked his hand away when his fingertip caught on the edge of a small scale. A drop of red formed, seen right before Justin sucked on the digit. “You're like a walking death machine, huh?”

Wylie nodded curtly and pulled his scales back in before anyone else thought to touch him. “It's a problem.”

“Shit man, why didn't your dad just teach you to smooth out your scales or some shit?” Fox exclaimed. “That's just, like, irresponsible to let you go through life a walking cheese grater.”

Wylie winced and sat back. “Well, the thing is I don't really know who my parents are. There wasn't anyone to tell me anything about this stuff. I didn't even know I was a dragon until a few days ago… You guys are actually the first shifters I've ever met.”

“Shit.” Fox exchanged a look with Forest. “That's crazy, man. So you've just been going around with death arms not even knowing what the hell you are? That's really fucked-up.”

Wylie shrugged. He felt more and more uncomfortable about the whole thing. “I used to call them demon arms. You know, cuz they look all demonic and fucked-up.”

“I think a good first goal for you, Wylie, is to learn more about dragon shifters,” Bear said. “We have an extensive library at the Academy. The next time we have a class you can teach us some things about dragons we don't know yet.”

“Alright.” Some of Wylie’s tension drained when the other shifters stopped staring at him so sympathetically.

“Can you do magic?” Justin asked curiously.

“Uh, I have no idea… My spit can heal,” he added, glad to have an answer for something. “But I get weird around blood.”

“We all get weird around blood. It's a shifter thing,” Justin replied breezily. “Not so much with the healing, though.” He pulled his finger free from his mouth, no wound to be seen. “I can regenerate, so even though I'm human nearly all the time, I still have a lot of protection. Some of us can do magic, too.” He turned to Bear questioningly. “Since he transforms into a magical being, does that mean he'll be able to do more magic?”

“I honestly don't know. Master Howld seems to think so, but we'll just have to see. But for now, I think we should get to our exercises. I heard some complaints that you were up all night and as we all know, it's up to me to wear you guys out.” Bear was suddenly on his feet; the man was surprisingly graceful for his size and mass.

He gave a clap to his hands and the other shifters bounded up excitedly. All except Leo, who was scowling aggressively, and Wylie, who was the one being scowled at. Wylie had dealt with plenty of weird, angry guys who always seemed to want to pick a fight with him. This was the first time one of those guys was a shifter who just saw first-hand his arms would be able to slaughter him in an instant. Leo still seemed to want to pick a fight and Wylie’s dragon was alert to every move he made.

“Wylie, since you probably can't transform for a lot of this stuff, you know, without breaking everything, you should be my partner.” Justin stepped over and smiled up at him. “This is actually kind of exciting. You're the first shifter who doesn't transform into a full out animal like everyone else. Now I won't feel so left out.”

“Hey, we don't leave you out.” Fox bounded up and transformed so seamlessly into a large silver fox, Wylie could only stare.

Fuck, they were actually animals. Forest was no longer there. A black, sleek cat larger than Fox's form came up to bump his head against Justin's leg. Wylie jumped when he heard a roar. He found a huge, black-maned lion glaring at him from across the room.

Fuck, they were seriously monster-sized animals.

“Crazy,” Wylie muttered. He watched as Justin threw his arms around Forest's neck like he wasn't hugging a giant, deadly leopard. He was going to need some time to get used to it all. Wylie hoped that was all it would take.

SCENE #16

Wylie couldn’t concentrate. It wasn't Fox's fault, although he was doing his damnedest to be distracting as fuck as they sat at a table in the lounge.

The space was huge. There was a flat screen on one wall with an assortment of gaming systems and DVDs to entertain, computers set up by the long wall of windows for anyone who wanted to use them in their free time, and tables, chairs, and couches placed throughout the area in comforting clumps. Posters and pictures lined the long wall that connected to all the dorm rooms, clearly put up by the patients. The subject matter ranged from popular bands to photos of animals Wylie was starting to think might be of the shifters who attended the Academy throughout the years.

His problem was Dorian, who was currently sitting in a chair across the room and reading. Wylie wasn't sure what he was reading, just that it must be really fascinating to have his attention even though he kept glancing his way every other minute. Dorian's gaze felt like a hot touch and Wylie and his dragon were hyper aware of his every movement. He was crazy hot and Wylie couldn't stop looking.

“Wait, how did you get here?” Wylie asked. He forced his attention from Dorian's curled up form to the fox shifter babbling in his ear. “You were hit by a car?”

“It's those cats, man. Those fucking sassy, snobby, taunting cats.” Fox growled in exasperation. “The thing was just taunting the fuck out of me, climbing the neighbor's fence, jumping to a tree and hissing all angry like. It was, like, begging me to chase it. So I did, but the damn thing booked it into the street. Then bam! Like out of nowhere!” Fox smacked his hand down on the table loudly. “I didn't feel a thing, just went tumbling sideways, rolling on the asphalt. This guy comes running out, bitching about stupid, crazy dogs. I ain't no dog, man.”

He gave Wylie a sober look and leaned forward. “When I told him that, he fucking freaked. Cuz I wasn't a dog; I was a scrawny-ass kid bleeding in the middle of the road!” Fox roared in laughter and slammed his hands on the table again. “Oh my god, the fucking reaming that guy got when my mama got there! I actually felt sorry for him. When she gets going, there is no mercy.”

Wylie found himself laughing despite the mental image of Fox being hit by a car. He seemed fine enough unless his extreme behavior was like some weird latent brain damage or some shit. Fox was alright. Loud as a rave and ready to talk his ear off, but a nice guy and all fun. “So your parents sent you here after that? So you wouldn't chase cats?”

“Nah, they don't care about the cats. They care more about the fact that I got so caught up I shifted in the middle of the neighborhood in broad daylight and booked it right into a busy intersection.” He snickered. “It's tough. There is just so much going on in the world, man. Hard to remember not to be a fox. I like being a fox. The damn smells alone are awesome.”

Wylie paused at that. His smile dropped as he again caught a glance of Dorian peeking at him from across the room. He hunched forward and leaned sideways until he was in Fox's ear. “What's the sorcerers' deal around here?”

Fox blinked and glanced to where Wylie had been looking. “What, like Dorian's?”

He shrugged casually but then gave a quick nod. “Why don't they ever talk to the shifters? He's the only one I've kinda met, but I know there are more.” Wylie didn't mention that his dragon had picked Dorian as some fucking life-mate after one minute of half introductions.

“Uh, for real?” Fox ducked even closer and whispered so no one else could hear. “Sorcerers are kind of fucked in the head. Totally. Most of them think shifters are lower than actual animals. Like we're trash or some shit. Back in the day, shifters were hunted down by magic users to be taken apart for spells. You really don't want to fuck with that kind of shit, being a dragon and all. Rare types are used for dark magic.”

Wylie straightened and stared blankly at the table before eventually meeting Fox's gaze. “You're fucking with me, right?”

Fox shook his head, his orange eyes wide with sincerity. “Lost my grandpa to some sorcerer psycho. Not for magic, just cuz the freak thought he was better than my abuelo and killed him over some stupid shit like he wasn't a person. I mean, they don't do that shit now. Well, they're not supposed to. And I'm pretty sure no one here has ever done anything like that… But a few of them make you fucking wonder,” he added with narrowed eyes as Vincent came into the room.

“Has he ever seemed like the type too…?” Wylie nodded towards Dorian. His gaze met greenish-gold eyes again and caught when he looked his way.

“Nah, he just keeps to himself cuz he needs peace and quiet. Pretty sure he'd blow up the place after five minutes if he was rooming with me. Dorian’s like the only one to get along with Leo, so that says a lot about him. If a guy can get along with an asshole alpha type, he's either an ass too or really fucking patient.”

He watched as the gorgeous sorcerer combed fingers through his perfect hair as he read. Wylie leaned towards patient. “He smart?”

“Brilliant. Can do just about anything. Even helped me with a spell once. I really shouldn't be unsupervised with magic. Just saying.” Fox grinned widely and leaned forward and forced Wylie to meet his gaze. “Why? You getting a craving for one of the resident magic men?”

Wylie snorted and glared back at the tanned shifter. “Just trying to figure out what the whole sorcerer thing is all about.”

“Sure, sure. No one ever falls for the totally aloof, untouchable, hot as fuck sorcerers.” Fox barked in laughter. “Hey, and the crazy thing they do, that's a total turn off too, right? No one ever likes crazy and hot. Don't know what I was thinking.”

Wylie smiled crookedly. He ducked his head and risked a glance at Dorian again. He had shifted positions, his feet folded beneath him and somehow managed to look even more delicious with his head carelessly resting on his hand. Wylie waited and wondered if he was imagining things. Hazel eyes flashed his way again. Dorian quickly looked at his book when he found him staring back.

His dragon was damn sure Dorian was teasing the fuck out of him. It wanted to go over and kiss him until he very loudly admitted he was hot for him. And then keep kissing him, and then some other stuff he was pretty sure would get him sparking damn crazy.

“Hey, he ever spark around you?” Wylie asked Fox curiously.

“Spark? What does that even mean? Like electrical sparks?” Fox shook his head. “Not something I've seen anyone do…” he trailed off, his eyebrows raised when someone approached their table. “Err… Hey, Vince.”

“Vincent,” the sorcerer said curtly. He spared Fox a condescending glance before he fixed his sights on Wylie and graced him with a perfect smile. “You're the new shifter.”

Wylie found his view of Dorian blocked. He turned his gaze to the new arrival. From his accent, he was pretty sure Vincent was German. “Yeah, that's me. Wylie Doe.” He reached for his hand in greeting, then caught Fox's expression. Fox shook his head and mouthed 'crazy as fuck' to him. Wylie bit back a smirk and lowered his hands to the table. “What can I do for you, Vincent?”

Vincent leaned forward with an enticing smile, his hands placed on the table far too close to Wylie's. He was still blocking his view. It was something his dragon was getting annoyed with even as Vincent gave him a coy look. “Just wanted to say hello. I was new only a few months back. It can be tough getting to know people around here.”

“Or you could just annoy the fuck out of them like Vince does,” Fox added brightly, his smile wicked.

“I'm not talking to you, vermin.” Vincent huffed. He glared at Fox while he threw his long, shiny black hair over his shoulder. “If I was, I'd be talking very slowly just to make sure you could understand.”

“Aw, that's nice of you, Vince, really sweet.” Fox kept stressing the nickname and smirked when Vincent’s glare only grew. “It must be tough being so smart all the time. Learning English in a month and then being so great as to try and teach me. You're an amazing guy.”

“You're mocking me.” Vincent was clearly annoyed at being waylaid from talking to Wylie. “I did learn English in a month and I still speak it more fluently than you do, you four-legged mongrel. Do you shifters even know how to speak beyond growls and barks, or am I confusing that for your native language?”

Wylie raised his eyebrows. He had to bite his tongue when Fox laughed in Vincent’s face and the sorcerer started talking some crazy, racist shit about shifters, Mexicans and for some reason, television. Well, fuck. Sorcerers apparently had their own world of fucked-up compared to shifters, and tree smelling was not on the list.

Fox, though, did not seem to mind too much. He grinned brilliantly the entire time Vincent ranted at him. “You crazy-ass, stuck up, guapo as fuck, wannabe gringo. Stop waving your culo apretado in my face and get lost.” He went to smack the sorcerer on his tight ass, but Vincent held his hand up and Fox stuck mid-motion.

“You did not just say that to me, you boorish fleabag,” Vincent said in disbelief. His gray eyes were narrowed challengingly.

“What, you take the time to start learning my language, Vince?” Fox flashed his fangs, not intimidated in the slightest even though he couldn't move his arms. “Thought it was 'beneath you?'”

“It is, Zorro,” Vincent snapped. He glared when Fox howled in laughter. “Stop interrupting me. I’m here to say hello to the new shifter, not listen to your incessant monkey chattering.”

“Oh, I fucking know why you're over here.” With a determined look, Fox twisted his arms. A wave of magic flickered around his form and released him from the spell. “Get in line, Vince. My dance card is full for the week.”

“You arrogant, lowly, flea-ridden…”

Wylie sat back. He wasn’t sure when the strange display was going to end, but he was pretty certain Fox was heading for a black eye. Given his wicked grin, he was looking forward to it. Cats were apparently not the only thing Fox chased into oncoming traffic.

SCENE #17

Dorian was ready to hex Vincent into a different time zone. Someone confirmed that Wylie was a dragon shifter and Vincent was currently trying to flirt his way into his jeans. Dorian wasn't sure if Vincent wanted to fuck Wylie or take him apart for spare parts. What he did know was he was blocking his view, and was ruining their very intense game of eye contact.

Dorian wasn't feeling quite himself. He was aware of it but wasn't really willing to do much about it just yet. Vincent was an ass and he was feeling childishly jealous and he didn't fucking care. He saw Wylie first… Well, fine. He knocked into him first; he was pretty sure about that. He was definitely the only one to be hissed at.

Dorian had spent the last three hours in the reflection room getting himself into some sort of balance. Except it felt decidedly difficult today. His mind ever strayed to Wylie and his wild eyes and strangely sexy behavior. He needed sex. He couldn't have sex—not without fear of losing control of his magic and taking the damn Academy with him—but he was at least fairly certain that was his problem.

Since he couldn't have sex, couldn't let himself talk to the hot new shifter, and he couldn't beat the fuck out of Vincent—the damn shameless slut—Dorian settled on a cigarette. He snapped his book shut and stood from his favorite chair nestled in the corner of the lounge. He reached for his cigarette case and headed for the door. The table Wylie was sitting at obstructed his path to freedom. Dorian’s eyes narrowed in on Vincent and his stupid super-shiny blue-black hair and skintight jeans. He was considering discreetly cursing a tear into his seams just out of spite when he heard a growingly familiar hiss. His gaze snapped to Wylie, who was staring at him.

“Whoa there.” Fox jumped up when Wylie's arms gave a shudder and scales exploded up over his flesh. “Shit, shit. Vince, don't fucking go near him,” he warned and shouldered him away when Vincent looked about to touch Wylie's nearest arm. Dorian was disappointed; Vincent would have lost a few fingers if he managed to make contact.

“Sorry.” Wylie tried and failed to turn his gaze from Dorian's. “Seriously, sorry.”

“Are you guys like fighting or some shit?” Fox asked when Wylie broke out into another hiss. “Should I get someone?”

“No, it's fine.” Wylie took a slow, deep breath. His eyes were locked with Dorian, who had still chosen not to leave. “My dragon is just a little, um, difficult to understand, is all. It's not angry. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, I swear.”

Fox looked unconvinced and placed himself between Wylie and Vincent. “For real, man, you sound scary as fuck. Could you, like, put the deadly arms away?”

Wylie shook his head; he was struggling internally. “I'm trying. The dragon really doesn't want to be put away right now. I'll just, uh, leave until I get it under control.”

“I was leaving anyways,” Dorian finally spoke. He flicked his cigarette case open. Wylie’s gaze peered down to what he was holding and a look of pure desire moved across his features. Dorian raised a brow and held a cigarette up in offering. He inwardly smirked when Wylie looked ready to lunge across the table. He started walking and Wylie fell into step behind him.

“Wait! I really think you should call one of the masters,” Fox yelled after, but both ignored him.

Dorian wasn't exactly sure what the hell he was doing. His pulse thrummed in his ears as he felt Wylie follow. It was a bit like being stalked. He wet his lips as he reached the outside door. A tremor ran down his spine and heat flooded him from the simple weight of eyes on his back. Yeah, definitely like being stalked.

They stepped out into the growing evening. Fresh air filled Dorian’s senses but did nothing to cool the heat rising in him. When he stopped under the shadowed awning and stared out by the edge of the pillar, Wylie walked a little past him. He was silent as he stared at Dorian.

“Thanks.” Wylie took the offered cigarette gingerly. His clawed hand held the delicate stick with practiced grace as he placed it to his lips. He paused, eyes narrowed on Dorian's fingers when one began to glow. A small, controlled flame sparked to life at the tip. Wylie stood absolutely still when Dorian brought his hand close to his face. His unblinking eyes fixed on his.

Dorian hadn’t expected Wylie to be afraid of him, but there was definitely a wariness in his ice-blue eyes as he lit his cigarette. “You know a lot of sorcerers?”

“No. Never met magic users or shifters before this place.” Wylie took a deep drag. His eyes closed and shoulders slumped. “Hell, that's good.”

Dorian lit his own cigarette. He glanced at Wylie occasionally while he leaned against the pillar. It was much quieter outside. The light was dim enough Wylie had removed his sunglasses half an hour ago. Dorian couldn't help but stare and take in the muscular scaled arms and fierce features that came along with them. He’d never seen a partial transformation like Wylie's. It was an odd balance of human form and soft skin mixed with deadly rainbow-coated black scales. He liked it. A lot.

Dorian wanted a taste. Just a little one. He was certain once he got Wylie out of his system he wouldn't feel so crazy. He was curious; Wylie was new, different, and impossibly hot. If he could find a way to nip it in the bud now, he could prevent it from growing into the dangerous thing it was threatening. If Wylie was even into it.

Dorian was pretty sure he was. He found Wylie again staring at him when he glanced his way. It was pure attraction, raw and very difficult to ignore. He should—he really probably should—but Dorian was having trouble caring about consequences when caught in such an intense gaze.

“Another?” He reached for his case when Wylie finished his cigarette.

“Why aren't you afraid of me?” Wylie stepped closer, clawed hands kept deliberately at his side. “I scare the hell out of me, and I've been dealing with this strangeness since I was eight.”

Dorian held the cigarette up and Wylie leaned the last inch to grasp it with his lips. He lit it with a magical flame. His hand lingered too long before withdrawing. “Eight? That's young for a shifter.”

“No clue. I've been alone for a long time. No parents, no shifters… no pretty mages.” Wylie took another step closer. His nostrils flared as he breathed in Dorian’s scent.

“You ever hurt yourself with your own claws?” Dorian did his best to keep his heart from racing as Wylie edged ever nearer.

“Only on purpose. They move whenever they come in contact with my skin. Soften. Some sort of innate protection.” Wylie tapped the side of his face with a long talon. The tip of his claw smoothed to a blunt point. “I tried to do it with other people but not so lucky.”

“But you can heal them, right? Your saliva?”

“Yeah. Only found that out the other day. Usually people just get hurt around me. Course, most of them I wanted to hurt at the time, don't get me wrong. That's why the arms come out to begin with.”

Dorian’s gaze move down as Wylie took another step. He was so close now he could feel the heat coming off his body. “Is that why they're out now?”

“I don't want to hurt you. It… The dragon would never hurt you,” Wylie said hesitantly. He looked away when Dorian tried to read his expression. “It's just a little weird. I'm trying to understand the creature, it just… It communicates differently from most things. Hisses when it…” he trailed off. He turned back and the softest of hisses escaped from his lips. Dorian shivered and then flushed.

“Why does it hiss?” His fingers itched to pull the nearly spent cigarette from Wylie’s mouth and touch his lips.

“Because it doesn't know better,” Wylie muttered under his breath.

“Yeah, but why?” The slight blush to Wylie’s cheeks was damn enticing. Energy tingled through Dorian the more aware he became of just how close he was. No more than five inches, maybe less if he could edge his shoulder over a bit. “Why does your dragon keep hissing at me?”

Wylie ducked his head and let the cigarette drop from his lips, then stepped on the glowing ember. With an exaggerated posture of calm, he leaned against the pillar Dorian was on. Their shoulders nearly brushed. “He thinks you smell nice.”

It took him a moment. A smile quirked Dorian's lips as more fire moved through him. Shifters and scents were different than people and scents. Liking someone's scent was the same as admitting to being attracted to them. More, it was an attraction that didn't fade the same way a passing crush did.

Dorian stilled and held his breath when Wylie dipped closer and breathed his scent in more boldly. “You're confusing,” Wylie murmured. The bridge of his nose brushed lightly against Dorian's jaw. “You look so calm, so cool and collected, but your scent says so many different things.”

“Does it?” Dorian asked breathlessly. His lashes were downcast while he fought to keep his energy in check. He definitely had it bad. He could normally handle some touch, definitely simple closeness with other people. Everything about Wylie made him feel crazy. He was damn sure he was going to lose it even after his hours of meditation. “What do I smell like?”

Wylie tilted his head and slipped even closer. His clawed hand touched lightly on the pillar opposite Dorian and blocked the sorcerer in. “Lots of things; emotions, thoughts. You like coffee… with cream. And chocolate.”

“I love chocolate,” Dorian agreed quietly. He fought a shiver when hot breath moved over his neck.

“What else do you like? Besides nicotine, caffeine and chocolate fixes,” Wylie teased.

“Oh, the usual.” Dorian dared a glance only to get caught in Wylie's nearly white eyes. His chest felt tight, and sweat trickled down the nape of his neck. He wasn't sure if it was Wylie alone or the fact that he was actually talking about himself, but Dorian felt really flustered. “I try to indulge in the things I can. I really don't have a lot I can enjoy.”

Wylie breathed in again and a low hiss escaped on his exhale. “You're really interesting. You have this wild, overpowering energy radiating from you. But underneath it all, there are these swirling tendrils… Very varied… ever changing…” He leaned closer and moved his mouth to Dorian’s.

“Wait.” Dorian turned his head to the side. His heart pounded in his ears. “I can't… I can't be touched.”

Wylie exhaled heavily. He went to pull away. Fingers curled around the collar of his shirt and held him still.

“I didn't say go,” Dorian amended. “I just can't handle too much without losing control.”

“The sparking?” Dorian nodded and eyed him intently. He raised his hand in offering and Wylie hissed before he ducked down and smelled his wrist. “I'm sorry if I scare you,” Wylie muttered. “I know I'm weird… Really, really weird. My dragon thinks you smell yummy and won't let me put him away.”

Dorian blinked rapidly at being described as 'yummy.' He suppressed a hot shiver as lips brushed his flesh. “I… I don't think you're weird. I've been around here for a while and you're just another shifter.” He tried to feel as impassive as his words suggested. Wylie was not just another shifter. He fucked him up in ways no one had before. Even if he was perfectly normal in every other regard, Dorian was never going to think of him as just a shifter.

“Don't stress over it,” he added distractedly when Wylie flashed his teeth, fangs close to the skin of his wrist. Would they hurt? Would it be worth being cut just so Wylie would heal him after with that tongue of his? If he would lick him, like, everywhere…

Dorian was pretty sure he was in trouble, sparking or not. He pulled his train of thought back to what he'd been saying. “We're all fucked-up in our own special way, that's why we're here. Some of the guys might give you shit, but they're just as messed up with their own problems. You're not weird and I'm not scared of you.”

Wylie shook his head slowly and breathed Dorian in with another low hiss. “I'm pretty sure I'm weird. Especially when it comes to you.” He met Dorian’s hazel eyes, unable to smile it off as a joke. “If you even knew some of the things my dragon was thinking about… Well, you'd be freaked. I'm fucking sure.” Another hiss escaped him and before he could stop, Wylie licked his tongue out and tasted Dorian’s skin.

“Fuck,” Dorian gasped. His entire body jerked from the hot touch of tongue, and a spark flickered wildly off his fingers.

Wylie stilled when he saw the burst of energy. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Probably shouldn't have done that.”

“No, I… I'm in control,” Dorian insisted quietly even as he tried to get his magic to agree.

“Heh, actually meant I shouldn't have done that for a different reason.” Wylie forced his head back and away from Dorian’s hand. “You, uh, well, taste good. That is, my dragon thinks you… Hell, like I said, it's really weird.” He couldn't stop staring. He took in Dorian’s strong shoulders and narrow hips.

Dorian dropped his arm after a moment. He kept his eyes downcast as with trembling fingers he pulled another cigarette out. “I'm sure for a dragon he's normal. I see a lot of weird shit around here and it's just common at this point. You ever watch a really confusing looking pack of animals hunt down a deer and just start eating it? Well, how about seeing those animals turn into guys your own age and insist on eating the thing raw while it's still warm?”

It was difficult to tell, but Wylie thought maybe he was blushing. “That doesn't freak you out?” He leaned his head on the pillar and watched him intently. Dorian had the lightest of red over his cheeks, just a flush tinting his neck, too. Damn, he really wanted to lick him again. The dragon was hissing in his ear and it was difficult to ignore.

Dorian glanced over and shrugged nonchalantly. “Not really allowed to get freaked out.”

“That's not an answer. Are you saying you're afraid of me, but just won't show it because of your condition? Seriously, I can back off. I’ll get a collar or something if that's the case.”

He exhaled a stream of smoke and grinned at the ground. “You're fine, for real. I might have been freaked when I first got here. I grew up with magic but hadn't known any shifters.” He hesitated. He tilted his head as he considered if he really wanted to share the next bit of information. “It's… It's difficult to feel sorry for the deer when my bloodlust makes me want to join in even when I don't have claws or fangs.”

Wylie inhaled sharply. He tried and failed to suppress an image of an olive-skinned Dorian crouched and licking blood from his fingers. Just standing next to him had him hard. For some reason when he thought of Dorian with blood he became hazy with lust. He wasn’t sure just when the hell he got like this, but it was more strange on top of everything else when it came to the dragon.

“I didn't know sorcerers could get bloodlust.”

Dorian looked out at the yard again. His cigarette hung from his lower lip. “Most don't. Some sorcerers in the past acquired their magic through, well, not human means. I can't shift or anything but the masters don't think I'm fully human. Not sure what, but it fucks me up around blood.”

“Do you like it?” Wylie leaned in to breathe the scent of his hair. He knew some shifters got angry around blood, tried to kill things. He really hoped Dorian wasn't one of those types.

Dorian pretended not to notice just how close Wylie was standing. “It gets me really horny, like, beyond my control.” He glanced sideways when his fingers twitched with sparks he fought back. “I have to avoid blood. It really fucks me up… Sex really fucks me up.”

It was a warning if Wylie had ever heard one, and he wanted to dismiss it. He wanted Dorian. Fuck, his dragon wanted him too. And although he would probably be happy to get to know everything he could about the gorgeous sorcerer and his quirky sparks, and stand too close and try to get everything he could from sight and smell alone, he really wanted to touch him, kiss him, make Dorian feel so good he would never want to be anywhere but with him.

“Is it touch?” Wylie wasn’t willing to give up. He might have just met Dorian Black but from his dragon's reaction, he knew he was special. Definitely worth a few magical burns. “Does touch alone mess you up, or is it when you get off? Could you get off safely next to someone?”

With Wylie’s breath warm on his ear, Dorian shuddered from the words and what they implied. His shirt was smoking, he realized dully. Dorian looked down to find that fighting the sparks had not been fully successful. “Could you, uh, step back a little?” He waved his hand over his shirt to spell it from flaming.

Wylie pulled away reluctantly. He moved so he stood beside Dorian instead of practically on top of him. He didn't want the guy to… What? Burst into flames? He really wasn't sure what Dorian would do if he actually lost it. The dragon didn't seem to care. It wasn't afraid of him losing control even though Theodore had been clear just how dangerous Dorian could be.

“It depends.” Dorian had finally gotten himself under control. He turned so he was facing away from Wylie even though his eyes kept straying back. “My magic is so powerful, I can't always contain it in my body. I could probably meditate my entire life away but I'm never going to have enough will to keep my magic locked down when my body is stressed out. And sex… Well, it's a lot of stress going on in the body.” He shrugged and toed a rock on the ground.

“Sometimes I can get off, but only if I'm completely controlled. It has to be slow, planned out, and well, really fucking calm.” He didn't mention that it had only been through masturbation and even then, it was so dangerous he never felt it worth the risk.

“Well, at least you're not crawling up the walls, hard up,” Wylie muttered as his mind whirled. Dorian couldn't even stand next to him without sparking. It would be damn difficult to have a relationship. Hell, just talking about sex, not even having it, singed his clothing.

The dragon didn't want to hear it. The beast was completely fixated. When he considered the things it kept insisting Wylie do—right away, at that—to make sure everyone knew Dorian Black was his and only his, sex was going to be important. “Listen, Dorian, this probably sounds really presumptuous and weird. Is there a way to make it so you won’t lose control of your magic around me?”

Dorian peered over his shoulder, hazel eyes dark in the late afternoon light. He didn't answer for a long moment. “You afraid I'm going to hurt you?”

“Fuck no.” It didn't really matter how powerful Dorian was; he lived with demon arms his entire life. Sparks just didn't compare. “I want to hang out with you. You know, get to know you and stuff.”

“Hang out?” Dorian repeated. His lush lips twitched in a smirk. “Is that your dragon's sentiment?”

A hiss tore through the air and Wylie was suddenly inches from his face, his hands on either side of the pillar Dorian was leaning on. “No. Definitely not,” Wylie said roughly as he kept himself from crossing the small distance. “The beast is a total weirdo. Already told you that.”

“You told me it was weird. You didn't actually tell me what it wanted,” Dorian pointed out quietly. He held himself still, any movement destined to draw them closer. “Should I be worried?”

Wylie breathed in deeply and shook his head. “Nah. We won't hurt you. But it could be really difficult to be around you if you're sparking.” He glanced down at his mouth, unable to tear his eyes from the way Dorian's lips were parted. “You smell insanely good. It's driving me crazy.”

“I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm really not.” Dorian reached forward with a contemplative expression. His fingers brushed Wylie’s flesh as he slipped a silver chain free from beneath the shifter’s shirt and tugged on the metal. “What happens if you go crazy, Wylie? What would your dragon do to me?”

Wylie groaned. He went to pull away but Dorian's light grip on his necklace was enough to keep him in place. “You really don't want to ask me that. The dragon is fucked-up.”

“It's an animal just like all the rest of the shifters' beasts. Simple. Uncomplicated.” With a flick of his fingers, he disappeared the butt of his cigarette in a puff of smoke. “And maybe… maybe I'm a little curious about what a dragon would think is a fun time if I didn’t always spark,” he added with another small smirk.

Dorian really didn't understand what he was doing to him. Wylie barely understood what the hell the dragon wanted, just that it was hot and sweaty. “It likes to hold onto things,” he finally answered. He closed his eyes while he tried to figure out the jumble of emotions and thoughts the dragon was muddling through. “Beautiful things… Powerful. They need to be kept close. Protected. Valued.”

Dorian couldn't help his snort. He bit his lower lip and glanced away before he met Wylie's intense gaze again. “What, like he wants to put me on top of his treasure pile?”

Wylie wished he could laugh, but the dragon seemed determined. “Next to it, maybe. Next to him. You're too important to let out of his sight for long. He wants to protect you. Keep you safe.” He left out the part about how the dragon wanted to love him, touch him and fuck him until Dorian was too sated to ever want to leave. He stayed quiet about how he wanted to lick every inch of him, and heal him so deep he’d never get that wistful, faraway look in his eyes when he talked about not being able to be touched.

Yeah, there was no way he could say that. His dragon was messed up.

“Oh.” Dorian tugged again at Wylie's chain. His fingers tangled in the smooth metal. “What if I wanted to, I dunno, go the fuck out or something? Would he follow me around everywhere?”

Wylie winced as his dragon made a resounding yes in his head. “He'd like to. But if he couldn't, he'd want to mark you so others would know you were his.” Wylie’s eyes fell down to his lips, and he quickly snapped his gaze back up. “Probably every day, really. As many times as it took. Just to be safe.”

“Safe?” Dorian was beyond breathless when Wylie ducked his head closer and revealed pointed fangs.

“Yeah. So no one would dare touch you without knowing they had to go through me first.” He breathed deep and sighed as his scent filled him again. Everything was growing hazy, and Dorian was giving off a delicious tang of sex. “I'd make sure you like it.”

Dorian was thinking it was time to go back to the reflection room. He was beyond hot from Wylie’s sexy tone. Sweat dripped down his back. His pants were too tight and his muscles were tensed in want. They were all very strong warnings to back off he really didn't want to listen to. “What would I like?” he asked hoarsely. He wrapped his hand tighter in the long chain and pulled Wylie close until their breath mingled.

“The way I'd mark you with my scent. So you'd never want to leave.”

Losing it. He was definitely losing it over this guy. Dorian tilted his face up. “Your scent would make me want to stay?”

Wylie smirked. “No, how I get my scent on you. How I touch you. It takes touch—Fuck, I really want to touch you.”

“Your dragon wants to,” Dorian specified breathlessly. God, he wanted Wylie to touch him. He was hard, dizzy, and he would give anything in that moment to be able to feel Wylie's lips on his flesh.

Wylie hissed and glanced down. “You're smoking again.”

“Ignore it.” Dorian released the necklace so he could mend his shirt. “You were saying? About scenting me?”

“I really shouldn't.” Wylie took a step back but froze the moment Dorian's hand touched his face. “Hell.”

“I want to know. Is touch enough?” He let his fingers brush lightly and was careful to pull away when his heart raced too fast.

Lashes downcast, Wylie pressed his lips to Dorian’s fingertips. “He wants to cover you.”

“With scent?” Dorian couldn’t look away from the strange white-blue orbs that burned into him.

Wylie hissed against his fingers. “With cum.”

Dorian shuddered and released a low moan. He pulled away with a gasp and kept his eyes closed to block the sight of Wylie as his body threatened to combust. “Oh fuck.” His fingers started sparking as heat rushed over his skin in a hot wave.

Wylie stepped back reluctantly with a frustrated growl. “Sorry. I told you he was fucked-up.”

Dorian shook his head. He turned and grasped the pillar tightly. Scorch marks charred where his fingers touched the stone. He eventually got his sparking under control. Fuck. Usually he hated all that alpha shit, or at least when Leo said it to him. How the hell was Wylie fucking him up so bad?

God, but cover him? Cover him with cum… He was beyond hard and if he didn't get to a null-collar or a fucking cold shower, he was going to be in trouble.

“How many people has your dragon done that to?” Dorian didn’t dare look at Wylie just yet.

"What, cover with cum?” He huffed and fought a blush. “Like I'm seriously going to let the beast do that? This is the first time I'm hearing about it, and I'm hoping the last.”

Dorian licked his lips. Just him. God, let it just be him. It was dumb. It was so fucking selfish; he could never truly be with Wylie. But he wanted the shifter to only want him that way. Crazy and consuming and fuck, really fucking dirty.

“I should go.” Dorian took another controlled breath in. It was right back to the stupid reflection room for him but, fuck, it was worth it.

Wylie growled and gave a curt nod when Dorian turned to face him again. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry I fuck you up. I just… I just…”

“You like me.” Dorian watched as Wylie flushed and ducked his head.

Wylie raised his gaze back up and met his eyes boldly. “I do. I wasn't joking. I want to get to know you. I get that it's going to be difficult but I don't care. I want to know everything about you.”

Dorian wasn't sure how the hell he could feel hotter but Wylie did it to him. He spent a lot of time shutting himself off from others. He didn’t want to drag anyone into his fucked-up problems. He didn't want to drag Wylie into his shit either. He was someone he could fall for. Fuck, he was already halfway there. It was too dangerous and it was time to stop playing make-believe.

“Dorian…”

Dorian held his hand up and raised two fingers. “I'm going to be straight with you, Doe.” Wylie's eyes widen when the spell hit. He swayed moments before his legs collapsed and his knees hit the ground hard. “You fuck me up, bad. Really bad.”

His eyes moved over Wylie's broad shoulders and strong, scaled arms currently limp at his sides. Dorian pulled a final cigarette free. He lit it with a flash of flame and took a slow hit. His expression was serious as he crouched down and carefully placed the lit stick between Wylie's lips and lingered inches away.

“It's not good to fuck me up. I can't be around anything that makes me feel… Well, just feel.” Dorian sighed and glanced at Wylie's lips again. “I'm sorry you like me. I'm sorry… Damn. I'm just sorry.” He straightened and looked anywhere but at the kneeling shifter.

“The spell will fade in a few minutes.”

He couldn't bring himself to leave. He had to, he knew he had to. He said everything worth saying and now he needed to go find a quiet place and not speak again unless it was about class or spells or stupid, pointless shit. But he couldn't make his feet move.

Dorian glanced again at Wylie. He was strangely still and wasn’t even struggling in the spell. No, he was staring. Those ice-blue eyes moved over him and burned into his flesh.

He couldn't remember wanting during the last three years. Just so long as he never repeated the monumental fuck up that landed him at the Academy, nothing else mattered. He promised to never feel, to never let his heart open if only to protect everyone else. To protect himself from having to lose again.

He would lose. He would. His will was no match for the magic inside him and he fucking knew it.

“Damn it. It's impossible.” Dorian tore his eyes away from Wylie. He turned abruptly and headed for the Academy door. He brought this on himself. He played with something beyond his control and it was his own fucking fault. Selfish. Always, his heart was selfish.

Hopefully Wylie wouldn't be there long. Maybe he would hook up with Vincent and he'd be able to hate the both of them. That would be best. It would be much safer to hate Wylie, than the stupid feeling his heart was choking him with now. Wanting to feel was selfish. He should never have allowed himself a single spark.

SCENE #18

He should have kept his fucking mouth shut. Wylie stood the moment the door to the Academy slammed shut.

Dorian's spell caught him off guard, and his dragon readily submitted to the beautiful sorcerer. It hadn't lasted. The spell wasn’t potent enough to keep him down if he chose otherwise. Dorian looked so upset he thought it better just to stay. Wylie didn't fully understand what Dorian was going through but he could see it was hurting him.

His eyes closed, he waited. The dragon within finally relented now Dorian was gone. His scales slid back into his body and disappeared smoothly. The dragon was thinking and made a crooning full of worry. Dorian responded to them; he was interested and that was a reason to be happy. But he also rejected them with eyes full of such sorrow. The dragon wanted to find him and soothe him, heal Dorian in a way it couldn't. The creature was starting to realize the problem of its ever-sharp scales where it couldn't even touch the one he chose as mate, and didn't know how to fix it.

It was his first time dealing with the dragon when it was being, well, so different from him. While Wylie tried to convince himself to leave Dorian alone before he made him miserable, the dragon demanded they figure out just why their scales wouldn't behave. Because they could. He had never scratched himself unless on purpose. He should be able to do the same for his mate.

The thing was, Wylie wasn't even sure he wanted a mate. Yeah, he was attracted to Dorian, and there was definitely a part of him that wanted to know everything about him beyond just how sexy he was. Just, Wylie wasn't great with relationships. After years shipped from foster home to foster home, he never bothered to lay down roots. When Beck showed an interest—practically jumped him when he'd saw Wylie beating up some punk who was giving him shit—he sort of fell into it. It wasn’t his conscious decision to make B his boyfriend. If Beck hadn't pursued him, Wylie wasn't sure he’d have bothered.

People complicated things. The proof of this was in Diego and Adam; that job would have gone smoothly if Diego hadn't freaked and Adam was more reliable. If he went on his own, maybe selected a less impressive and well-secured house, there would be fewer possible fuck-ups to account for. Maybe that was a terrible way to look at people. He spent a lifetime wondering when the next bought of drama was going to come and how it was going to ruin his life. If not for the drama bullshit of one punk foster kid who took a knife to him over an MP3 player, Wylie wouldn’t have even been in that shit detention center in the center of Roth’s gang territory.

He wasn't sure what sort of drama a guy like Dorian might bring into his life. After seeing the shit his roommate Vincent stirred up, it could be a lot. Dorian hadn't said anything to suggest he uses dragons for parts—very sane compared to Vincent—but who was to say just how honest that was? Wylie knew plenty of people who seemed perfectly normal until they did something to stab him in the back. That his dragon was obsessed just made it more likely he'd fall into something he wasn't prepared for. He didn't know a lot about magic. Theodore thought Dorian was the most dangerous person there, and that probably meant something.

Still, Dorian responded to him. He was playing it cool, but Wylie was damn sure he was into him. It was impossible to hide those fucking sparks, not to mention his hard on. Drama or not, he actually had a shot at Dorian Black and that was definitely worth considering. Just… What the fuck would he do with a mate?

His mind ran in circles over Dorian and his own stupid ass dragon. Wylie finished his cigarette and turned to the door. He stopped short when a wall of muscle stepped in front of him and blocked his path. Wylie looked up and sighed internally as he met Leo Princer's golden glare head on.

“Excuse me.”

Leo didn't move. He stood straighter, his shoulders and arms flexed until he looked near mountain size. Wylie wasn’t sure what Leo was thinking, but he might be about to find out how hard a lion shifter punched.

This was the perfect reminder of how he hated drama. Wylie considered backing off and finding a different way into the building. He quickly dismissed the thought when Leo's nostrils flared and his heavy brow creased until his expression was twisted in a ferocious snarl. He was a fucking alpha lion; backing down would only get him more bullshit from an aggressive type like him.

Resigned, Wylie squared his jaw, tilted his head up and stood taller. “Either say what you're here to say, or get the fuck out of my way.”

Leo growled low in his chest. His expression grew grimmer. “Dorian Black is mine.”

For fuck—Wylie's dragon was out and growling before he could even comprehend. “Damn it. Fuck!” He defied the dragon's demand to stay and fight and Wylie took two large steps away from the snarling shifter. He looked anywhere but at Leo while he fought to get the dragon under control.

All he seemed to do lately was fight the damn scaled beast. The moment he realized he housed a dragon, his life became a battle to stop it from being so weird over blood, mating and now territory.

Unable to stop his growl, Wylie settled in a low crouch on the ground and didn’t lunge across the small distance at Leo.

“Are you listening to me, Doe?” Leo demanded. He took a hulking step forward and stopped inches away to tower over him. “Dorian is mine. Mine! Stay the fuck away from him.”

He gritted his teeth when his dragon rose up to try to get him to fight. Wylie steadily met Leo's angry scowl. “Dorian's the only one who gets to pick who he wants to be with. Stop letting your lion control you. My dragon might want the guy but that doesn't mean I have any right to him. Do you even get how fucking crazy you sound right now?”

Something in Leo changed for a moment. There was a softening of features and a flash of surprise. It was gone before Wylie fully perceived it. Leo snarled and puffed up even larger. “You better smarten the fuck up. Dorian is mine because I'm willing to use everything I have to get him. He's the only one safe around me. And he's fucking hot. Getting you out of the way is worth it for a guy like him.”

His dragon wasn’t listening to Wylie and it was difficult to understand Leo. He made himself stand only because his muscles were tensed and ready to crash forward and tackle him. With his scales out, Leo would be shredded.

“Did you just say, like, kill me?” Wylie got out as he looked at Leo in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I'm fucking serious.” His glare grew and Leo huffed in disgust when Wylie straightened fully. “You're not even willing to fight for him. You're a fucking joke. Dorian is worth killing for.”

Leo turned and stalked away before Wylie had a chance to respond. What that response would be, he had no idea. His dragon growled and clawed inside while he stood still in shock.

Fucked-up. It was totally fucked-up.

Kill him?

The dragon wouldn't settle, and Leo was completely to blame. Kill him. A fight would have been one thing. By claiming to want to kill him, Leo put the dragon in a state of absolute aggression. The bigger problem was he wasn't sure if Leo was joking.

Michael said accidents happened. Actually, he said he could do whatever he wanted and hoped killing was not on the list. Had something similar been said to Leo when he first arrived?

Did he seriously have to worry about Leo trying to kill him?

SCENE #19

It was bedtime before Wylie could get Fox alone and ask a million brimming questions, one far more important than the rest. Thankfully he didn't run into Leo before then. The lion shifter was out in the yard while the others sat down to eat in the lounge. There was a cafeteria, the room full of long tables and plastic chairs, but it was rarely used except for when they had visitors over. Most everyone took their food to their rooms, or to the lounge where there was a microwave and sink.

Ease of access to food was new to Wylie. He was used to being watched like a hawk, just in case his appetite put his guardian into poverty. Hunger was normal, almost as much as not being trusted. The Academy instructors breezed through with friendly greetings and kept about their own nightly routine. No one stopped to glare suspiciously at Wylie for existing. It was really weird and he was still struggling with the newness of it all.

His dorm room was huge; there was no other way to describe it. It was set up for two people but he was pretty sure four could have slept in there and still had plenty of room. Posters littered two walls. Fox's, given the odd array of noble looking animals, colorful muscle cars, and a Brazilian singer with long, dark hair dripping with water as he sang in a downpour.

On the undecorated side of the room, there was a bureau with Wylie's clothes already folded away inside. He found his few possessions, mostly CD's and a beaten up CD player, on top of a nightstand next to the bed he could only assume was his. He sat down. A small smile twisted his lips as he breathed in slowly. The bed actually fit his tall frame, the mattress bouncy, sheets fresh. It was a far, far cry from what he was used to.

Wylie grew up sleeping on worn-out mattresses flat on the floor packed in with a bunch of foster kids just as unwanted as him. Most of the people willing to take someone in like him did it for the money they got from the State, not because they gave a fuck about a shifter kid without parents. In some ways the detention house was better in that regard. State employees ran the building and not the demented individuals who saw abandoned children as an income source. Still, the druggies and mean fuck-ups he lived with at the detention house ruined any good in the place for him.

Fox bounded in from their adjoining bathroom. His silver hair was slicked back, wet from his shower and free from a bandana for a change. Each dorm had a separate bathroom; it was beyond anything expected and he really didn't know what to think of it all. He was supposed to be in prison. Somehow he was in the nicest place he'd ever seen, and that included McPherson's house, which was too cold and empty for his taste.

“Have you seen Will's room yet?” Fox bent forward to scrub his head with a towel roughly. His hair flew up all different ends and rained water all around. “He's got a whole fucking tree in there. He's growing a garden, pretty sure. He can't help it because of his power. I think one of those little maple seeds whirled in and just took root in the carpet one night.” He tilted his head when he caught Wylie's expression and Fox paused his chatter. “Alright, man? First days can be shit.”

His first day had been insane. “Anyone ever die here?” He asked as he watched the scrawny shifter dressed in thin shorts and a tee jump onto his bed.

Fox barked a laugh, snagged a magazine from under his pillow and unfolded it. Wylie learned he couldn't focus for shit; Fox was more coherent when he did more than one thing at a time. “We have no ghosts, no terrible murders and just because Bear is as big as one when human, it doesn't mean he's buried anyone in the backyard. Don't fall for all that rumor shit.”

Wylie sighed in exasperation. “I'm not talking about rumors. Has anyone gone totally berserk and killed another patient?”

“Dude.” Fox licked his teeth thoughtfully and eventually shook his head. “I've been here ‘bout a year now and no one has killed no one. The masters stop any crazy shit before it gets out of hand. Like, if crazy ass Vince tried to spell me dead, Theodore would toast him. He doesn't want to have to listen to my mama bitch about how her baby boy got incinerated at their place.”

He absorbed the information and ducked his head while Fox continued to talk and flip through his magazine. Maybe the instructors only cared if they had really important parents. Was Michael trying to set him up? He hadn’t considered it before but now he couldn’t let the idea go. If he fought Leo, they’d probably send him straight to Daiker…

“Dude, come on!”

“What?” Wylie started when he found Fox in front of him in mid-laugh.

“Come on,” Fox repeated. He grabbed Wylie by the arm and heaved him up. He was strong even though he was toothpick thin. “You should meet Will. He rooms with Chris. They're both, like, half shifters. I don't know how to explain it, just that they're not human and they're not sorcerers. Oh, and if you happen to see Chris in your dreams trying to get with you, don't freak out about it. He's an incubus or some shit. He does it to everyone. I'm not even sure if it's sexual for him or just dinner.”

Wylie stared slack-jawed and let himself be pulled from the room and into the lounge. Forest was sitting on a couch watching a video game on the large television screen. The moment he spotted Fox and Wylie, he leaped up and slid across the lounge in sleek movements. His skin was almost completely black with his leopard pattern. “You guys going hunting?”

Fox took the question in stride while Wylie silently hoped they weren’t going to be killing anything. “Nah, just showing Wylie Will's tree. I think Leo's out there if you're restless.”

Forest sniffed unhappily. With a sharp shake to his head, he fell into step beside them. “Rather hang with you guys. Wylie, I don't know what it is exactly, but I like your dragon. He's cool shit.”

“Umm, thanks?” Wylie wasn't sure just what the compliment was but Fox was quick to agree.

“It's your presence, man. Very calming, very protective—hah, you're kinda like Big Bear!”

Forest knocked into Fox's shoulder and laughed in agreement. “That's totally it! He's like a pretty boy dragon version of Bear. You just know nothing bad is going to happen as long as he's around.”

Wylie scratched the back of his head. He avoided Forest when the leopard shifter tumbled sideways from Fox's returning hip check. Pretty boy? He was tall, had demon arms, and could scare the fuck out of grown men; he wasn't fucking pretty.

Will and Chris's room was five doors down. Wylie peeked through each open door as he passed. He didn't catch sight of Dorian but he had a feeling his room was on the opposite side of the shifters, probably to stay as far from the noise as possible. It seemed a lot of the shifters were nocturnal. Even though they did most of their class stuff during the day, at night they were wild and wide awake.

“Whoa.” Wylie stopped short in the doorway Fox stepped through. There was an actual tree growing in the middle of the room. Okay, not right in the center, but damn near close. Branches wrapped vine-like around the bureau and bed nearest the window. The bed was currently occupied, and Fox jumped next to the stranger almost the same height as the short shifter.

“Wylie, this would be our resident forest sprite, Will.”

Will snorted good-naturedly and rolled luminous sky-blue eyes. He gently shoved Fox away so he could stand and shake Wylie's hand. “I'm an elf, actually. Halfling.” Will was slender, darkly tanned with shiny bouncy brown hair that curved down to his chin. His smile was brilliant. Will was pure magic in a way Wylie hadn’t seen before.

“Halfling?” Wylie’s attention was drawn to Will's feet. Was he floating? He walked like he was floating. It was really weird.

“Yup. Half human, half elf. While you shifters get to change from two different forms, I just glamour my elf parts away.” Will turned his head and swept his hair back. Long, sharp ears flickered into view for a moment before he spelled them to appear normal. “So you're the dragon. Cool. I thought you'd be taller.”

Not sure what to say to that, Wylie let his gaze move to the tree in the room. He slipped closer and touched the bark. It was real. There was seriously a tree in the damn room, along with vines and flowers all over the place by the window. “I like your, um, garden.”

Will beamed as if he grew the tree on purpose instead of lost control of his magic while sleeping. “Thanks. I was worried the masters would make me get rid of it, but Theodore said as long as I don't ruin the walls I can keep it. He even helped me guide the roots out the window.”

Wylie noticed then that, although the ceiling was overrun with leaves, the tree didn't actually sprout through the floorboards. It arced through the window where magic kept the late autumn air back. “Doesn't your roommate mind?”

Fox, who was across the room with Forest, gave a sharp laugh. “Chris was made to be outdoors. The both of them. All of us shifters are jealous of their awesome room.”

Wylie turned and found Justin with an MP3 player in hand sitting on the other bed. Besides Leo, all the shifters were there. They were hanging out so casually Wylie had a feeling it was something they did every night.

Red eyes peered up at him curiously from the bed behind Fox's shoulder. He walked over to greet the final occupant but Wylie's steps faltered when Christopher came into view. He was blue. Sort of. His pale skin was tinted an unnatural bluish gray and his long hair only a slightly brighter version of the color. Chris was about the most alien person he’d ever seen. His blood red eyes assessed Wylie as they stared at each other in silence.

“Oh, sorry.” Fox straightened from where he was leaning over to look at Justin's MP3 player. “Wylie, this is Chris.”

“Um, hi.” He shrugged off the fact he was very much blue. Wylie crossed the space and shook Christopher's hand, only to gasp as heat flooded him. His eyes widened from the simple touch and the predatory smile fixed on him. “What?”

Forest carefully pulled Wylie’s hand away from the incubus's grasp. “Yeah, you probably don't want to touch Chris much unless you feel like spending the rest of the night unbearably hard. He says he can't help it, but I'm pretty sure it's on purpose.”

Fox snorted. “It's totally on purpose. Chris, come on, say something. You're freaking him out.”

Christopher continued to sit silently. It took the incubus a moment as he tore his eyes from Wylie's to look questioningly at the fox shifter.

“We don't read minds, man,” Fox urged and pointed to Wylie, who was beyond confused. “Chris talks to people in their heads. Well, to people like Will, who can do that sort of thing. We can all hear him when we're asleep, but we're not sleeping now.”

“It's a pleasure.” Christopher's voice was a low purr when he finally spoke.

Wylie snapped his gaze back to the incubus. “Do you… Do you really talk to people in their dreams?”

Christopher nodded with the same dangerous smile curled on his lips. “Normal humans are limited. Fragile.” He turned to Justin, who was holding up an ear bud where music flowed out. “I don't have to fear for the sorcerers if I feed on them. And shifters, well, they're perfect. You're a dragon. I like dragons. Their energy tastes exquisite.”

“Uh… Okay.” Those red eyes again burned into his and Wylie didn’t know what to say. The others didn't seem disturbed. Justin was practically in Christopher's lap as he shared his headphones with the incubus.

Forest caught his discomfort and smacked Wylie on the back of his shoulder. “It doesn't hurt. Most don't even remember their dreams. Chris would have to either starve or drain a human population dry to get enough energy to sustain himself. Here with our magic, he's safe and well-fed.”

Wylie stepped to the side so Christopher’s unnerving stare wasn't on him anymore. He turned to the leopard shifter. “No one minds they're being drained in their sleep?”

“Nope. Not the way Chris does it,” Forest said with a wicked grin.

That gave Wylie pause. He followed up curiously, “Even though he's a guy?”

“Duh, we're shifters,” Fox chimed like it was supposed to explain everything. At Wylie's blank look he laughed. “Fuck, I forgot you're, like, totally clueless about your own kind. Let's just say, you're never going to find a totally straight shifter. Sorcerer too, for that matter. Magic basically makes mating possible with any gender. So if you're a magical being or full of magic, your attraction adjusts to compensate for the new possibilities.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously on Fox's ever-smirking grin, Wylie turned to Forest for confirmation.

“Haven't met a shifter yet that wasn't bi, and I'm from a large family.” Forest shrugged. “Some might have a preference but when they get horny, they get over it quick enough. Chris has that making people horny thing down so no one complains when he comes around. It's not like we have much to choose from around here. And his feeding is just the equivalent of a wet dream.”

Wylie bit his lip and glanced over at the incubus, who Justin was chatting with. Was he like the resident booty call for the Academy? The instructors must know since Chris had the power to drain normal humans dry. Or did they feed the incubus too?

Weird. Really weird.

Wylie decided he really didn’t want to know. He took a seat when offered and listened to the others laugh about things which happened recently and not so recently. They were excited to fill him in on life at the Academy. He rarely hung out with others in the group homes. Hell, people were usually so afraid of him, most wouldn't look him in the eye. Wylie didn't have a lot to say, but he enjoyed feeling part of the group of shifters and not fully human paranormals. It was the first time he wasn't hyperaware of how strange he was compared to everyone else. He liked it.

SCENE #20

A weekend and a day passed with Wylie both frustrated and relieved to have the shifters isolated from the sorcerers during the time. Dressed for the day, he was scheming a way to talk to Dorian while avoiding Leo—possibly bum a few cigarettes off him while he was at it—when he was waylaid by Theodore outside his dorm room.

“What?” He couldn't remember doing anything wrong but was still suspicious. He couldn't help it after a lifetime dodging authority. Even though Theodore proved to be damn cool, he was still an authority figure.

“You've been invited to breakfast. Stop scowling.” Theodore hid a smirk and pulled a confused Wylie down an array of halls to a room he would later learn was McPherson's office. Tall windows let dazzling light in and sleek, modern furniture enhanced the tastefully decorated space. Wylie immediately felt out of place.

“Kid, you managed not to get shot.” Collin McPherson was very much alive and in one piece. Wylie stared, dumbstruck to find him sitting at a table to the side of the room.

He hadn't expected to be so relieved to see the old dude looking well and not crawling on the floor bleeding out. “Hey.” He stood uncertainly, unable to think of anything to say now they were face to face.

Theodore rolled his eyes. He grabbed Wylie by the shoulder and marched him across the room. “Sit. Eat. Talk. One day young people will be trained in social situations. Until then, I would prefer to endure your flustering on a full stomach.”

“Thank you for agreeing to have breakfast with us, Theo.” Collin grinned when Theodore sat with a huff next to Wylie. There was a large spread of food on the table, much of it meat, and Theodore had little qualms in filling his plate. “I wanted to see the two of you side by side. It's not every day we have two dragons at the Academy.”

“We hardly look alike,” Theodore pointed out. Wylie silently agreed and hesitantly took some food for himself. Collin looked very different from his memory of the man. Now that he was no longer deathly pale and face not twisted in pain, he had a larger than life presence. His clear blue eyes were sharp and took in everything.

“How do you like the Academy?” Collin asked.

Wylie felt beyond awkward. He pushed his food around on his plate. “It's, uh, different.”

“There's no other place in the world like it.” Collin met Theodore's gaze. “It's a cross between a safe haven and a training ground for troubled paranormals. We were very lucky to get you here considering the only other alternative.”

Wylie nodded dully. His stomach gave a painful clench. “Thanks for that. You, uh, I know you didn't have to do that… So, thank you.”

Collin nodded as he took in Wylie's hunched form and somber expression. “Thank you for coming back and saving my life. It was a brave thing to do in any situation.”

Wylie wasn't sure if it was brave or just stupid, but he was glad he’d done it. “I'm also really sorry I robbed you,” he muttered, unable to meet Collin’s eye. “I don't… It's not something I plan on doing again, just in case you're wondering.” McPherson had invited him into this very expensive looking school slash institution and Wylie didn't want him worried he’d rob the place in the middle of the night.

“I wasn't,” Collin said simply. He had a drink of his coffee. “I created the Academy so that young men like yourself could have a safe place where they wouldn't be judged by their past. What happened at my home was the first time I've seen some mistakes quite so up close, but it doesn't change my stance on things. Every person in this building has done something they're not proud of. It could be they put themselves or others in danger, or forced their loved ones to watch and worry while they struggled to find control which was beyond them. That you chose to face your mistake and the consequences created from breaking into my house was mature on your part. And again, it saved my life.”

Wylie bit his lip and shrugged awkwardly. He didn’t want to be praised; it just made him feel like an asshole for all he fucked-up. “So you own this place?”

“He built it from the ground up,” Theodore explained. “Collin is the sole financial backer of both Academies. He hires the instructors, interviews the potential patients, and makes sure we're equipped with everything an out-of-control paranormal could possibly need. Along with that, he keeps the law enforcement off our backs. Paranormals have a tough enough time out in the world as it is. Collin makes sure to help keep things fair.”

Collin coughed gruffly but gave a small nod. “Yes, that would be about the extent of it.”

He sounded like a fucking saint and Wylie felt even worse about the events that led to them meeting. “You're a paranormal, too?”

Theodore snorted. His violet eyes sparkled in amusement as his golden skin gave off a soft glow. Collin frowned at him before answering. “I'm just a human. Nothing particularly special about me except my ability to invest in the right technology companies at the right time.”

“He's as null as they get.” Theodore’s grin revealed sharp fangs. “Collin still manages to be incredibly helpful. For years he’s headlined the cause for paranormals. No one is more relentless in pursuing change.”

“Oh.” Wylie turned to Collin curiously, his embarrassment forgotten. “Why are you doing so much to help paranormals, then? I mean, not that I'm complaining or anything.”

“I had a sister with a strong magical ability,” Collin disclosed. “She was the first sorceress born in my family and my parents knew little about how to train her. They assumed she'd figure it out on her own. Unfortunately, Melissa was very powerful for her age and had very little control. She had an accident at her high school. She and twelve of her classmates died when the building collapsed.”

His eyes wide, Wylie placed his fork down. “So you…?”

“No, it wasn't quite as direct as that.” Collin’s expression turned grim. “My parents blamed themselves and their ignorance of Melissa's condition. They started pushing for more public knowledge of paranormals in the hopes nothing like that could happen again. It twisted once the media got ahold of it and suddenly new regulations were placed on paranormals. Before we could understand what was happening, they were collecting birth records and created the Registry.”

“Collin's family had strong political ties,” Theodore said. “They didn’t realize there were people out there so terrified of paranormals they were looking for any excuse to get us all tagged, labeled and thrown in Daiker. Collin's been trying to repair what he can after the fact, but as I'm sure you've learned, once a law is in place it's a lot harder to remove.”

“It's been a lifetime of work and still it's case by case to make sure paranormals don't end up in prison or shot on sight.” Collin sighed before he took another sip of his coffee. “Theodore and Michael have, of course, been a great help. I've been blessed to have more than a few patients continue to support paranormals after they leave the Academy. If one positive thing has come of this, the paranormal community has learned to talk to each other. There are still tensions, but they set most aside to deal with the injustice they’re facing.”

Silent, Wylie straightened as he thought. McPherson chose to try and repair a mistake he wasn’t the cause of. In doing so he saved Wylie from Daiker. It wasn’t Collin's fault people exploited his family's tragedy to discriminate against paranormals but he took responsibility for it anyway.

“You guys ever, I dunno, take in really young paranormals?” Wylie asked quietly. He couldn’t help but wonder how things might have been if he lived in a place like the Academy instead of bounced through countless foster homes.

Collin exhaled heavily and shook his head. “There are regulations placed on us. Orphaned paranormals have to be old enough to be their own guardians. In your case, you were legally in a system where you were admitted into the Academy. We cannot, unfortunately, take in children who have no one caring for them. The State would have to agree to place them in our custody, but, to be honest, the government does not look kindly on my institutions.”

“Paranoid bigots,” Theodore growled. “They think we're raising a militia or something equally absurd. Government sources have repeatedly attempted to hack us. They’ve targeted our patient’s private information and addresses. That fence surrounding the compound is not to keep you guys in, kid.”

“Which reminds me. If you do happen to see a stranger in the Academy or scaling the fence, you should find one of the masters immediately, Wylie. Do not engage them,” Collin said gravely. “The others know this but you really weren't given a proper introduction. Anyone daring enough to break in here will be extremely desperate or equally dangerous.”

Wylie blinked at the grim faces turned his way and nodded to emphasize he understood. “Does that happen a lot?”

“No. And we're usually right on top of it. We have the best security system around…” Collin trailed off and deliberately placed his mug on the table. “It's a mirror of my own house's security.”

“Oh.” Crap. Wylie flushed as he met his assessing gaze.

“The thing is, not only do we use advanced technology, but also sorcery to guard the gates. I still haven't figured out how you broke down the wards at my estate. By all rights, you shouldn't have been able to.”

“I don't know. Honest,” Wylie said earnestly. “No one said anything about magic. Adam broke into the security system. That’s all. He's like a tech genius or something.”

“You wouldn't happen to know Adam's last name, would you?” Theodore pressed when he fell silent.

“No. No last names. Can't even be sure it was really his first name. Adam was a weird kid to take with,” Wylie explained haltingly. “He was scared of everything. It took him forever to get the system down, and he damn near freaked when it turned bad. If he knew magic, wouldn’t he be less afraid?”

After a silent exchange with Collin, Theodore got up and pulled out a cell phone. It was probably useless information—really, he didn’t really know the kid’s name. Still, Wylie felt a mix of frustration for not knowing more and pure guilt for snitching the little he had. Theodore left the room and Wylie continued to fidget under Collin’s studious gaze.

“It's okay to eat, you know. It’s not poisoned.”

Wylie scoffed at the terrible joke that hit too close to some of his more paranoid fears. He looked up. “I’m really sorry.”

Collin pushed a serving spoon his way. “I'm not. You would have been stuck in that detention house for another few years and straight into Daiker for something not even remotely justifiable. I feel perfectly fine. Besides some blood loss, I had to clean a very gory mess, and replace my side door. It could have been a lot worse.”

Wylie didn't sense any ill will or deceit from Collin. He slowly relaxed. McPherson was the odd kind of person who would rather help someone than obsess over being wronged.

“This place is weird,” Wylie finally declared around a bite of ham. “Nice, but weird.”

“Sounds like a proper home to me.”

Collin’s words washed over him and Wylie relaxed even more. Temporary. Five years was still a temporary situation. But he was looking at the best five years of his life since discovering his demon arms.

“You're not raising an army here, right?” he dared to ask.

Collin raised his eyebrows in response before he replied gruffly, “Theodore’s been here for years. I still can't get him to stop using his allure around me. If I'm running an army, I'm doing a terrible job of it.”

It reminded him normal people couldn’t fight Theodore’s allure. Wylie grinned. Theodore had no qualms about being an ass even to his own boss.

Collin caught his eye and smirked behind his coffee cup when Theodore returned to finish his breakfast. The three of them enjoyed the rest of the morning in easy conversation.

SCENE #21

Wylie's first session with Theodore to learn magic was later that week. Master Howld taught both sorcerers and shifters how to use Body Magic. It was power which came from within and didn't require instruments or spell work, just focus and will. Not all shifters were capable of doing magic. Many were restricted to the magic that went into their transformation. Wylie was going to find out if he was one of the few shifters who could cast a spell.

Body Magic was taught out of a room down in the basement. It was Wylie's first time under the Academy. The air was cooler and the light artificial. The classroom looked like a damn prison, with walls and floors tiled in dark stone. He later learned the tile was special, imbued with an ability to keep magic from escaping the room and wreaking havoc through the building. Apparently Body Magic was more an art than a science, and it was very easy to have accidents.

Wylie realized a potential problem when he stepped into Theodore's classroom. His class was shared with the sorcerers, Dorian Black included. Dorian was sitting in the back by the entrance reading a book.

Wylie had done his best to give Dorian as much space as possible. Not so much for Dorian or because he was afraid of Leo. He really didn't know what the fuck he wanted from the beautiful sorcerer beyond the dragon's incessant demand to claim him. Wylie could readily admit an attraction to Dorian, even an interest in him. But the damn butterflies in his stomach on seeing him did not determine a boyfriend, no matter how many times he caught Dorian’s begrudgingly interested gaze the last week.

“Just so you know, Forest and I are pretty shit at this stuff,” Fox said in Wylie's ear. He was blind to where he was staring as they moved into the room. “I'm alright if I can keep my focus—which means I'm toast, man. Forest only has a little magic in him and he gets flustered super fast.” Fox slapped the leopard shifter on the back. Forest didn’t look upset in the slightest.

“Most shifters can only do a little magic,” Forest explained. “Although, seeing as you're a dragon, who the hell knows.”

Wylie pulled his stare from Dorian's ducked head and looked to the front of the class. He faltered when he found Theodore gazing at him coolly. He had a feeling the instructor was going to be more than a little controlling about his contact with Dorian in his class. It was proved when Theodore called Wylie to the front of the room so he could ‘observe better.’ Probably for the best. He didn't want to end up going dragon in the middle of class just because Dorian was there looking hot.

“Quiet down,” Theodore called. In moments everyone fell silent and took their seats under his glare. Theodore was not a guy to mess with. “As you all know, we have a new addition to the shifter pack. Wylie, depending on your ability, this may be your only time actually in this class. I want to start by figuring out if you have an affinity to magic. Vincent.” Theodore turned and called the sorcerer up to the front. “Kindly assist.”

With a dazzling smile, Vincent stood and combed his long hair from his face. He missed Dorian's glare. His gaze was fixed on Wylie as he stepped to the front of the class. “Catalyst?”

“Yes. I'll contain,” Theodore agreed. He moved in front of his desk and leaned. “Wylie, stand next to me. Hands at your side in case your dragon makes a move.”

Approaching the two hesitantly, Wylie stopped in front of Theodore. “So… what do I have to do?”

“Just turn, stand there, and don't touch anything.” Theodore nodded at Vincent. He raised his hands and held them over Wylie’s head. “Proceed.”

His eyes widened in alarm. Wylie bit his lip and watched as Vincent raised his arms. As his pale hands hovered above his heart, Wylie felt a shiver of dread. His mouth went dry as power welled up from the young man in front of him. The only magic he experienced first-hand had knocked him flat in the jail. Vincent constantly argued with Fox, and Wylie had little trust in the volatile sorcerer.

Not sure what to expect, Wylie barely noticed when the spell started. He was too busy fighting his dragon back from its want to defend. One moment he was struggling to keep from transforming his arms and the next a bright light flared powerfully. Wylie scowled. He ducked and used his arms to cover the sunglasses on his face to block the light.

“Well, that answers that, I think,” Theodore drawled. The light faded and Wylie could look up safely even though dark dots obscured his vision. “Alright, Vincent?”

Vincent nodded. He was holding his hand over his eyes and kept blinking. “He's strong. Wasn't expecting that.”

“Yes, well, dragons do tend to camouflage. Wylie, take a seat up front for now. I'm going to have the others work on their planned projects, then instruct you on how to tap into your magic.”

“Oh… So I have magic?” Wylie looked to the side so that Theodore's face was more than just a blur from the gray spot in the middle of his vision.

“Yes. I suspect your dragon has been sitting on it along with a lot of other abilities.” Theodore guided him to the nearest seat. “Seeing as it made itself known just recently, you may be in for a few surprises.”

Wylie lowered himself into the desk chair and refrained from responding. His surprises ranged from bloodlust to mating. He didn’t want any more. “Is it important I learn this stuff or can I kind of go on never knowing magic?” He finally asked under his breath while pushing his sunglasses up so he could rub his eyes.

Theodore grinned humorlessly. He shook his head sharply and bent down to speak in Wylie's ear. “Let me give you a list of common magical traits in dragon shifters. We’ll start with allure; for dragons always sexual, extremely powerful and usually innate. Combustion when angered; in other words, yelling fire. Night vision. Spitting acid. Crooning others into a state of unconsciousness. Charring…”

Theodore sounded like he was going to go on forever. Wylie raised his hand in defeat. “These are things I'm trying to learn?”

“No, these are things you could start doing as you grow and you need to train to be able to stop. For instance, your reliance on sunglasses. You're already suffering from night vision issues,” Theodore answered flatly. “Bad enough you've got every head turned your way. Hopefully, your allure will not be as strong as my family's.”

Wylie started. He glanced behind him and found that, sure enough, he was being stared at by the others in the class. “That's just because I'm new,” he whispered with a glare directed at Theodore.

“Sure it is.” Theodore returned a mean smirk. “Keep your ass still and let me get them set up. Something tells me teaching you magic will not be as simple as I'd like.”

Theodore stepped away and Wylie sighed darkly. He’d read about dragons that weekend from a book Bear recommended. There was a lot to digest and he still wasn't sure what was myth and what he should actually anticipate. Given Theodore’s list, more than he hoped. Spitting acid—fuck, what a pain.

Theodore returned and grabbed a chair from beside Wylie and pulled it to the front. He sat and fixed him with a sober look. “The first thing you need to understand is you're going to be very resistant to magic when in your shifted form. Not just magic thrown at you, but your own magic. Dragon scales have a natural insulation to magic. It keeps your magic in and magic attacking you out. This means if you find yourself in a situation where you have some psycho sorcerer looking to kill you with magic, you want to be in your shifted form. And if you're in a situation where you need to use magic, you want to be as soft and fleshy as you can get. Clear?”

Wylie really hoped neither situation was ever going to occur. “Yeah. Human to cast, dragon to shield.”

“The other thing…” Theodore frowned and glanced over Wylie's shoulder before he turned back to him. “Because you're a dragon who has magic, you're already twice as likely to be sought out by a dark art user. I don't say this to frighten you, but to be frank. Your name is in a government paranormal database with the word dragon next to it where anyone can filter through and find it. You want to know how to defend yourself, kid. I know magic can seem like a fuck ton of problems and well, hell, it can be. But you're going to want every advantage you can get because people will try to fuck with you no matter how much you keep your head down.

“You're a dragon and this is the burden that comes with it. It's why we're nearly extinct. It's why it's no shocker to find you parentless and in the custody of the State. Your parents were probably hunted. Dragons are usually taken out families at a time, not individuals.”

Wylie never questioned if his parents were alive. He assumed he was abandoned because no one wanted to raise some terrible kid with demon arms. Had his parents been hunted down and killed by sorcerers? Had they tried to save him by giving him away?

The thought was a fire to his senses and he sat up straighter. He was alert to everything Theodore said. “What do I have to do?”

“Let's start with your eyes. It’ll give you something useful to go along with the burden.” Theodore didn't smile and Wylie had to wonder what he had gone through as a dragon shifter. “Body Magic is about focus and instinct. It's about knowing yourself. It’s about being able to shut the world out around you and feel inward until you find your core of power. So we'll start there. Close your eyes and slow your breathing.”

He did as instructed and tried to block the other noises from the room. The only problem was, the moment he decided he didn't want to hear anyone else, it seemed they got louder. It became an intrusion he was focused on trying to silence. Brows furrowed, he peeked an eye open and found Theodore looking at him expectantly. “It's too loud.”

“Better to learn with distractions than expect conditions to be perfect. When you have someone trying to kill you, you don't get an option to shut the world up so you can concentrate. The more you do this, the more instinctive it will become.”

Wylie growled and closed his eyes again. He took a deep breath and focused inward.

SCENE #22

Dorian couldn't help but stare at Wylie's back. His shoulders were extremely interesting. They were broad and muscular, and his t-shirt did little to hide them. He was supposed to be creating a small orb of power, something which could be thrown at an enemy or hidden away to restore magical reserves if low. He could make one in five seconds flat and seeing as Master Howld wasn't paying him any attention, he felt his time was better spent checking out Wylie.

He wasn’t surprised when Wylie's power had flared bright and blinding. He knew there was something special about the dragon shifter. Well, beyond his very sexy hisses.

He hoped the feelings would fade. He hoped if he resolved hard enough he wouldn't want to look at Wylie. Certainly wouldn't want to be near him, touch him, kiss him as bad as he did. He managed to avoid him but he couldn't keep himself from looking, just as he couldn't stop himself from wanting.

“Fuck. Stop talking shit!” Fox hissed. He struggled to keep the pulse of magic in his hands contained while he glared at Vincent who was on the other side of Dorian.

“Just said you're fucking it up,” Vincent replied with a bored drawl. His own orb of magic floated above his desk and illuminated him in a soft glow. “You have no proper focus.”

“I'd have focus if you'd stop—shit… shit, shit, shit!”

His eyes wide, Dorian turned in time to see Fox juggle his hands. The power flowing between them flashed out erratically. Dorian's own magic shielded him an instant before a thunderous crack shook the air.

Shouts rang out as the others ducked down. Thick smoke billowed into the small space and drywall rained from the ceiling. Dizzy and confused, Dorian waited until Theodore spelled the ceiling back into one piece before he slowly unfurled from his protective hunch.

It wasn’t the first time Fox had blown up the classroom. It was, however, the first time Dorian was right next to him when it happened. His ears still rang in memory of the explosion. He ruffled his dark locks free of fallen dust, then lifted his head hesitantly. He really hoped he wasn't going to find pieces of the shifter all over the classroom in a gory explosion. Fox talked too much but he was a fun guy in general.

“Fuck,” Dorian gasped before he could stop himself. He was face to face with Wylie. The dragon shifter was practically on top of him, his black-scaled arms wrapped to either side of his desk in a position of defense. When the fuck did he get there?

“You okay?” Wylie hissed lowly. His eyes were a glowing white amidst the dark smoke of the room.

Dorian could see his shirt was torn from the blast. His thoughts slammed to a halt when he realized Wylie had moved fast enough to actually shield him before the explosion hit.

“I didn't need your help,” Dorian heard himself snap. Inwardly he winced at how petulant he sounded. But fuck, no one had tried to shield him before, and Wylie was the biggest idiot ever. His magic protected him while other people died. Wylie would be better off worrying about himself and the others in the room.

He swallowed hard when Wylie continued to stare. Those intense eyes kept moving over him to assure he wasn't hurt. Dorian began to notice just how close Wylie was hovering over him in his seat. It really didn't help that his shirt was threatening to fall off. Strong, toned muscle melded with scales filled his senses. Through the smoke, Dorian could even pick up the scent of sweat and flesh; very much the same scent he remembered from when Wylie had almost kissed him.

“Fuck.” He closed his eyes and fought back a groan. Sparks jumped off his skin despite his best efforts.

“Sorry,” Wylie muttered and straightened. Dorian felt more than saw when Wylie stepped away and crossed back to his seat at the front. When he dared to open his eyes, Wylie was watching Master Howld numb Fox's hands.

“Do you need a collar, Dorian?” Theodore’s tone made it clear he knew exactly why he was sparking and he didn't approve in the slightest.

Dorian shook his head. He fixed his gaze on his desk and forced his mind to go blank. He didn't know just how the fuck Wylie did it to him, but he needed to find a way to stop it. He had no interest living in a null-collar the rest of his life, no matter how hot Wylie was.

SCENE #23

“I am so sorry, man. Seriously. Like, I was distracted and-and I never would have done anything like that on purpose.”

“I know.”

“If it wasn't for that stupid wannabe gringo… Seriously, Dorian, I didn't mean to nearly blow you up, dude. It was an accident, I swear!”

“I get it, Fox,” Dorian said distantly. He barely heard him as he buzzed in his ear. He just wanted to get to the reflection room and breathe. He spent the last hour doing his best to not even think about Wylie Doe and now he needed to actually be as far away from him as possible before he did something stupid.

God, he was feeling really fucking crazy.

“Thank god for Wylie, man. I mean, fuck, he was just right there making sure no one got hurt. I don't think I've known anyone to be so cool after just getting here. Yeah, he looks all punk with his clothes and crazy eyes and all, but he's just such a big softie under it all.”

Dorian stopped short. He turned and glared at the scrawny shifter. “Did he send you over to talk to me?”

With an awkward grin, Fox raised his eyebrows. “Uh, what?”

Dorian just narrowed his eyes. “You know, to work on me. Get me to like him more.”

“Err… What? I was just apologizing, man.” Fox scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I didn't mean to…”

“Where's my apology, Zorro?” Vincent stepped up behind Fox. “You nearly blew me up too, you know.”

Fox snarled and whirled on him. “You're the fucking reason I lost my focus, you damn ass! Too fucking bad if you nearly got blown up. Serves you right!”

Dorian barely heard as the two began to argue. Fucking Wylie. Seriously. He couldn't even have a simple Body Magic class without distracting the fuck out of him. He was amazing at magic yet all he did the last hour was try to keep from sparking over the damn lunatic who had shielded him.

Fuck. Fuck, Wylie made a damn sexy shield.

Dorian scowled and went to duck around Fox and Vincent, only to have the two nearly step into him when Wylie waved to Fox from across the hall. When Fox went to talk to him, Vincent boldly followed.

Fucking Vincent. Dorian glared and held back a very nasty swear when he heard Vincent thank Wylie for shielding him from Fox's out of control spell.

Wylie had shielded him and only him, not that damn shameless slut. Vincent just happened to be on the other side of him and protected from the blow. Fucker. The stupid, annoying fucker.

Dorian was moving before he even realized it. He stomped up to the group of them and grabbed Wylie by his magically repaired shirt. “You need a smoke.”

“I do?” Wylie blinked and stumbled forward when Dorian jerked him down the hall. A hiss escaped him right before black scales erupted over his arms. Dorian avoided them with ease.

“Yeah, you fucking do.” Dorian looked straight ahead and led the way to the nearest exit. He shot Vincent a deadly glare just in case he dared to follow.

He might not be able to have Wylie, but he sure as fuck wasn't going to let Vincent have him.

SCENE #24

The autumn afternoon air was still warm. Wylie carefully lifted his sunglasses and tested his light sensitive eyes while Dorian pulled him outside away from the others. Theodore's trick worked; his eyes were no longer in night vision mode the way his dragon preferred. He glanced over at Dorian, who was quiet now they were alone. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled a cigarette from his case.

Wylie was considering giving up on smoking if only because he had no fucking access to cigarettes. He was told the patients were allowed to go out during the weekends, but since he was dealing with special restrictions from the judge, he probably wouldn't be able to leave the Academy grounds until he saw his parole officer later next month. Dorian had the one thing he craved and it seemed too dangerous when he was trying his damnedest to stay away.

It didn't help that Dorian kept throwing him mixed signals. After spending the week avoiding each other, he forcefully dragged Wylie out the door. And even though Dorian looked particularly distant and cool as he held a cigarette up in offering, Wylie and his dragon could read so much more going on underneath the surface.

Dorian was clear they couldn't be anything, but it hadn't stopped the sorcerer from wanting it. He was out there and inviting him closer. His hazel eyes were sharp and filled with something wild. It said more to Wylie than any of Dorian’s previous words of impossible.

Dorian wanted him, crazy hissing dragon and all.

Wylie carefully plucked the cigarette from his grasp and let Dorian light it. He no longer worried about being burned when the sorcerer's finger lit up in a flame. “Sorry about earlier. Didn't mean to make you start sparking.” He watched Dorian carefully and caught the slightest of tics in his jaw.

“It happens. Forget about it.” Dorian jumped up to sit on the thin banister that overlooked a row of shrubs. His shoes locked in the metal rails to keep him from falling.

“Pretty sure you're upset.” Wylie stepped away to lean on the side of the building.

Dorian glared at him and looked away after a moment. Smoke streamed from his nose. “Just drop it. I'm handling it. At least Master Howld was there with a collar if I lost it. But I didn't because I'm fucking handling it.”

Dorian's foot kept tapping on the rail. Wylie swore he could taste his agitation. “Did I do something to piss you off? Well… besides my dragon overreacting and playing hero.” At Dorian's glare, Wylie felt he guessed the issue.

“I didn't need your help. I can take care of myself just fine.”

Wylie nodded and took a slow hit of his cigarette. He tried to find a way to show he didn't think Dorian was some fragile, weak princess. He didn't. The shielding was instinctual. He hadn't even known what he was doing when he threw himself across the room. At the strange shift of magic in the air, his dragon had reared up and then moments later he was basically wrapped around Dorian with his back shredded from the force of the magical blast.

“I get that you're powerful, Dorian. I just can't get the dragon to listen all the time. He's got his own ideas on how he wants to be around you.” Wylie’s smile was bitter. “He knows you're powerful. He just wants to protect you so you'll never have to worry about anything bad happening.”

It was apparently the wrong thing to say. Wylie sighed when Dorian jumped off the railing to scowl at him. “Stop it. Don't fucking talk to me like that,” Dorian demanded in exasperation. “I was clear; there's no fucking winning me. I can't be with anyone so just… Fuck, I have a lifetime of loneliness ahead of me. There's nothing I can give you, so stop making me, well, feel!”

With a growl, Dorian tore his cigarette case from his back pocket. He pulled another one free just to suck it down in seconds once lit. Wylie watched him silently while he picked through his words. The damn dragon wanted to grab him and hold him until he settled. Dorian would probably only get more upset along with sliced up from his scales.

Wylie almost kept his mouth shut. He was wary of what kind of reaction he was going to get from the twitchy sorcerer. At least Dorian wasn't sparking, about to burst into flames or whatnot. “What about the null-collar? If you want to be with someone, why not just wear the collar?”

Dorian glanced his way. With a shrug, he lit another cigarette. “I have issues with the collar. It's a crutch. I have to spend the rest of my life with this fucked-up disorder and…” He raised his shoulder. With a frustrated sigh, he turned to Wylie with arms held wide. “I have to give up on the shit I want. I have to. It's just irresponsible to put others at risk over something so selfish.”

Wylie tried to hold his tongue. It was no good, and he pushed from the wall and debated if he should just leave. Dorian was pacing and looked about to break something. Damn.

“Since when?” Wylie found himself speaking. He knew he was about to make a total ass of himself.

“What?” Dorian whirled on his heel to glare at him.

“Since when is personal happiness selfish? What, you're just supposed to wait around for someone to allow you to be happy? Do you seriously think anyone else is crying over total strangers every time they want to get laid?”

Dorian pursed his lips and didn't answer. He began to pace again, his head ducked as he stared at his shoes. “You wouldn't understand, would you? You're just dealing with… what, exactly? A hissing disorder?”

Wylie narrowed his eyes at the cutting tone, but refrained from snapping back. Dorian wouldn't be impressed with his close call with Daiker, and there was no way he’d willingly implicate himself in Collin McPherson's shooting.

“I can't shift fully and my arms are deadly whenever they're like this.” Wylie moved closer. Dorian sidestepped him and kept walking. “Still, I'm going to do everything I can to not hurt anyone and learn how to control my shifting better. My claws can slice through metal with ease but I've never hurt anyone I didn't mean to. I'm not going to stop living my life just because I have fucked-up demon arms.”

Dorian huffed in exasperation and shook his head. “It's easy for you to say. You really can't understand. Maybe if you were one of the crazy shifters who can't control his beast, but you're not.” He stopped in front of Wylie and looked up into his pale eyes. “My magic is like another entity inside of me. It's nearly alive and impossible to communicate with. The thing is, it doesn't want to stay inside, it wants out. Out of me.” Dorian looked so desperate, his golden-green eyes wide as he tried to get Wylie to understand. “When it gets out, it kills. That's all it does. I spend every day trying to keep my magic from killing people.”

“Dorian…” Wylie sighed. He ducked closer and breathed his scent in. His dragon could taste Dorian’s distress and all Wylie wanted to do was hold him, kiss him, take his pain away. Instead, he could only stand there, inches away, and wish for so many things he couldn't have.

He bumped the bridge of his nose against Dorian’s jaw and said softly, “That just makes it more important to find ways to have fun. Enjoy life.”

Dorian shook his head but didn't pull away. His hands hovered inches from Wylie's chest. “I can't.” He carefully wrapped fingers into Wylie’s shirt and tugged. “I just can't.”

“You can. You've been given a crappy deal in life. It doesn't mean you have to fucking accept it. Take everything good you can get.” Wylie forced Dorian to meet his gaze. “Who cares if it's selfish? That's just a word people say to make you feel bad about wanting things they're too afraid to go after. Be selfish. Be selfish with me.”

Sparks shot up over Dorian's skin. His eyes closed as he released a small groan. “Damn it.” He took a step back and spelled away smoke from his shirt with a wave. He bit his lip and edged further from Wylie, his eyes averted. “Yeah, well, like I said, it's really easy for you to say. You don't have to worry about killing people if you lose control.”

Wylie did worry about killing people but not from a lack of control. “Have you tried? Have you honestly tried to see if you can win against your magic?”

“Of course,” Dorian grunted. He turned away completely. “I meditate every—”

“That's alone,” Wylie interrupted. “You do it all alone with no one you're sparking over. That can't be the same as trying to control it while being touched. If you don't really try, then how do you know?”

Dorian growled under his breath and turned back. Defiance was tight in his stance as he tilted his chin up. “What the fuck do you know? Really? You just fucking got here and you think you know how shit works? You don't know fuck, especially about me, so just shut it.”

Wylie bared his fangs and kept himself still as Dorian flashed gorgeous angry eyes at him. He was crossing the line, he knew it, but he didn't fucking care. He was head over heels for this damn frustrating guy and Dorian wasn't even going to attempt to figure out a way to be with him. And it wasn't like he didn't want him. If there was one thing Wylie determined, it was that the sorcerer was as messed up over him as he was for Dorian.

“Let me know when you're done copping out,” Wylie said coldly. He stood taller.

“Fucking—” Dorian snarled. He turned away angrily only to spin back with two fingers raised. Wylie watched impassively. He wasn’t surprised when his knees went weak. His body crumpled down abruptly when the spell hit him.

His fingers twitched in agitation as he fought back sparks. Dorian glared down at Wylie and reached for another cigarette. He lit it silently, took a drag and exhaled with a sigh.

“You were saying?” Dorian lips were twisted in a smug smirk but his eyes were hard with anger. “You don't know shit and you should watch your mouth.”

Wylie could already feel the spell abate. The weakness left his limbs almost as quickly as it hit. He kept himself still and knelt on the ground. He didn’t want to upset him any further. The way Fox talked, Dorian didn't get angry ever. Right now he looked like he was ready to go up in flames and take the Academy with him.

“You know, it's really easy for you to talk,” Dorian muttered angrily. “You didn't fuck up so bad that someone died. I can tell. I've seen killer shifters go through here. You're not one of them. It's not so easy to tell with sorcerers.” Dorian shook his head agitatedly. With a growl he scuffed the ground with his shoe. “Some sorcerers kill and you should be careful. You should definitely watch your ass with that sociopath, Vincent.”

“So you killed someone.”

Dorian blinked in surprise. His shock was replaced with a scowl when he met his gaze. “Right, the dragon shields magic. What are you, fucking pitying me right now by pretending my spell works?”

Yeah, he was pissed about everything. “I wasn't pretending. It worked enough to knock me down. It just doesn't last very long.” He gauged Dorian's expression carefully before he added, “I didn't want to upset you anymore and, well, I want to be able to be around you as long as I can.”

“Fuck, just stop.” Dorian threw his arms up in exasperation. “Stop being so fucking perfect. Get angry. Hate me. I'm treating you like shit and I need you to hate me and leave already.”

Wylie was pretty sure Dorian was the one who dragged him out so they could be alone. Both times, actually.

“Why? You can just make me, right?” Wylie shifted back until he was sitting on the ground. “If you really want me to go, you can just magic me.”

Dorian groaned. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, and pulled at his locks in frustration. “I can't. I keep trying but I can't fucking stop myself.” He crouched down in front of Wylie, his eyes alight with anger and something unreadable.

“Listen to me, Doe. Before this fucked-up illness, if some strange shifter came up to me, knocked into me the way you did—yeah, by accident—and then hissed like that, I would have hexed the fuck out of him. I was an absolute asshole. I thought I was better than every other person on the damn planet because I could do just about anything I could imagine with my power. I didn't even have to try. It was all so fucking easy for me.”

Dorian tilted his head towards the Academy with a frown. “I had friends back then, people just like me. We all thought we were better than everyone else. We spent our weekends going out and fucking up people's cars, bursting pipes in public places. It was a game to change the clothes on strangers as they walked by and see if they noticed. Sometimes just strip them entirely if we were feeling mean enough. I didn't give a fuck about anyone or anything.”

Wylie wasn't sure what Dorian wanted from him. He looked desperate for him to understand. “Dorian…”

“No, listen.” He held his hand up. “One day I was fooling around with one of my friends—an arrogant, beautiful, fun as fuck guy I couldn't stop thinking about. I was feeling beyond hot. I never felt that hot for anyone. The first spark, it was funny.” Dorian's glare was molten, his tone bitter and savage.

“I sparked whenever he fucking touched me, and wasn't it just a goddamn joke? We were laughing about it the entire day until we finally got some time alone. Then he pushed me up against a wall, shoved his hand down my pants and my magic incinerated him and half his fucking house in an instant. Do you fucking get it now, Wylie? I'm not worth chasing. I'm not worth looking for some kind of solution around this shit. I'm a fucking monster and you shouldn't want a goddamn thing to do with me.”

Dorian's emotions had grown too great and he growled as sparks rushed over his skin. Refusing to meet Wylie’s eye, he sprawled back on the ground and tried to get his breathing under control.

Dorian was fucked-up but it was over shit that wasn't even his fault. He acted like being alone now was some sort of punishment for being a shitty teenager. Wylie had yet to meet a teenager who wasn't totally selfish and full of mistakes.

There was a strange numbness forming in the pit of Wylie's chest. He wasn't sure exactly what was happening, but he needed to fix Dorian and there was only one way to do it.

“I tried to kill someone,” Wylie said, his expression completely blank.

Dorian looked up at him in confusion and just raised his eyebrow. “What?”

“When I was eight. I tried to kill a man,” Wylie explained emotionlessly. “I nearly did kill him. He was hurting my little sister and I was so scared, so angry, my dragon woke up for the first time just so we could kill that horrible man.”

Wylie's jaw clenched at his next words. His chest and throat were too tight as he looked away. “I remember it. It never fades like my other memories. I bit his face with my fangs and tore the flesh from his cheek and ear. I sliced his throat with my claws when he wouldn't stop screaming. My sister was crying. She was scared of me. She was more afraid of me than of the man, and she kept crying for me to stop.”

He needed him to understand. Wylie turned his gaze back to find Dorian staring at him. “I didn't stop. I didn't want to. I wanted to kill that man. I didn't stop until I tore his dick off so he could never hurt my sister that way again. And I would have killed him if she hadn't begged me to stop because I didn't want to see her cry anymore. Still, even now, I dream about finding him, killing him.”

Wylie unclenched his fists. He forced his hands down flat on the ground. His long black talons were sharp and twitched to cause violence.

Dorian didn't say anything for a long moment. “Why are you telling me this? You know it's not the same. What you did—”

“It's not the same,” Wylie agreed solemnly. Dorian fell silent from his glare. “You had an accident, Dorian. A really fucked-up, terrible accident that resulted in a person dying. Parents lost a son and a house in one go. But you learned. You're not an asshole any more. I can tell. The other guys only have nice things to say about you, and shifters don't bullshit about people.”

Wylie snarled and added harshly, “What I did was on purpose. And yeah, it might have been vengeful, righteous—whatever. But the feelings that fill me up aren't. They're horrible, hateful, murderous thoughts and emotions. I have to live with them because I invited them into my life. You're fine, Dorian, and you don't need to keep punishing yourself for not knowing your magic was too strong. How the fuck were you supposed to know? You're the only one with that problem here.”

Wylie pushed himself up and stared at the top of Dorian's bowed head. His hair was a perfect mess. “I'll try harder to control the dragon so he won't bother you. I won't bother you. You deserve so much, Dorian. You deserve someone who can make you happy.” He shook his head and stepped backward. “The dragon doesn't get that, but I do.”

He turned and headed for the door to keep from seeing the disgust he knew would be in Dorian's eyes. His scales tucked in as he left.

“What happened to your sister?” Dorian called.

Wylie stopped short. “Don't know. The Andersons gave me up right after. I scared them. What I did to that man scared them so much, I wasn't worth loving.”

Wylie glared straight ahead as he wrenched the door open. He slammed it shut behind him and disappeared into the Academy.

SCENE #25

Dorian continued to sit. He leaned back and stared up at the clear blue sky as he tried to make sense of everything.

Fucked. He was so fucked.

There was no other way around it. Fucking Wylie Doe and his goddamn wild eyes and crazy arms and damn sweet, protective nature. How the fuck was he going to get out of this now?

He was falling. The stupid ass tried to tell him probably the darkest fucking thing in his life he could think of, and it just made him want Wylie more.

Fuck… Fuck.

He couldn't even feel fucking sorry for himself anymore!

Dorian snorted to himself. He let his eyes close as a soothing breeze flowed by. He sighed heavily up at the sky,

Shit, what a total pain in the ass. Some freak raped the kid's little sister and Wylie's adoptive parents didn't thank him for protecting the girl. No, they went and threw a little boy away because they didn't know how to take care of a miniature shifter. Eight. Fucking eight years old.

How the fuck did you get over that? Save a life and get punished for it.

Fuck, compared to people like that, he felt like a fucking decent human being. If someone touched his sister, he’d kill him, and his parents would help.

Fucking Wylie Doe. The kid fucked him up. Not even there a full two weeks and Wylie had completely fucked him up. What an asshole.

SCENE #26

He never should have told Dorian that. He’d never told anyone what happened and Wylie couldn't understand just what the hell possessed him to spill his guts like some fucking idiot. Fuck!

He was a freak, an absolutely terrible person. The Andersons had known and that was why they gave him away. Sure, he felt sad when he'd been thrown into the foster care system, but he never bothered to be angry at his old adoptive parents. He understood. He was a horrible, demonic creature and his arms proved it every time he shifted. Naming him a dragon didn't mean he was any different from when he first tried to kill.

Evil. The hateful feelings he felt whenever he thought back to that horrible incident… He was the worst of the worst.

It was almost as if he had to become something more horrible than the man who hurt his sister for him to be able to cross the line to kill him.

At least Dorian wouldn't have to worry about sparking around him now. He wouldn't ruin the sorcerer's life anytime soon. There was no way he would want him after knowing what he had done. What he was.

Wylie may have failed, but that want to kill defined his dragon from that moment on. Before the Academy, it was all the creature knew. The quest for death, for blood spilled and flesh torn, all in quiet dark dreams sleeping inside him. Dorian may have brought new feelings out in the beast but it didn't absolve it from the one which was there all along.

Hate. You don’t kill with love; you kill with hate. That was all Wylie knew and he could understand why his parents would not want someone like him after that.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Wylie looked up and blinked in confusion. Fox was standing in front of him along with the rest of the shifters. The lawn was golden and dry from the cold weather and spread out in all directions. Bear had taken them out to shift into their beast forms and race. Wylie couldn't remember walking with the group to get there. “Huh?”

“Did you check in with Dr. Rob?” Worry crept into Fox’s orange eyes. “You were right there when that magic exploded. I know dragons are supposed to be able to heal super-fast, man, but I'd feel like shit if you ended up fucked-up after all this. You were like, so amazing and—”

Wylie held his hand up and attempted to smile reassuringly. “I'm fine, Fox, really. Just spaced out for a second.” He couldn't handle hearing just how fucking wonderful he was at the moment. Shielding Dorian was instinctual. Not that he was upset he had. Wylie was glad he was there for Dorian no matter how many times the sorcerer might say he didn't need his help.

He ducked his head and pretended to pay attention to Bear. He did his damnedest to ignore Fox when he once again went over the incident of last class, now telling Leo, the only shifter who hadn't been present at the time because of his poor magical ability. All Wylie wanted to do was hide himself away somewhere. Preferably where it was dark and no one would ever be able to find him. He had read that some dragons liked to burrow underground for the winter to hibernate. It sounded like a damn fine idea.

God, what was he thinking? He didn't fucking know Dorian. He didn't know anything besides the fact he wanted to know everything he could about him. Dorian had incinerated his boyfriend. No wonder he was fucked-up about being around him and sparking after such a terrible accident. Shit, and wasn’t he just a total idiot to tell Dorian to be selfish?

Dumb. He was so fucking dumb sometimes. He just kept opening his mouth around the gorgeous guy and said the worst possible shit ever. He was the selfish one. He was crushing, his dragon was insane about Dorian, and he was just being a total fool.

And now Dorian knew how horrible he really was.

Wylie sighed. He buried his face in his hands and then ran fingers through his short hair. Well, that was it. There was no way Dorian would look twice at him now. No matter how much he liked him. He could throw himself in front of a train and Dorian Black wouldn't think twice about him.

It was for the best. What the hell could he offer a guy like Dorian besides his retarded mouth and stupid acts of heroism? He had shit for an education and was probably never going to do anything with his life. He’d been moments away from Daiker prison and, knowing him, in five years after he left the Academy behind, he'd just fuck something up and end up in Daiker anyway.

He was a fuck-up. Always had been and always would be. He wanted to be different, wanted to be something more than what that one incident did to him, but it was a losing battle. He tried to join a gang to get enough money for college. What kind of fucking idiot did that?

“Leo!”

“What the fuck did I tell you, Doe!” Leo suddenly hollered. Wylie only had a second to turn before a huge, hard body slammed into him. It knocked him across the grass and to the ground.

His head hit the frozen ground hard. Red and white flashed behind his eyelids for a timeless eternity while everything spun in nauseating jerks. A roar split the air. Fur and heat suffocated him with unbearable weight. Deadly teeth sank into the juncture where his shoulder met his neck, clamped shut, and then pulled to tear.

Wylie’s eyes snapped open. He grabbed the lion's muzzle with both hands. His talons sliced into Leo's face as he tried to pry the shifter's jaws away from his neck without his throat following.

SCENE #27

“What the fuck?” Vincent turned and saw Will run down the hall past the lounge only to be outrun by Theodore. The red-headed instructor took flight, summoning a forceful wind to whisk him to the exit.

Dorian glanced up from the book he’d been failing to read since calming down after his talk with Wylie. He watched with mild interest when Vincent walked toward the windows. His shiny, long hair shimmered as he tilted his head. Moments later, Vincent bolted out the door and down the hall to the exit.

Okay.

Dorian got up and left his book on his chair. He didn’t bother to peer out the window. If Vincent was running, it was something interesting. He rarely did anything that might mess up his hair unless it was important.

Or really crazy, Dorian amended once he was outside and Leo's roars could be heard. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. He stopped short when he saw the circle of patients. Between their legs was flashes of the two shifters fighting while the others gave them a wide berth. There was blood everywhere. Whose, Dorian couldn't tell, just that Wylie and Leo's lion form were covered.

It was probably Wylie's. His pale skin and scaled arms were completely dwarfed by the huge, black-maned lion as they grappled on the ground.

Theodore had reached the group and Bear was holding the other shifters back. Dorian crept up behind where Vincent and Will were standing. His eyes were fixed on the tangle of fur and limbs as he tried to figure out if Wylie was okay. Vines rose up the instant another roar rang out. Will's power shielded them when Leo went flying through the air.

At first, Dorian thought Theodore spelled Leo away. Then he caught sight of Wylie through the crisscross of branches. Wylie surged after Leo's fallen form and growled angrily. Blood poured from his neck and down the front of his shirt.

“I told you it's his choice!” Wylie’s eyes blazed white. His hands were gripped in fists to keep his claws from slashing as he followed after Leo and slugged the lion on his bleeding face. Dorian bit his lip when Wylie leaned over, grabbed the lion by its mane, and lifted him up as if he weighed nothing instead of the damn near ton of pure muscle.

“Wylie, think about what you're doing,” Theodore said tightly. He hadn’t interfered, even though his presence was a wall of protection for those standing behind him.

“I'm not doing shit,” Wylie growled. He lifted Leo higher. “The stupid fuck just jumped me and tried to rip my throat out!”

Dorian could see Leo was unconscious, the lion limp in Wylie's clawed hands.

“Then why are you holding him?” Theodore’s fingers twitched as if he were moments away from spelling Wylie flat on the ground.

“So you can put one of those stupid collars on the kid without losing your fingers,” Wylie said with a ferocious snarl. His features were twisted in animalistic rage. Theodore made no move to approach and Dorian really couldn't blame him. It was his first time seeing Wylie full out pissed off and in dragon mode. It was intimidating as fuck. Not to mention super-hot.

When Theodore coolly raised his eyebrow and stood taller, Wylie abruptly dropped Leo. The lion hit the ground heavily. “Fine, put a fucking collar on me. I don't care. Just as long as that stupid fuck is collared too so he doesn't pull this shit again. I wasn't even talking to him! He just jumped me. Ask anyone.”

“I'm not here to discern who started it. I'm here to make sure no one is killed,” Theodore said as calmly as possible. “Now stop waving your arms and turn so I don't have to subdue you.”

Wylie glared at Theodore for a long moment. With a huff, he turned his back to the instructor and kept his arms tight against his body to set Theodore at ease. “He started it. I was just defending myself.”

“I am well aware.” Theodore clipped the null-collar around his bleeding neck, and Wylie’s scales retracted instantly. “If I thought for a moment you were out here in a rage attacking shifters, my dragon would have been out and handling things very differently. Now stay still and let me deal with Leo.”

Wylie kept his head ducked. His now human hand came up to gingerly touch the torn flesh of his shoulder and the heavy metal collar pressing into his wound. Dorian barely noticed what Theodore was doing to collar Leo. He edged closer so that he was in front of Wylie. Wylie's face was streaked with dirt and blood. The flush of anger to his skin was just starting to fade as he hissed in pain.

“Arrogant, hotheaded dickhead,” Wylie muttered. He winced when his fingers touched his torn flesh too hard.

Dorian didn't know what he wanted to say to him and wasn't able to figure it out. Bear held his arms up. “Alright, I want everyone in the lounge. Except you, Fox. You're dripping red and bloodlusting. Master Howld's got this, so let's go.”

Wylie looked up at Bear's yell. Dorian started when he met his gaze. Fuck, he was in total trouble. He could feel the magic surge through him from just that simple, hungry look. Dorian licked his lips and let himself be ushered with the rest towards the Academy. Theodore was left to bring Wylie, Fox, and Leo to the hospital and Dr. Rob.

“He totally kicked his ass,” Forest told Will quietly. He glanced in Bear’s direction before continuing. “There's no way Leo isn't going to be whipped after this. All Wylie had to do was touch him. He didn’t even go for the eyes or anything. Actually, if you had been there in the beginning, you would have heard the noise. Pretty sure Wylie broke the bones in Leo's face when he pulled him off his neck.”

Will, a half-elf and not one for violence, flinched at the mental image. His tanned face went pale. “It's a wonder he didn't kill him.”

“Yeah,” Forest agreed. “Cuz it would have been fucking nothing for Wylie to do it. Fox jumped on Leo to get the asshole to back off—Wylie was human when Leo jumped him—and Leo tossed Fox away like nothing.”

Will gave him a look and Forest smiled sheepishly back. “Hey, don't count Fox out. He's small but he's scrappy. I sure as fuck wasn't going to get my ass beat by Leo. What I'm saying is, I didn't realize just how strong dragons were. I bet Wylie could have destroyed Leo if he wanted to. Easy.”

“Guess he didn't want to,” Will said after a moment. Dorian barely heard as his blood roared in his ears.

If at eighteen Wylie could take on a muscle bound, oversized shifter lion with ease, then at eight he logically could have just as easily killed one human creep. Wylie hadn't said the man fought him and won. No, Wylie stopped because his sister begged him to. He’d been in control of his dragon from the very beginning in a situation where most shifters would have been lost to their beasts. Yet Wylie thought he was as bad as the ferocious monsters locked up in Daiker.

“Why were they fighting?” Dorian asked Forest once they reached the Academy doors.

Forest shrugged. “It's Leo; he was probably going all territorial. Wylie's the first alpha to come in here since he arrived.”

Dorian frowned at that. “Wylie's not an alpha.”

“Yeah, he is.” Forest gave him a sardonic grin. “You clearly haven't been reading about dragons like the rest of us.” The guys at the Academy did their own research when a new type of shifter or paranormal came through. It helped them understand the new patient so they could be more welcoming. It also helped them know what not to do so they didn't end up in pain or worse.

“When he says alpha, he means Wylie's a leader type, not the testosterone man-idiot type,” Will explained. “A proper alpha. That he can make decisions like not kill Leo while fighting for his life proves it. If someone had attacked Leo like that…” He didn’t need to continue. Leo would have gone nuts and killed. No question.

Dorian digested this new bit of information. He stopped Forest before he could disappear into the building. “So is Wylie like your new pack leader?”

Forest thought about it a moment. “I don't really buy into the whole pack thing. But I was also a minute away from jumping on Leo's back just like Fox. I probably would have but I was keeping Justin from doing something stupid, the damn crazy wolf. So I'm gonna say yes. Sure as fuck not telling Wylie though,” he added with a fanged smirk. “Talk about lame… Are you okay, Dorian? You look kind of flushed.”

Dorian caught himself and gave a quick nod. He let Forest step into the building while he hung back. He actually wasn't feeling okay at all. Actually, he was pretty sure he needed to get to the hospital.

SCENE #28

Wylie hadn't expected to be back so soon in Dr. Rob's care. He didn't mind too much. He was glad to be away from everyone else and not on display. Everything felt crazy and he just wanted to be alone.

It was strange being in the null-collar. His dragon was silent for the first time in ten years. With the magic that supported the creature flatlined, the dragon was curled up in a cocoon of fuzz. It was asleep and Wylie could feel things for the first time. He now saw where he ended and the dragon began.

It was unsettling. The dragon was a large presence inside of him he always had to be aware of to make sure it wasn’t influencing him. With it silent, Wylie could see just how little the creature’s personality infected his own. He was the same without the dragon as he was with. There was no one to blame but himself.

He didn't even look different. His eyes were the same strange white-blue, teeth a little too sharp, body still strong and toned. Once Dr. Rob healed him and Theodore repaired his clothes, Wylie couldn't even be sure he'd almost been mauled to death by a lion.

No, not almost. He nearly killed Leo. Wylie didn’t have to wonder how things would have gone if Leo hadn't finally stopped coming at him. The understanding of how simple it would be for him to kill never got easier, even when faced with a shifter.

Theodore believed his story. He didn’t even have to prove anything; Theodore just believed him. Sure, Bear was right there and could confirm everything with the instructor but Theodore didn’t even asked. He just believed because Wylie told him. It felt good. Having Theodore trust him felt really good. So good, in fact, he finally asked Theodore something he’d been thinking about since his first day there; would he help him transform properly? Theodore’s yes held only the slightest of gruffness in his voice.

Leo was subdued when he woke up healed by Dr. Rob. Wylie had watched the process with rapt fascination. Mild and friendly, Dr. Rob became a different person when healing. Wylie was starting to think the doctor might be closer to something like Will and Christopher, and not fully human at all. When Dr. Rob raised his hands over Leo's form, the healer glowed, and transformed in a way both awe-inspiring and beautiful. Once Leo's deep wounds were mended, bones intact, left paw no longer mangled beyond recognition, Dr. Rob then turned back to normal. After he watched it, Wylie wasn't even sure if anything really changed in Dr. Rob. One moment he was otherworldly and the next he donned his familiar calm smile and puttered around the hospital room.

“Do I have to stay?” Leo asked roughly. He was doing his damnedest to look anywhere but at Wylie. Fox was already gone with a story bubbling from his mouth as he went. He was healed and none the worse for wear. Wylie had no interest staying in the hospital with Leo, no matter how spacious the room was.

“Can you walk? How's your head?” Dr. Rob handed Leo a vial of something blue.

“I'm fine,” Leo grunted and downed the potion in one go. “Just let me keep the collar on.”

Dr. Rob’s lips quirked. He took the empty glass container once he was done. “Oh, I was going to suggest something along those lines. I want you back here immediately if you start feeling any head pain or internal issues. It's not something to…”

“Walk off. I know, Doc.” Leo rolled his eyes. He stood and towered a foot over the doctor. “Thanks for patching me up.”

“Yes, well, I would prefer if you stop coming in here looking like death, but these are the compromises I make.” He clapped Leo on the back and led him to the exit. Wylie watched out of the corner of his eye from his seat on the bed. Leo glanced his way once; there was something hesitant in his usually raw expression. Wylie didn't get a chance to decipher it before the mountain of a lion shifter was out the door.

“And how's your head?” Dr. Rob crossed the room to peer down into Wylie's eyes. “I can heal a lot, but head trauma is a tricky thing. Do you still feel dizzy?”

“Only a little,” Wylie admitted. “But I don't know if that's from being collared.”

Dr. Rob nodded and straightened. “I'm afraid the collar will have to remain for the next twenty-four hours. We have a blanket rule at the Academy. Anyone involved in fighting must be collared at least for a day. Otherwise those animalistic impulses could take over in a quest for revenge.” He fixed Wylie with a pointed look from behind his glasses. “Lions don't like to lose, especially alphas. Leo might seem okay now but his beast is going to have a lot to say about things once his collar comes off.”

Wylie sighed heavily. “Seriously? Why can't he just back the fuck off already? I haven't even said, like, two words to him since I got here.”

“Well, from what I saw, you were clearly the victor. Hopefully, that might put his lion in its place.” Dr. Rob flashed him a calming smile. “Just don't let your guard down. Leo's a tough read at times.”

It felt like everything was against him today. Wylie sighed again and rested his back against the metal headboard of the cot. “Do you care if I hang here for a while? I don't… The last thing I want is to hear everyone talking about the fight.”

“Not a problem. I'll be in my office if you have any head pain. You may have some tenderness on that neck wound but it shouldn't scar.” Dr. Rob turned to go.

Wylie stopped him with a softly asked question. “You guys… You don't just let guys kill each other here, right?”

Dr. Rob turned back and didn't mince words. “If Theodore hadn't been on Academy grounds, Bear would have physically restrained Leo to the best of his ability. Bear’s options are limited since he lacks magical ability. He refrains from letting his beast fight because it's very easy for him to harm someone, but if it saves a life, he will. To be clear, Wylie, you are one of our deadliest shifters. We're all here to make sure you don't hurt anyone, no matter how aggressive Leo tries to get slaughtered by a dragon.”

His stomach swirled with an odd mix of relief and dread when Dr. Rob left. Wylie was glad to know the Academy instructors were prepared to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone. They understood how dangerous his dragon form was. Still, there was something terrible about it.

He didn't want to be thought of as a deadly shifter. He wanted to be more. Like Justin; the werewolf was so dangerous during the full moon they shut the Academy down to make sure no one was hurt. But no one treated Justin like he was a horrible creature. And Justin, well, he sure didn't act terrible. Wylie didn't want to be the guy everyone ran from. He wasn't sure what he wanted to be known for, but he knew it wasn't that.

SCENE #29

“I need a collar.”

Wylie opened his eyes when a familiar voice drifted across the room. He must have dozed. The adrenaline of the fight had drained his energy and his eyelids felt heavy. From his bed, he could see the back of someone as they waited in front of Dr. Rob’s partially open office door.

“Your power appears contained, Dorian.” Dr. Rob opened the door wider and stood outlined in the entrance.

“Just trust me on this.” Dorian tilted his head towards the glass cabinet full of null-collars. He waited patiently until Dr. Rob relented and got one. He took the metal instrument when handed to him, circled it around his neck but refrained from clasping it. “Could you, uh, leave us alone for a while?”

Dr. Rob's dark eyes blinked in surprise. He glanced at Wylie, who looked just as baffled, and then back to Dorian. “I'll be in my office if you need me.”

“We won’t need you.” Dorian waited for Dr. Rob to close his door, then turned and stalked toward Wylie. He stopped in front of his hospital bed. Dorian’s hazel eyes were more gold in the warm afternoon light and looked intense when he stared down at where Wylie was propped on the pillows.

“Hey.” Wylie watched him with a combination of alertness and curiosity. There was a look to Dorian, something determined and hungry. Wylie couldn't help but stare when he grasped the ends of his null-collar and snapped them together with a deliberate flourish.

“I need to tell you something.” Dorian pulled the curtain around the bed and blocked the two of them from the rest of the room.

Wylie sat up straighter. His eyes were drawn to where Dorian was reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Okay.”

“You don't bother me. The hissing thing… I like it.” Dorian slowly pulled his shirt over his head. Wylie held his breath as smooth olive skin and toned muscle was revealed beneath the long-sleeve shirt. “I'm not afraid of you, like, even a little. Nothing you have done or said has made me afraid of you. Clear? Nothing. Not even about how your dragon woke up.”

“Uh, alright.” His eyes wide, Wylie bit his lip when Dorian got on the bed and straddled his legs. He was beautiful. Dorian’s hazel eyes blazed as he stared down at him. His bare skin was warm and his nipples were dark, alluring spots on his chest. “Anything else?” Wylie’s heart quickened the closer he got.

“Yeah.” Dorian leaned forward and grabbed the headboard on both sides of Wylie’s head. “I don't touch people. It's dangerous, it's selfish, and I never want to kill another person because of my magic.” Their noses brushed, and Dorian’s lips and hot breath tingled against his skin. “But I need to touch you. Just once. So I don't go crazy wondering what it would be like.”

Wylie held himself impossibly still. He felt Dorian's breath hitch right before he tentatively pressed forward, his lips hot on his. It was a jolt of electricity. Wylie gasped and his hands came up to grasp Dorian’s shoulders while he struggled to hold back. Their eyes met and Wylie let his fingers curl around his biceps. Dorian’s flesh was hot and flexed beneath his touch. Lashes downcast, Dorian brushed their lips together again. A sigh escaped his parted lips when Wylie tangled fingers into his hair and pulled him closer.

Dorian's lips were firm and wet. He swayed forward and his mouth opened hesitantly to the slide of Wylie’s tongue. “Oh.” Dorian's breath hitched again. His exhale was unsteady as he touched his tongue to Wylie's. His hand carefully pressed to the nape of his neck, then Dorian's fingers combed through his short hair and fanned wide. He made the softest of gasps when Wylie scraped his teeth on his lush bottom lip.

Dorian's hands were trembling when he dared to slide them down the front of Wylie’s shirt. Wylie tried to keep still. He could feel Dorian’s vulnerability in every tentative kiss and touch. He didn't want to scare or push him too fast. It was just getting difficult, especially when Dorian began to trail open-mouthed kisses down his neck while teasing fingers into the waistband of his jeans. Each touch to his flesh was a spark of fire. Wylie groaned in warning when Dorian pressed his hips tight to his body.

“Dorian…” Wylie grabbed one of his maddening hands. It was no use; Dorian quickly pressed his other palm to Wylie's erection and rubbed him through his jeans. “Fuck.” He groaned and rocked his hips up into the perfect touch.

Dorian’s eyes were glued to where Wylie's dick was hard and hot in his hand. There was only a layer of material between them. He gasped when fingers wrapped around his wrist. He looked up questioningly with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“How far have you gotten before?” Wylie pulled him closer and pressed lips to his jaw.

“Not… not very,” Dorian admitted breathlessly. Wylie licked down his throat and gently nipped with sharp teeth. Dorian moaned. His hands rose to grasp Wylie’s shoulders for balance. “Hell. I forgot how good it feels.”

Wylie released his wrist and ran his palms down Dorian’s bare back. “Being touched?”

“Yeah. It's like being numb after a while.” Dorian eyes fluttered shut as Wylie's hands moved up his sides in firm strokes. “It feels so strange to have my heart race again. To sweat. Feel.” He opened his eyes. Wylie saw so much emotion flicker across his face when he leaned in and kissed him slowly. When Dorian pulled back, his brows were furrowed in worry. “I fight it all the time. Feeling things. I think… I think I might have forgotten how to give in.”

Wylie tilted his head and caught Dorian’s bottom lip between his teeth. He tugged gently and rubbed his tongue over the trapped flesh. Dorian moaned into his mouth and melted forward.

“You're doing fine,” Wylie murmured as he slid palms over his smooth flesh. Dorian’s heart was fast and strong under his hands. Sweat was just starting to trickle down his back and over his hips. When Dorian rocked against him, Wylie could feel he was hard and definitely enjoying himself. “You're perfect.” Wylie reached down and grasped his ass, then squeezed hard. Dorian groaned and thrust roughly against his stomach.

His movements were bolder when Dorian rolled the hem of Wylie's t-shirt up. The material stretched for his hands, which he smoothed down the planes of Wylie’s back. He pushed the pillows out of the way. “I like your shoulders.”

Dorian slid the shirt higher until Wylie relented and pulled it over his head. Now revealed, Dorian kneeled back to drink him in. He took in Wylie’s pale skin and strong muscles. His gaze was eventually drawn to the silver chain that hung down the center of his chest. “You have really nice abs.” Dorian licked his lips. He pressed his fingertips to Wylie's stomach and felt the muscles flex in response.

Wylie was doing his best to not grab him. He desperately wanted to push Dorian down and kiss him hard, make him beg. He was impossible not to want. Dorian's breathing was ragged. His eyes were hazy and cheeks flushed. He teased fingertips down the thin trail of hair that led from Wylie’s bellybutton to his dick. Every touch was driving him fucking crazy.

“Dorian,” he gasped when shaking hands tore at his fly.

“Hold on.” Dorian rested his forehead against Wylie's jaw while he unfurled his zipper. “I just want to… Oh.” He exhaled heavily. He scrunched Wylie’s jeans down his hips and rolled his underwear as low as the space would allow. Dorian’s tongue came out to lap at the light stubble on Wylie’s jaw. “You're big.”

Wylie's eyes closed when fingers slowly slid along his shaft. He wanted to fuck him. So bad. But Dorian was inexperienced and probably fucked-up over the death of his last boyfriend. He wasn’t sure if it was alright to do much more. It was just so hard to hold back. He’d never wanted anyone like this, and Dorian was teasing the fuck out of him with his soft touches.

Dorian sat back on Wylie’s thighs and watched transfixed as his cock grew full and rigid under his fingers. “Have you ever…?” Wylie tried to ask. The words caught in his throat when Dorian met his gaze.

“A few hand jobs.” Dorian wrapped his fingers tighter around his shaft. His thumb caressed his tip in slow, maddening circles. “A few blows… I can't even remember the last time I masturbated. Damn.” Dorian bit his lip, and gave him a light squeeze. He groaned when Wylie's dick jerked in his grasp.

With his jaw clenched tight, Wylie struggled to keep in control. “Dorian… Just… God, that's good.” He was losing it. Fucking losing it. Dorian’s strokes were almost painfully light and it took everything in him to keep from grabbing his hand and thrusting into his palm. “Serious, I get that you don't want to rush things…” he trailed off at Dorian’s wicked grin. Moments later, Dorian shimmied down his body. Wylie could only growl when he realized what he was up to. His vision dimmed for a moment from the feel of hot breath on his dick.

Wylie stared up at the ceiling and clutched the sheets as Dorian's wet lips parted around the head of his cock. Slick flesh slowly wrapped around him and engulfed him in heat. God, he needed to stay calm. Needed to go slow and not lose it over the amazing, fucking perfect guy who barely remembered what it felt like to be touched. Wylie gasped when Dorian took him in deep enough to hit his tonsils, his tongue curved tightly to his flesh. “Oh fuck.”

He dared to look down. Wylie fought back a groan even as his hips rocked up against his will. Dorian just held him tighter and took his length in eagerly. His ass was high in the air as he knelt over his legs. Wylie’s eyes narrowed and breath came out in heavy pants. He grasped Dorian by his dark hair and pulled until he looked up at him.

He drank the sight of him in; he took in Dorian’s flushed cheeks, dazed hazel eyes and swollen red lips dripping with saliva. He was incredibly sexy and Wylie was done holding back. “Get up here.” Dorian gasped at the rough tone of his voice.

Dorian sat up shakily and Wylie surged forward and pushed him back so his head was at the foot of the bed. He pinned Dorian under his heavier body and kissed him hard and consuming. Dorian whimpered. He wrapped his arms tight around Wylie’s neck, his legs spread so he would settle between them. Wylie couldn't keep his hands still. He touched Dorian everywhere he could reach and loved how he practically melted against his flesh. He sucked rough, dark welts on his neck before he moved down to his chest and laved roughly at his closest nipple.

Dorian threw his head back with a cry when Wylie nipped the bud. His fingers clenched into his broad shoulders. Wylie moved lower. He breathed against his flesh, tasted down his flat stomach and lapped into his bellybutton.

“This alright?” Wylie asked gruffly as he nipped Dorian’s slippery stomach. His hands lingered on his hips. He ached to push his pants down.

“Please.” Dorian’s hips jolted up and he pushed Wylie's head lower. “More.

With a growl, Wylie found the button to his khakis and got his fly open. He sat up and Dorian lifted his hips so he could pull the material down his legs. Dorian stared up at him with a heated look in his eyes. He helped kick his shoes off. The expensive leather clattered to the floor where pants and briefs swiftly followed.

Paused in his crouch, Wylie looked him over. His body was tense with every damn thing he wanted to do to make Dorian feel. Dorian was panting heavily. He stared up at him with a mix of anticipation and nerves. His bare skin was flushed and erection heavy and enticing in its nest of soft dark hair.

“I'll stop whenever you want,” Wylie promised as he gazed into his eyes.

With a roguish smile, Dorian rocked his hips invitingly. “I know.”

There was something about being trusted by Dorian that made Wylie both dizzy and ridiculously proud. He settled his arms on both sides of Dorian’s hips, lowered down and pressed his face into the dark trail of hair that ran from navel to flushed cock. He breathed deep and smirked when he felt Dorian gasp. He liked how sensitive he was and the way Dorian’s body pulsed beneath him full of need. Wylie tilted his head and found the straining crown of his dick. The flesh was dark and hard. He licked a slow trail from his balls all the way to his tip.

Dorian choked on his cry. He raised his arm and covered his mouth to try to muffle his gasps when Wylie began to suck him. Wylie could still hear him fine enough. Each jerk of Dorian’s body and whimper from his lips drove him on as he kissed down his shaft. He sucked every inch, then slid up his swollen crown and used his tongue to tease mercilessly. Precum dripped down. Wylie greedily lapped the fluid and probed into his slit for more.

He wanted to make sure Dorian felt all of it. He needed it to be the best fucking blow job ever. Even if Dorian couldn’t be touched again, Wylie wanted to make sure this one moment was memorable.

“Fuck. Oh, I don't…” Dorian grabbed him by the hair when Wylie pushed his knees up and delved deep between his thighs. Wylie's tongue teased determinedly into his crack. It was hot, slick and maddening. With a hard swallow, Dorian hesitantly met his gaze when Wylie pulled back. “I don't know if I, uh, like that.”

Dorian’s hair was disheveled. His cheeks and neck were bright red and lips insanely tempting. “Do you want to find out?” Wylie asked hoarsely. He carefully read his eyes. Dorian was raw emotion and vulnerability. It was the most expression he'd seen on his face since meeting him. “You know, since you're here, in a null-collar, wondering what things could be like.” He kissed Dorian’s inner thigh and slid his fangs over the sensitive flesh.

He moaned from the sensation and Dorian let his legs be spread wider. He unwound his fingers from Wylie's hair to arch back on the bed. It was answer enough. Wylie pulled him closer by his hips and nuzzled into his crack. He wasn't surprised when Dorian gasped at the first touch of tongue to his pucker. He went slowly. He lapped gentle swirls and wiggling thrusts that barely breached so Dorian could get used to the sensation.

It didn't take long; each wet stroke was driving Dorian crazy. Dorian whimpered and rocked his hips as he tried to get Wylie deeper. Wylie used his thumbs to spread his cheeks open, and with a groan he drove his tongue in deep and hard. Dorian cried out as his entire body jolted.

That was it. He just needed to get him loose, wet, and fucking dripping inside and out for him.

“Wylie…Wylie, god, that's… fuck. Fuck.” His legs flexed on the bed. Dorian grabbed the edge of the mattress above him and tried to rock against Wylie’s restraining hands. Wylie refused to let up. He plunged in again and again. He spread his hole wider with his thumbs and tongue and tormented him until Dorian was breathless and pleading for release.

Wylie lifted up, face flushed and chin wet. His eyes moved down Dorian’s prone form. He wanted to memorize every sweaty, panting inch of him. Damn, he wanted him. Dorian was beautiful, stretched out and aching. His eyes were gleaming slits as he gasped. Wylie couldn't imagine ever wanting anyone else.

His eyes glued on Dorian’s flushed face, Wylie teased two fingers into his crack. He was going to make him come, but only when he was inside him. Just fingers—he was damn certain he'd break his heart completely if he fucked Dorian. Still, Wylie wanted him to know just how good it could be.

Dorian’s mouth gaped wide and back arched. A whimper escaped him when Wylie's fingers pushed deep inside him. His body opened slowly to the long digits. Wylie leaned over him and pinned one of Dorian's wrists above his head. His lips absorbed his broken cries as he began to fuck his fingers into Dorian in rhythmic, relentless thrusts.

“That's it,” Wylie groaned when Dorian clenched around him and his hips pushed back desperately. “You're doing so good… So tight.” He slid along his inner walls and found the spongy gland he knew would drive him crazy. Dorian sobbed loudly from the overwhelming sensation when Wylie stroked the bundle of nerves.

He grabbed the back of Wylie's head. Dorian held him close and kissed him desperately between aching gasps. He kept bucking his hips and Wylie gave in and pressed his lower body tighter to Dorian’s hot flesh. His jeans-clad legs tangled with his tense limbs so Dorian’s dripping cock could rut against his bare hip.

Wylie could tell he was close. Dorian's rhythm grew more and more erratic with each deep thrust of his fingers. Dorian suddenly threw his leg around Wylie's thigh, arm around his neck and clutched tight. Wylie forced his eyes open to watch him gasp. He wanted to see everything. Dorian’s features twisted in ecstasy and he choked out a final cry.

Beautiful. Fucking beautiful. Wylie kept his fingers buried in his clenching passage and groaned with each hot stream of cum splashed on his navel. God, he didn't even care if he got off. Part of him was just unbearably satisfied to have Dorian whisper his name dazedly in his ear while he tried to catch his breath.

“Hell.” His lashes fluttered open and Dorian gazed blearily down at Wylie’s bowed head. Wylie continued to lick over his throat in languid swipes. Dorian tangled fingers into his light blue bangs, pulled him up and sealed their lips together. Wylie groaned and rolled sideways when he was pushed back. Dorian’s tongue possessively claimed his mouth as he climbed on top of Wylie’s panting form.

“It was okay, then?” Wylie teased breathlessly. Dorian growled and crushed his lips hungrily. He kissed him flat into the mattress. His hand slid through the sweat on Wylie’s hips and sought out his rock hard cock. “Fuck… Fuck, Dorian.”

His lips hot on Wylie's throat, Dorian stroked him firmly. His hand glided in smooth jerks with the help of the sweat and cum slick on their bodies. Wylie’s breath came out in harsh gasps. He gave in to the weight of Dorian’s lithe body and maddening touch. He wrapped an arm tight around Dorian’s waist.

“Faster?” Dorian nipped at his jaw. His eyes fixed on the way Wylie's lips parted with every gasp.

“No, it's… Ahh. Good. So good,” Wylie mumbled and held him tighter. Dorian smiled against his cheek and ground his hips hard against his.

“You're close.”

“Yeah…”

“So close.” With a low growl, Dorian abruptly sank his teeth into the juncture of Wylie's neck and shoulder and clamped down hard. Wylie jerked from the pain and gasped loudly. His hips bucked against Dorian’s as his orgasm hit him. His seed spurted into Dorian’s palm in throbbing waves.

Wylie cracked his eyes open to find Dorian glaring down at him with something possessive burning in his gaze. It sent a thrill through him. A primitive, wild cry tingled in his blood. His. Dorian Black was his.

Silent, Dorian collapsed against Wylie. Sweat sheened between their hot bodies as Wylie fought to calm his breathing. He glanced over and caught Dorian experimentally licking his palm. His tongue tasted the cum coating his fingers. Dorian’s nose scrunched and he lapped another small flick of flavor. Wylie grabbed his wrist. He deliberately pressed his hand palm first over Dorian’s chest, and rubbed his seed onto his skin in a wet trail.

Dorian moaned weakly. He rolled to his side and stared questioningly at Wylie with cheeks flushed red. “Scent,” Wylie grunted in explanation. He wrapped closer and rested his head against Dorian’s neck. His face pressed against the metal collar warmed by their body heat, and Wylie’s stomach gave an anxious clench.

Wylie closed his eyes and tried to block out reality. Dorian belonged with him. He’d never felt so fucking complete before. But it required a null-collar on both their necks to be allowed to touch. He didn’t want to think how he’d probably never feel this way again.

Wylie ran his hand down Dorian's arm and gripped his bicep. He slid down the planes of his back to his trim waist, and then caressed his ass and thighs. Dorian sighed contently. He gripped Wylie's rumpled jeans and roughly pulled him up against him. He tucked his head beneath Wylie’s chin and rested against him. Wylie breathed deep and tried to ingrain the beautiful sorcerer into his memory, into his flesh.

He was used to living in moments, small happy flashes in a sea of dark uncertainty. He could do it now if it meant a little longer with Dorian.

SCENE #30

Dorian had fucked it all up. Not only did he give in to his body's demands, but he dragged Wylie along with him. He knew the danger. He knew there was no fixing it. He was leading Wylie on.

He peeked an eye open and stared blankly at Wylie's chest while he felt the shifter breathe. He was already hard again and his body burned for more. He wanted more of Wylie’s hands, his mouth, strength and warm smiles. They’d only lain there for fifteen minutes, yet Dorian ached to get lost in Wylie's body again. Then he could stop thinking all the stupid things that swirled in his head.

He’d made a fucking terrible mistake and he didn’t know how to fix it. Nothing hurt as much as wanting what he couldn’t have. Dorian tried not to want but everything about Wylie fucked him up.

He dipped his head forward and lapped his tongue over Wylie’s clavicle. He slid down and ran lips over his taut flesh. God, he tasted good, smelled good. He felt so fucking good. Wylie stirred and exhaled unsteadily when Dorian found his nipple and began to torment it with first tongue and then teeth.

Dorian glanced up and found Wylie watching him. His ice-blue eyes were slit open, and breath already strained. He gave a tentative shimmy to discover Wylie was hard and poking against his hip. It wasn't just him. Thank god. If he was going to lose his mind he refused to do it alone.

Dorian pushed him onto his back and Wylie rolled readily at his urging. It was strange how pliable he was. Wylie could throw a giant lion across the field, but with him he was absolutely yielding. He was so powerful yet considerate. Dorian wasn't blind to the kind of strength that required.

Dorian climbed up his toned form and straddled his stomach. He leaned his hands on either side of Wylie’s head, leaned close and brushed his mouth over his jaw. He loved the feel of Wylie’s bristle against his sensitive lips.

“Wylie?”

“Hmm?”

“You got your scent on me.” Dorian wiggled down. He lifted Wylie’s hand and pressed it to where his cum was rubbed sticky against his flesh. He felt wild just mentioning it. Dorian’s pulse fluttered where Wylie touched.

“Yeah.” Wylie searched his face. “Was it too weird?”

Dorian shook his head. His lips quirked in a growingly familiar smile. “Your dragon is very determined to cover me with scent. But what about me?”

Wylie blinked slowly. He ran a hand down his back. Dorian pushed into the hot touch. “What about you?”

“My scent,” Dorian explained. He gasped when Wylie’s hips shifted and his dick rubbed against his ass. “If I have to smell like you, it's only fair you smell like me. Right?”

He wasn't sure just what Wylie thought of his idea. Wylie seemed far more focused on the way Dorian’s ass kept pressing back in a slow rhythm against his hard cock. Oh, it felt good, though. It was even better when Wylie gripped his hips and pulled him down tight. His hot dick rubbed between his cheeks. “Fuck.”

Saliva filled his mouth and Dorian moaned. He spread his legs wider and bent forward so he could grind his dick against Wylie’s strong body. All the while he felt his hot, damp cock tease at his crack. “Wylie,” he gasped out when fingers probed around the rim of his hole.

Dorian never let anyone touch him there. He wasn’t sure he would ever want to bottom. It was such a vulnerable feeling to let a guy, well, fuck him. He had a lot of problems trusting the sorcerers who used to chase him. But Wylie was different. He wasn’t arrogant, or conceited. He wasn’t interested in making him feel small so another could feel larger in comparison. Wylie just seemed happy to be able to touch him.

“Oh. Oh, that's…” His eyes closed and Dorian gasped as two fingers pressed into his hole. His flesh opened as he was penetrated again. His insides were slick from sweat, saliva, and want. The first time it felt so strange, so crazy, and he hadn't been able to do anything but feel. This time it was just as crazy. His sore flesh clenched to feel the friction on his inner walls. He craved it. He wanted it again.

“Fuck, you're beautiful,” Wylie whispered in awe. His free hand pushed Dorian’s damp hair from his face. Dorian's answer was lost in a cry when Wylie plunged two fingers further into his channel. His back arched and Dorian rocked down and tried to get them deeper. Wylie spread his fingers and Dorian gaped wide-mouthed. He clutched Wylie’s shoulders hard as he struggled to keep from shouting.

“Good?” Wylie’s voice was a low growl against his flesh.

“So good,” Dorian gasped out. His forehead rested heavily on Wylie's as fingers plunged into his passage again. “Oh fuck… Right there… Right…” Wylie stroked his prostate. Dorian's body tightened and jerked against his in delicious agony.

He became aware of Wylie's dick. It was sticky with dripping precum as it rubbed against his inner thigh. Wylie made no move to do anything else, but all Dorian could think of was what it would be like to have that hot, thick flesh stretch inside him. Surely it would hurt. Surely it would be too much. But god, he wanted to know. He wanted to know what it would feel like to have Wylie deep inside him.

“Wylie… Please.” He gasped into his neck. Dorian held on tighter and slid their bodies together in slick friction. “Will you… Will you put it in me?” He licked his lips nervously when Wylie met his gaze.

Wylie breathed in unsteadily. He tilted his head up and brushed lips to Dorian's. “We should go slow. Believe me, I would love to fuck you. Just, this isn't the right place.”

Dorian glanced back at the curtains that blocked them from the rest of the hospital room. He leaned forward again and looked down at Wylie questioningly. “I don't care if it hurts.” It was probably his only chance to do something like this. He promised himself he wouldn't rely on the null-collar, and who knew how long Wylie would even be around? “I want to feel you.” He ground forward and moaned from the feel of Wylie's dick pressed against his.

“Fuck. Dorian.” Wylie grabbed his hips and held them still. “I just… Damn it.”

“You don't want to,” Dorian realized. He stilled his movements. “Am I not…?”

“No, you're fucking perfect,” Wylie assured quickly. He sat up on his elbows and grabbed one of Dorian’s hands. “I just… I really like you.” He was blushing but Wylie's gaze refused to waver. “I don't want to fuck things up by rushing things.”

Holy fuck. Dorian suppressed a whimper. He gnawed unconsciously on his bottom lip while he stared down at where his hand was encased in Wylie’s. Yeah, he was totally fucking everything up. Wylie was a shifter, one who liked his scent. The dragon wanted to protect him, keep him, and mark him with scent so no one would dare touch him. The more Dorian thought about it, the faster his heart raced. Wylie wanted him as a mate.

“I'm fucked-up, Wylie. You know I can't…” He met his eyes tentatively and shrugged; the movement was full of helplessness. “Sorry.” He swallowed down the lump of emotion tight in his throat. Wylie was impossibly sexy and wanted him for more than just a quick fuck. Why was life so unfair?

Wylie cupped the back of Dorian’s neck and pulled him down until their noses touched. “I don't know shit, Dorian. Not about magic, not about shifters, not about this place. What I do know is that you're worth doing things right by, no matter the circumstances.”

Dorian felt dizzy. Wylie's breath was hot against his cheek as his large hands roamed roughly down his back to squeeze his ass. Damn it, why did he have to be so fucking sweet? The guy looked like a goddamn thug in his torn jeans and punkish hairstyle, yet Wylie was so nice it broke his heart. “Wylie…”

“It's okay.” Wylie slid a hand between Dorian's thighs and caressed the smooth flesh. “I don't need anything from you. I just want us to enjoy this right now, okay? Only this.”

Dorian gasped as his balls were cupped. He kept his head ducked to avoid Wylie’s gaze. He was fucking it up. Wylie was so damn blunt about his feelings. It only revealed the feelings Dorian was fighting so fucking hard not to have. He couldn’t afford to feel. It wasn’t safe.

“Oh… Oh, hell.” A thumb pressed into his entrance and Dorian knew nothing else. He moaned as Wylie’s lips sought his out. He rocked back into the touch. Dorian opened and relented to both assaults. His mouth was devoured and Wylie's lips threatened to suffocate him. It quickly stole his troubled thoughts away. Two fingers plunged into his entrance again and Wylie grasped his waist so he wouldn't slip.

Dorian reached between them. He found Wylie’s straining cock and stroked the length of it slowly. He was so big, thick. His breath came out in shallow bursts when Dorian guided the rigid flesh between his thighs. He groaned when Wylie’s blunt, hot tip pressed right up against the fingers stretching him.

“Dorian…”

“I just want to feel you.” He kissed him with bruising force. Wylie’s dick nuzzled between his cheeks, spread them wide, and Dorian groaned. “God, just like that.” He pushed down onto the hard flesh. He was more flushed and lost with each plunge of Wylie's fingers inside him.

Wylie's muscles tensed with every gasping cry Dorian made. Dorian kept angling down like he was trying to get both fingers and dick inside him. It was maddening. Wylie growled and buried his face against the other’s neck so he wouldn't see just how desperate Dorian looked. If he did, he might change his mind and fuck him senseless.

Dangerous. Really fucking dangerous. Dorian was too gorgeous with his flashing wicked smiles and pensive, quiet moments. To have him and lose him would destroy Wylie faster than anything else.

“Please… Harder. It's so good,” Dorian moaned. His mouth was wide and wet as he gasped against Wylie's neck. Dorian clawed dull fingernails into his shoulders and held tight. He rocked desperately with every thrust of the fingers claiming him. Wylie pulled out and three fingers carefully replaced the two. Dorian moaned achingly. It was so thick, beyond intense to be stretched wide. “Y-Yes.”

“Damn it,” Wylie hissed as Dorian jolted against him. Dorian’s face was twisted in delirious agony and impossible to look away from. Wylie rolled them before he knew it. He pinned Dorian flat on the bed beneath him. “You trust me?”

Dorian stared up at him. His eyes revealed a hint of trepidation. He licked his flushed lips and gave a silent nod.

Wylie leaned down and bared his fangs. Dorian gasped but didn't pull away. “Cover your mouth, gorgeous, because you're going to be shouting before I'm done.”

Dorian flashed a tentative smile. He raised his hand and pulled Wylie down to kiss him hard. Wylie groaned into his mouth. He pushed Dorian's long legs up and slid the head of his cock between his tight cheeks. Dorian moaned eagerly against his lips. His hips moved as he tried to get Wylie to push inside him.

It would be so fucking easy. Wylie was damn certain Dorian wouldn't complain if he gave in and fucked him. But he meant what he said. The dragon was knocked out from the collar and there was no excuse. He wasn’t a mindless beast that would stop at nothing to claim his mate. No matter how fucking amazing it would feel. Dorian might not understand what it meant, but he did.

Wylie reached down between them, caressed Dorian’s shaft and balls, and then probed into his hot entrance again. He slid three fingers inside and carefully spread into his tight flesh. His own eyes fell shut when Dorian began to buck under him and rocked in a demanding rhythm. Dorian’s touch fumbled up his shoulders, then suddenly fingernails scratched vicious down Wylie’s back. With a loud gasp, Wylie found himself on the brink of orgasm as heat rose through him in an overwhelming wave.

“F-Fuck,” Wylie choked out. He slammed his fingers into Dorian’s passage as he fought to stay in control. Cracking his eyes open, he found Dorian gazing at him with that same intense, possessive expression. He felt completely in the sorcerer's power even though the null-collar was still secure around his neck.

“Most shifters like pain,” Dorian explained hoarsely. Wylie stilled when fingers curled on his back. Short fingernails dug into him with a promise of more to come. “They like being marked. Do you…?” Dorian’s nails dug in and Wylie hissed and threw his head back.

“God.” Wylie’s body was tight and hot and so beyond his comprehension as soft fingertips teased over his stinging flesh.

“You're going to shout for me.” Dorian pressed lips tight to his ear. “I'm going to mark you again because you liked my bite so much the first time. And this time when I come, I'm going to cover you in my scent.”

“Fuck, Dorian,” Wylie rasped. His hips bucked forward when nails tore down his back again. He was so close. His mind was unable to process anything but the feel of his burning flesh and the aching throb in his dick.

“But first…” Dorian reached between them and carefully extracted Wylie’s fingers from his clenching hole. Wylie groaned as Dorian stroked his shaft, then adjusted until his cock was tight against his rim. “Yeah, just like that.” Dorian wrapped his arms around his wide shoulders. He rested his flushed face against the side of Wylie's neck, and opened his mouth wide to lick and run his teeth over the column of flesh.

Dorian felt beyond crazy. He dug his nails tight into Wylie's biceps. Wylie gasped and surged forward, and nearly drove his thick cock right into his entrance. The angle was wrong but the pressure felt damn fine. Dorian moaned and arched. He rocked into the hard thrusts. He loved the slide of their flesh, and the roughness of Wylie’s jeans in contrast to his smooth skin.

“Come on. I want to feel you come.” Dorian clawed breathlessly down Wylie’s back. God, he wanted claws. He wanted to be as rough as a shifter to get off like this. Wylie was fucking hot and he wanted him begging for him. Unfortunately, without magic Dorian was all weak fingers and dull teeth.

Wylie growled against his throat. He pushed Dorian’s knee up higher and crushed him down with his hips. He ground rhythmically between his tight cheeks. “I don't want to hurt you,” he gritted out. His fingers bit into Dorian’s flesh as fingernails raked down the nape of his neck.

“You won't. Nothing I'll dislike, anyways,” Dorian amended as his hip was wrenched roughly. Wylie was close, his dick so hot and thick as he rubbed up and down his crack. God, he wanted him to push inside him. His body burned at the thought. He wanted Wylie to fuck him and have his cum fill him and claim him.

Dorian ran his palms up Wylie’s sides, curled his fingers, and raked his nails down in a brutal slash.

Wylie gave a hoarse shout. He pinned Dorian flat and covered him with his muscular body as he jerked his release between his cheeks. The feel of Wylie’s seed dripping hot down his crack was beyond intense. Dorian moaned and tensed beneath Wylie. Moments later, he came, and jerked against the other’s body.

Dorian gasped repeatedly, his heaving chest restricted by Wylie’s weight. He kept his eyes closed to block out the spinning of the room. God, what the fuck was wrong with him? He was turning into a total slut for a guy he couldn’t even be with. A really animalistic slut.

He pushed at Wylie's hips and slid his hand between the hot crush of their bodies. He found where his cum coated his stomach and collected what he could. The sweat on Wylie’s skin made it easier to spread as he began to paint the shifter’s chest and throat with his seed.

Wylie grunted into his ear and didn't pull away. His tongue slid out to lick Dorian's cheekbone. “You want people to know I'm yours,” Wylie murmured. He seemed to grow more assured with each swipe of Dorian’s fingers.

Dorian didn't answer. It was probably true. He marked up Wylie’s skin, covered him in his cum, and jumped him in a place where anyone could discover them together. A part of him wanted everyone to know Wylie was his.

Dorian peered up through his lashes. Wylie's gaze was sober and intent. His ice-blue eyes moved over his face like he was memorizing him. Damn, he was fucking up. Wylie was doing everything to make sure he knew he wasn’t messing around, and fuck him, he was doing everything to lead him on.

They couldn’t be anything more. Fuck, they couldn’t even be this. That he wanted Wylie didn’t make it any less true.

SCENE #31

“This isn't going to work if you keep growling,” Theodore said coolly. He and Wylie were alone in the Body Magic classroom. The group class was finished for the day but Theodore pulled him aside to go over his transformation. Wylie couldn’t stop growling. Theodore stood calmly with arms folded over his chest and leaned his hip on the large teacher’s desk.

“Sorry.” Wylie was trying, he really was. His dragon, on the other hand, could now fully sense Theodore's dragon. Something it was very upset about along with a long list of grievances.

Life had turned weird once his null-collar was removed after the twenty-four hour waiting period. Wylie’s dragon woke up agitated and looking for both Leo and Dorian. One to beat the fuck out of, the other to thoroughly fuck. A little over a week later, the beast was still upset. Including Theodore's inner dragon into the mix wasn't helping matters.

“He's really pissed.” Wylie kept his distance with chairs and desks placed between the two of them. “Being collared upset him. He felt like he was taken from his fight.”

Nodding, Theodore made no other move. “Is he aware he’d already won the fight? I made sure. You asked for the collar; it wasn't forced on you.”

“He gets it,” Wylie muttered. He raised his head to meet Theodore’s gaze. “But he’s still upset. He didn't know the collar was going to knock him out.” The dragon felt betrayed. Nothing had ever forced it to sleep before and it was mistrustful of the sorcerer who had the ability.

“I can wait as long as it takes.” Theodore was unfazed. “Your dragon’s had it pretty damn easy so far, kid. No fights, no hunts, no running for its life. That's going to change now it's been named and added to the Registry. It's going to have to toughen up and join the real world, which means being knocked on its ass once in a while.”

Wylie licked his fangs and didn't reply. He kept his thoughts to himself while his dragon sulked. A lot of things had changed for them the last weeks. Huge changes they were spinning from. The dragon wasn't used to being welcomed out in the open. It wasn’t used to being addressed at all. It liked the changes that came with the Academy but the dragon was also kind of fucked-up. It was used to being hidden away and feared. Wylie was pretty sure the damn thing was going through an identity crisis.

You know, as much as a dragon tied to his soul could, anyways.

The beast was both ecstatic and miserable when it came to Dorian Black. His mate had accepted them, only to immediately duck out and refuse to say two words to Wylie since. The dragon was hurt, confused, and Wylie wasn't doing much better.

He understood, as best as he could. Dorian was in a precarious situation with his magic. Even if he wanted touch, he didn’t think he could have it safely. That was shit Dorian had to figure out on his own, including if he wanted to risk a relationship. It didn’t make waiting around for his decision any less difficult for Wylie. Not after he had touched him, tasted him, seen him come.

He wasn’t blind to the possibility that Dorian might have already decided. It would explain why he refused to talk to him the last week. It sucked, plain and simple. Wylie and his dragon agreed on one thing; Dorian should be his.

“You asked for my help,” Theodore reminded. His violet eyes glinted in the dim light of the shielded room. “Leo could’ve been hamburger. If not for your control over your dragon, the lion would’ve been killed. There is no guarantee you’ll be so lucky next time. You need to gain control your transformation.”

Wylie snapped back to reality and the reason he was there. He inwardly prodded his sulking dragon. They wanted to learn how to transform without being a killer. The dragon wanted to safely touch his mate, and Wylie didn’t want to continue associating his shifter form with a death machine.

Wylie looked over to Theodore and cautiously edged a step closer. This time he didn’t growl.

Theodore held his hand up before he went to cross the space. “Let me show you what a proper transformation looks like. It’s better if you’re not too close until your dragon gets used to me. They can be territorial on the best of days.”

Wylie nodded in understanding and remained where he was. He watched, eyebrows raised when Theodore stripped off his shirt and revealed his compact, lithe torso to the cool air of the basement room. Theodore without his stylish clothes managed to be even more beautiful. Not that he was doing anything to try and look attractive as he stilled and summoned his dragon forth.

“Holy fuck,” Wylie whispered. He unconsciously took a step back when Theodore shifted and red scales erupted over his flesh. Because of their rarity, there were no pictures to depict what an actual dragon shifter looked like. Wylie had seen a huge lion and bear transform right before his eyes; they were nothing compared to the winged Theodore.

He should have been monstrous. Theodore was covered head to toe in a shimmer of red and purple scales. His blood-red hair no longer stood out as a contrast with his new vivid coloring. His violet eyes were entrancing as they glowed from his still pale face. Translucent scales coated his face and made a long line down his throat and chest. Thicker, dense scales armored his arms and sides. On the top of his head, long, elegant curls of black horn twisted up and behind. Wylie’s gaze followed, his attention drawn to the black and purple leather like wings that stretched out twice as large as the man they supported. Theodore was still a man beneath those scales, in form and demeanor, even though his tail, scarlet and tipped in black, swished in small arcs on the floor behind him.

Wylie stared, at a loss for words. Theodore stood patiently and let him take in his regal appearance. The dragon shifter was stunning, beyond beautiful, and Wylie had a momentary thought. Just how obnoxious was Theodore to be still single at his age?

“Are you calm?” Theodore’s voice was lower and sounded like pure silk. “I want to show you my aggressive form and how I move from one to the other.”

“Okay.” Wylie winced when his voice cracked. Fine, Theodore was intimidating and entrancing all at once and it was a lot to take in. It got worse when a ripple went through him and Theodore gasped and crouched forward. His sleek muscles puffed up, sharp long spines tore out from his back and his talons outstretched. His scales shifted and turned. The color darkened and completely covered him with iridescent red and purple armor. The edges were sharp, deadly and an absolute threat. Wylie was certain of the danger since his own dragon was freaking the fuck out. It growled as it debated running away or fighting the red dragon across the room.

Theodore straightened. His gaze was bland from eyes now alarmingly pale amidst his richly colored scales. “You've been alone. You’ve never known another of your own kind.”

Wylie nodded and covered his mouth to stop the incessant growls that kept breaking free.

“I had a father, a brother, an uncle. Even still, it was sometimes hard to be around them with the dragon's personality. You will learn to trust me.” Theodore raised his hand and Wylie's dragon became hyper alert for any potential attack. “Just watch. I'm going to shift back to the less aggressive state. Your dragon must learn this.”

Wylie stepped close when he realize just what Theodore was about to show him. He and his dragon watched intently. The beast wanted to know the answer to their deadly scales just as much as he, and it was willing to risk Theodore’s dangerous state to observe.

Red scales flexed like petals ruffling in a breeze. Theodore's arm turned sleek and metallic again and his claws not only blunted but completely retracted. There was no sharp edge left on the man. Wylie's dragon crooned at the realization. He could be safe for his mate. Although Dorian was powerful, he was soft and fragile compared to the dragon. This proved Wylie could be gentle if he learned.

Theodore watched Wylie from the corner of his eye. He flexed his scales again. The edges turned out, puffed up, and then quickly sealed flat into the metallic sheen. “Try it now. One arm to start.”

Wylie swallowed down his nerves and forced himself to focus on his arms. A part of him was terrified he wouldn’t be able to do it. His dragon had been awake for ten years now and Theodore flexing his scales looked easy as fuck. How had he not been able to grasp something so simple? Sure, he barely shifted because he used to be afraid of his demon arms. It still felt too obvious a solution to have missed. Theodore made it look so easy to flex from aggressive to calm.

Wylie shook his head to push away his doubts. He let his dragon take over. Black scales erupted out of his flesh and covered him from claw to shoulder. They reached higher than normal; the scales teased at his shoulder blades and collarbone this time. Wylie held his hand up and focused on the ruffled, deadly scales of his forearm. He glared along with his dragon at the scales that wouldn’t move.

“How?” Wylie looked to Theodore in confusion.

“Press them to your bare flesh. Your dragon will feel how your scales move when they do so innately.”

Wylie stared at the shifter with brows furrowed. In this form, he could sense so much more. Theodore’s scent was different, very different from his own dragon.

“Don't,” Theodore snapped. He held his hand up before Wylie could touch his face. “I might be able to defend a clawing, but blood is not something I want to add to this already precarious meeting.”

“You're different.” Wylie wasn’t really sure why he tried to touch Theodore. His head tilted curiously as more scents and information filtered through.

“I'm from a completely different dragon species than you.”

“No.” Wylie knew that wasn't it, especially when Theodore huffed and stepped away from him. He didn't know much dragons but he knew the red dragon was beyond different in the big scheme of things.

“Ignore it and let's get on with the lesson,” Theodore demanded. His flashing eyes left no room for argument. “Your scales. Part of why you may not be transforming fully is because your dragon is in a mindset of aggression every time. Transforming straight into an aggressive form is difficult. If you can smooth your scales down you may be able to push more free.”

With a final suspicious look at Theodore, Wylie brought his attention back to his task. He took his clawed hand and pressed it to his throat. His talons blunted and scales flattened automatically to keep from injuring his flesh. Wylie removed his hand, then moved it back and forth a few time to distinguish what muscle in his body was doing the work. The problem was, he couldn’t tell. It was as if the change was happening somewhere else, likely where the dragon dwelled. Wylie had no control over the scales movements.

His dragon, on the other hand, was learning.

“There you go.” Theodore watched as Wylie's arm smoothed down this time before he brought it to his unprotected flesh. “I think your dragon is learning to do more than just react.”

“Will I look like you when I transform fully?” Wylie asked. His eyes were caught on the way his black scales ruffled and shook as his dragon fluffed them up and then down.

“It's hard to say. You're not from the same dragon line. There aren't a lot of black dragons… Not a lot of dragons left at all.” Theodore shrugged it off. He pointed to Wylie’s talons and urged him to try and retract them fully.

It was a reminder of all the warnings Theodore gave about dragons being hunted. “Have you had to worry about that?” Wylie wasn’t sure if Theodore would be upset by the question. “Being hunted?”

Theodore grunted and nodded sharply. “I lost my father to sorcerers. A group of them hunted him down and tore his body apart for their dark sorcery.”

Wylie blanched, his mouth gaped open. “Like… pieces?”

Theodore expression was blank but his eyes burned. “I killed them. With my brother dead, it was up to me. I found each one—six in all—and killed them so the dragon could have its revenge.” His lips pulled down at the ends. “Not that it mattered. Revenge didn’t bring my family back. My mother was heartbroken to have lost so much and died shortly after, still a young woman. She never saw the laws change or shifters band to fight against the demented sorcerers.”

Wylie’s mind whirled. “Just how old are you?”

“Older than I look and that's all you need to know,” Theodore warned with a glare. “The Academy is a safe place for our kind. It made sense to stay and help those who were strong enough to seek it.”

Wylie’s talons were almost retracted. They were now just black, inch long nails. “Getting revenge… Did it fix your dragon? Keep it from getting angry all the time? Is that the answer for my shifting problem?” He had no idea why his dragon was fucked-up except when it came to Sarah. Maybe the only way to fix things would be to hunt down the man who had attacked his sister. Wylie didn’t want to be a killer. At the same time, he was certain if face to face with the rapist, he’d find a way to do what needed to be done. His dragon wouldn’t hesitate.

Theodore studied the ground in silence for a moment. “Your dragon was birthed during a moment of fear and anger. My grandfather would have said it’s cursed to forever live that moment, hence your scales cutting all they touch. But that’s bullshit from the old ones who don’t understand the simple matter of facing your demons and dealing with your shit.” He shrugged and his gaze raised to meet Wylie’s. “How you fix it will depend on you. Your dragon needs to realize the world is not the same one he was birthed into. Life keeps going.”

Starting, Wylie closed his eyes, then focused on his dragon curled within. Did the creature not know that the man who attacked Sarah was gone? Even though they hadn’t killed him, they had defeated him; he was never going to rape another little girl again. Did his dragon not know that Sarah was gone, as were the Andersons and the old house on Oak Street? He had lived ten full years in another life; how could the dragon not see everything had changed?

“How?” Wylie finally asked, his expression full of confusion.

“No clue. Like I said, the old ones called it a curse because they didn't know how to cure it. The brain is a messed up place, kid, but it's also elastic. We're going to help you figure out how to unravel the problem. It just may take some time. Seeing as your dragon has grown active, there’s a good chance of getting it to start looking around.” Theodore combed his hair back and gave Wylie a calculating look. “Maybe you can help the creature fixate on something besides the wish to kill.”

Wylie pondered. The only new things the dragon had shown an interest in was blood and Dorian. Hunting down animals seemed dangerous when he was trying to avoid the whole killing thing. But Dorian… he didn't know.

Dorian was avoiding him. Maybe he didn't want anything to do with him at all. Fuck, he hated this shit. Wylie just wanted to march up to him and lay it all on the line. He hated games, hated tiptoeing around shit. But at the end of the day, it was up to Dorian if he wanted anything to do with him.

It wouldn't hurt to ask about the transformation, though. Maybe. If there was anyone the dragon was willing to transform for, it was Dorian. Maybe Dorian would be willing to help.

SCENE #32

Dorian sat in the reflection room amidst a pile of soothing blue and tan pillows that littered the shining hardwood floor. It was a large room and always full of sun and warmth with windows frosted to give the occupants privacy. It was his personal room of sanctuary in a lot of ways; no one else needed meditation as much as he did.

In his hand was a null-collar. His gaze was tight on the metal as he ran sparking fingers above the surface. He couldn’t remember the last time he needed to wear the collar while actually in the reflection room. He could feel it, though. His magic was looking for escape. It was rising up and seeking death. He'd been too lax and the magic was winning.

He lifted the collar to his neck. Unclasped, the cool metal rested heavy on his flesh. It was a mistake. Touching Wylie… Being touched.

“Fuck.” He hunched forward. He couldn't stop thinking of it. Couldn't stop feeling it. It was a ghost of a memory but his body burned at each spot, each phantom kiss. Even now, over a week later, Dorian could not stop thinking about Wylie's touch no matter how hard he tried.

He wanted Wylie and he couldn’t get his face out of his mind. Like his intense stare or the way he grinned at something stupid Fox said. Even when mistrustful of his surroundings and out of place, Wylie was damn hot. It was so unlike Dorian to be this way and he didn't know how to deal with it. Half the time just thinking about Wylie got him sparking now. Crazy. He was crazy to think it could ever work.

Wylie made him feel amazing and that was just too dangerous. It was too difficult to feel and stay in control. It was one or the other. He could have Wylie and feel so fucking good while living in a damn null-collar for the rest of his life, or he could get the fuck over it. Now, before it hurt too much. It already hurt too much, but letting it grow would lead to misery.

Dorian didn't know what to do. He didn't want to be in a collar for the rest of his life. He had no interest in giving up his magic for anyone. Not when he finally regained some control over it. Living without magic was an empty existence. He had no purpose, no skill, no value. Yes, his magic was dangerous but it was still him. As long as he was always in control, he didn't have to fear hurting anyone.

But he couldn't do that and be with Wylie.

Dorian wasn't even sure how it became an issue. He promised to never fall for anyone again. Fuck, after Alastor, there wasn’t anything left inside to feel.

Alastor was just like him, another rebellious product of too much money and power. If his name alone wasn’t reason enough to be an asshole, Alastor's father was a bigot who hated everything, including the homosexual son he didn't know he had. Alastor spent his life living a lie at home and being a total hooligan when out with his friends.

They fell for each other fast. Alastor was hot, powerful, with a dark tortured soul Dorian just couldn't resist after being surrounded by the typical unfeeling WASPs and yuppies of his home. Actually, he couldn't even remember if he liked Alastor. It might have just been the relief to finally find someone who hated his life just as much as Dorian hated his. His memory wrapped the kid in such a fucking perfect fantasy of love or some shit as if that somehow made it better. Alastor was fun—a total ass at times—but sure as fuck wasn't boring to be around.

Dorian didn’t pay a lot of attention to the people following him around and trying to get with him back then. He was consumed with learning the next big spell which would finally make his grandfather stop referring to him as a washout. Not that he wasn't good at magic. Just, his focus was like any other teenager’s. His grandfather thought he was too soft and spent what felt like hours lecturing him. Dorian didn't give a fuck. The best thing about joining the Academy was never having to listen to that shit again. No one cared if he was perfect, they just didn't want him blowing people up.

Fuck, he used to be such a stupid little punk. The first time he agreed to go out with Alastor, Dorian was in the middle of breaking up the pavement of the mall parking lot. He made cracks and breaks so deep, the entire thing ended up being torn down and replaced. It would have taken nothing to repair it with magic, but he left it that way and claimed some sort of 'artistic divinity' or some shit. What the fuck Alastor saw in him he still didn't understand. But then, Alastor ended up helping spell the huge hole at the mall entrance. The destruction of public property was always extra satisfying because of the wide audience to the aftermath. The town would buzz with the new, strange occurrence and very few knew that a bored teenage sorcerer was behind it all.

He must have liked Alastor. Enough that when he woke up the first morning with his magic swirling and rolling powerfully, Dorian confused it for anticipation. When he started sparking over those first touches, it was exciting. Alastor pulled him into his bedroom and kissed down his throat. It was something new compared to the boring, numb shit of before. There was even a touch of forbidden because he knew just how much Alastor’s dad would flip if he discovered what they were doing in his house.

It hadn't been worth killing over. No amount of kisses were worth Alastor’s life.

Regret and guilt clawed at his throat, and fire sparked over his skin in a sudden wave of magic. Dorian gasped and clicked the collar shut. His power flatlined immediately even though his emotions still overwhelmed him. He folded forward and held his knees tight. God, what was he doing? Why the fuck was he doing this to himself? He needed to let this go before someone else died.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes and blurred his vision. He wanted Wylie. Touching him had been so good. It had felt hot, intense. Right. Not just because of the sex. Maybe if it had only been that, he wouldn't be feeling so crushed right now. He’d never touched anyone and felt like they could see into him the way Wylie did. He wanted him there, that very moment, arms wrapped around him tight. He wanted to be held until the pain inside stopped.

Fuck, he was so fucking dumb. So, so stupid. Weak. But it didn't stop him from wanting.

Wylie made him feel precious, important just as he was. As much as he hated it, he wanted to be Wylie's. And he did hate it. He hated wanting, hated feeling so hurt, so weak, so fucking needy for another human being outside of himself. But it didn't make it stop being true.

“God, I'm so fucked,” he whispered. Dorian pressed his forehead heavily against his knees. He fought with his eyes until he finally got the threat of tears to abate. The last thing he was willing to do was cry. Fucking lame ass bullshit. He refused to cry. So what if he was destined to be alone his entire fucking life? Crying wasn't going to fix a fucking thing about it.

There was a sudden rap on the door. Dorian stiffened and raised his head to glare. Michael rarely disturbed him when he was meditating and he was barely willing to see the instructor, never mind anyone else. There was another persistent knock, and he sighed. Dorian unfolded his legs and checked his face to make sure no wetness had gotten past his guard.

It was Vincent. The long-haired sorcerer pushed the door open before he got to his feet. Dorian bit his tongue the instant his gaze fell on him. “What? You know this is the last fucking place to bother me.”

Vincent tilted his head at the angry tone. “You have your collar on. Can't be that much of an issue at the moment.”

“What do you want?” Dorian’s anger grew. Fine, he might just hate the stupid sorcerer, and not for any of the right reasons. Mostly because Vincent was totally chasing Wylie. Right now all Dorian could think was how easy it was for Vincent to do simple fucking shit, like touch people and not worry about things exploding.

His expression only grew more closed off in the face of Dorian's anger. “I want the dorm for a few hours tonight. Alone.”

It was the first time Vincent asked for anything like that and Dorian was feeling beyond suspicious. “Why?”

Vincent raised his eyebrows in surprise at the question. He hesitated in answering. “There's no privacy in this damn place. I want to have someone over and I don't want to be disturbed.”

Dorian knew about a half dozen spots you could hide away with someone in the Academy if you didn't want to get caught. None of which he was willing to share with Vincent. Not when he knew exactly who he wanted to be alone with.

Dorian pushed himself up to his feet and stalked to where Vincent was standing. He glared into his obnoxiously beautiful gray eyes. “You need to stop your game now.”

“What?” Vincent raised his chin defiantly. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Wylie,” Dorian gritted out. “Stop chasing him. That's who you want in the room, right?”

With an annoyed huff, Vincent glanced away for a moment to collect himself. “Why the fuck do you care, Black? I can talk to whoever I want.”

Dorian wondered just what the fuck was wrong with him as well. He would love to be able to blame the possessive, aggressive feelings on some weird creature blood his family might have gotten wrapped up in back in the day, but the null-collar was securely on his neck. He couldn’t blame it on any inner demons. No, he was apparently just really fucking jealous.

“Wylie's mine,” Dorian finally grunted, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

His eyes narrowed challengingly. Vincent snorted without mirth. “Yours? What the hell would you even do with him? You have too much magic to use the dragon's power, and you sure as fuck can't be his boyfriend. What, you want to keep him around for fireworks or some shit?”

Dorian had never wanted to kill someone quite this much, and in the reflection room, at that. Since he was the one in a collar, he was vulnerable to any spell Vincent might throw at him. But there was no logic in Dorian’s mind, just anger and bitterness. “I'm telling you now, Frost, back the fuck off of Wylie. Or I’ll fuck you up once my collar comes off.”

Vincent seemed to take his threat seriously enough. He stiffened and edged backward. “I'll tell the masters.”

Dorian's smile was chilling. “Oh, did you actually think you'd be able to fucking talk once I’m done with you? You never struck me as naïve.”

Growling under his breath, Vincent whirled with a final glare. “You're a psycho, Black.”

“Guess we have more in common than I first thought.” Dorian slammed the door loudly the moment Vincent left.

He probably shouldn't have done that. He probably should have kept his fucking mouth shut and not tried to make an enemy of his fucking crazy ass roommate. Fucking Wylie Doe. The guy was fucking up his entire life.

With a grunt, Dorian slumped back to his mound of pillows. He stretched out, not even pretending to meditate anymore. He just kept fucking up. The moment he started thinking with his dick he ruined everything.

It didn't matter. He wasn't going to let Vincent have Wylie. He might not be able to have Wylie, but he sure as fuck wasn't going to let Vincent have him. Fuck that.

SCENE #33

Dorian considered if he was calm enough to get up and get his collar removed when there was another knock. Assuming it was Vincent back with a magical retort, Dorian growled as he got up and cross the room. He threw the door open angrily.

“Uh, I can come back later.” Wylie stared with a mix of surprise and wariness.

Dorian was startled to find him there. He blushed and his shoulders slumped. Not Vincent but still not someone he wanted to see. Unfortunately, his body disagreed and fire was now rushing through him hotter than his anger. “What do you want?” he asked gruffly. He was unable to meet Wylie’s intense pale eyes for longer than a few seconds.

Wylie didn't answer right away as his gaze moved over Dorian like a touch. He took a step back, muscles tense like he was ready to go dragon. Dorian waited patiently while inwardly cursing the part of him begging for Wylie to lose his shit and jump him.

“The dragon is learning how to not be so aggressive,” Wylie said carefully. “But we need some help still. Theodore said I should find something the dragon likes and won't want to hurt. And, well, that would definitely be you.”

Dorian licked his lips. The meaningful look Wylie sent him made his mouth dry and head spin. All he could think about was the last time he and Wylie were alone. It was over a week ago but it felt like only moments.

“I understand if you don't want to. I didn't know you were relaxing. Meditating,” Wylie amended as he peered behind Dorian into the reflection room. “Sorry. Fox said you hang out in this room a lot, so it’s a good place to find you. He didn’t mention what the room was for.”

Before he realized what he was doing, Dorian opened the door wider and stepped back so Wylie could enter. “So you're getting better? So soon.” Wylie was barely there a month and already gaining control of his dragon. At that rate, in a few months he’d probably be gone.

With a shrug, Wylie turned from his study of the serene room to look at Dorian. “I'm really motivated…” he trailed off awkwardly and looked away. “Sorry. The dragon is fixated. I… I have no expectations from you.”

Dorian wondered just how in sync Wylie and his dragon were. When they were together in the hospital, Wylie was collared and definitely interested. But even then it was him going to Wylie. Each time Dorian sought him out, not the other way around. Maybe Wylie had some reservations about the whole thing as well.

Maybe he wasn't even that interested.

“Well, show me then,” Dorian demanded abruptly as his stomach twisted. “If it'll keep you from slicing people up, I don't mind helping.” He tried to push the painful thoughts from his mind.

A shudder moved through Wylie's body. He held his arms open as black scales erupted from his flesh and coated both limbs. Transformed, he immediately hissed, then turned away right after so Dorian couldn't see his face.

“Sorry about that,” Wylie muttered as he glared at the ground. His speech was more hissing than anything else. “I just… Just need him to get used to your scent. He, uh, missed you.” He winced at his own words and hunched forward even more.

Yup, Dorian had totally fucked everything up. Wylie couldn't look him in the eye and… Fuck. Well, fuck.

Dorian found Wylie's back particularly uninteresting. He forced his feet forward and stepped around him until he was facing Wylie. “You still look pretty spiky,” he said while determined to ignore everything else. Wylie's arms still looked ready to slice anything they touched.

“Oh.” He followed to where Dorian was looking. Wylie raised his hand and the scales flexed slightly. He glared. He brought a long talon up to his face and touched deliberately. The claw blunted and then fully retracted. Wylie sighed in relief and met Dorian’s gaze. “It's different now. I just don't know if it'll work on anyone else.”

Dorian slipped closer and peered at Wylie's finger with interest. “It's very different.” He gingerly reached up and pressed cautiously on the tip of one of his claws. The talon blunted but didn't retract. The material was like hot, smooth glass beneath his fingertips. “It doesn't hurt, at least. Your scales look smoother but they're not fully flat. Maybe your dragon doesn't trust me?” He refused to meet Wylie's ever-watching gaze as he ran another finger over his claw.

“He trusts you, Dorian. He's trying. I can feel it.”

Wylie's voice was a low rumble that sent shivers through him. He probably shouldn't have let him the room. Not while he was in a collar. Not after the last time he'd been in a collar.

Swallowing hard, Dorian traced down the back of Wylie’s finger and over a smooth knuckle. He grunted in pain when his flesh caught on the edge of a sharp scale. “Shit.” He went to pull away but Wylie hissed and Dorian found himself stock still, with eyes caught in his burning stare.

Wylie bent down. His tongue lapped out and ran hot over Dorian’s bleeding finger to heal the small wound. Dorian watched dizzily when Wylie unexpectedly shuddered and gasped. A moment later his scales flattened into a glassy surface of black and his talons retracted completely.

“What just…?”

“I guess it needed your blood.” Wylie stared at his arms in confusion. “The taste. He knows you by the taste of your blood.”

“Knows me?” Dorian was damn sure he’d yet to meet a dragon, especially one living inside a guy his own age.

“My mate,” Wylie said thoughtlessly. He winced at his own words. “Shit. Ignore that, okay? That sounds totally crazy and I don't even know you. Fuck.” His cheeks flushed red and Wylie went to pull away. He was done embarrassing the fuck out of himself for the day.

“Wait.” Dorian grabbed his arm before Wylie could leave. He wanted to tell him to stop being such an idiot but the words caught in his throat. The scales beneath his hand felt so strange. They were smooth, hot, and sleek. Staring intently at the shiny limb, Dorian noticed his breath grow shallow. He didn't know just why the fuck Wylie's scales were so sexy, but the knowledge they could flex at any moment and tear his flesh added a level of excitement to touching him.

Dorian wet his lips and pulled Wylie’s hand close until he could press his face against it. He breathed in deeply, filling his senses with the scent of Wylie’s flesh. A wave of dizziness hit him when Wylie hissed and pulled him against his chest. Scaled arms circled around him and surrounded him in heat. Lips descended to his and Dorian gasped from the rush of fire that moved through his body. “Wylie…”

God, how the fuck did he do this to him? Every damn time. Teeth nipped at his bottom lip, urged him open, and Dorian could not, for the life of him, remember why he had been avoiding Wylie. Everything about him was so fucking perfect. Lips, tongue, hands… God, those freaking hands.

“I want you to be mine,” Wylie whispered. He held Dorian possessively by the nape and stroked his tongue into his mouth. “I'll do anything, baby. Anything to have you. I'll be strong… fierce. I’ll even give you my scales, if you'll be mine.”

Dorian closed his eyes and moaned. The world rocked when one of Wylie's strong hands cupped his ass and pulled him tight to his hard body. Teeth clamped onto Dorian's jaw with fangs dulled to keep from slicing. It was definitely the dragon talking, not just Wylie.

Fuck, he was losing it. “I don't… don't need your scales,” Dorian whimpered. He was supposed to be meditating, not— “Oh, fuck.”

His knees gave out. Dorian groaned when he was pushed down onto the pillows, and Wylie's lips immediately sealed to his. He arched back, and pulled at Wylie’s shirt so he could get to the hot, smooth flesh just beneath. Just a little, just once more and then he'd be good. He’d meditate till he was fucking blue in the face. Wylie's hand rubbed over his jean covered erection. Dorian gasped before he melted back onto the floor. His eyes cracked open to meet his gaze.

“You're so beautiful.” Wylie stroked him through his pants. “I want to mark you.” His eyes moved down his disheveled form. He pushed Dorian’s shirt up to reveal golden skin flushed with a sheen of sweat. “I want to mate you. Claim you. I want to make you mine.”

“Seed?” Dorian asked hoarsely. His vision was hazy and his body was so hot just thinking about Wylie claiming him. If Wylie fucked him so thoroughly he would belong to him and no one else. Shouldn't—he should shut it all down. He was leading Wylie on and they both had to know at this point. But he just couldn't find the resolve to let him go. He’d given up on so much in his life. It was the one thing he just couldn't do.

Reaching between the crush of their bodies, Dorian found Wylie's waistband. He undid his fly and wrenched his jeans down. “Do it.” He ground up against Wylie’s hot flesh. “Cover me.”

Wylie hissed. He kissed him bruisingly back into the pillows, and thrust his hips against his rhythmically. He fumbled with the sorcerer’s jeans until Dorian kicked them down his legs and off. His socked feet slid on the hardwood floor when he raised his knees and wrapped a leg around Wylie’s waist.

“I want you to enjoy it, beautiful. Going to get you off. Make you beg to be taken.” Wylie didn't hesitate. His blunt finger found and probed into Dorian’s entrance. Dorian groaned when he felt just how thick his fingers were with the added girth of his sleek scales.

Dorian’s head fell back on a pillow while loud pants escaped him. His hips rocked with every stroke inside his tight flesh. “Wylie… God, yeah. Like that.” There was a desperateness to Wylie, which hadn't been there last time. It was an aggressive, wild roughness that stole his breath and made him clench in want. Part of him was certain Wylie was seconds from rolling him over, slamming into him, and fucking him within an inch of his life. God, and that part of him was really hoping for it.

He cried out as two fingers stretched into him. Dorian grabbed Wylie by his hair and yanked him down so he could kiss him again. Ice-blue eyes met his a moment right before Wylie found his prostate. Dorian sobbed and arched back.

Wylie couldn’t take his eyes off of Dorian, who was quickly becoming undone. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “You don't even get how much I'm… I'm holding back.” He bent closer and his parted lips met Dorian’s tongue. “You're so fucking beautiful. Not just to the dragon. I want to be inside you so bad. I won't. It’s too soon. Too fucking crazy. This entire thing has been so crazy.”

Dorian wrapped an arm around his shoulders and moaned loudly when Wylie’s fingers spread wide, opened him and plunged in deep. God, yes. Crazy seemed like the right fucking word for it all. “Please… Just, just more,” he whimpered and bucked into Wylie’s maddening thrusts.

Wylie hissed in his ear. He nipped his jaw, then moved down his throat with heated, wet bites. He pushed Dorian's shirt up higher, and twisted the material so he could get at his nipple. Wylie laved thorough strokes to the bud while he continued to fuck Dorian on his fingers. “Want you, baby. Need you… Fuck, I need to be inside you so bad.”

Dorian was ready to roll onto his knees if it would get Wylie to just fuck him already. His mix of sentiment and need created such an intense effect until all he wanted was to give Wylie everything he could. Fuck… Fuck, he was so screwed.

Fumbling with shaking hands, he found the back of Wylie's head, and pulled him down. He kissed Wylie hard to keep from saying something stupid like how he really wanted to belong to the dragon shifter.

Wylie rumbled against his lips. He added a third finger into Dorian's tight hole and drove relentlessly at his prostate. Dorian gasped wildly. He came with a sob. His body was clenched tight and muscles burned so hot.

“So gorgeous,” Wylie whispered. He watched Dorian arch and stream his cum onto his navel in a low arc. Wylie collected the seed with his fingers and slicked it over his own hard cock. He stroked slowly; his orgasm was already close. “You're sure about this?”

Dorian cracked his eyes open. His hazel orbs moved down Wylie’s strong body to find him touching himself. “Do it,” he said hoarsely. He licked his lips while watching every stroke to Wylie's long dick. With a tug to his hair, Dorian pulled him close enough so he could kiss his neck. “Cum on me. All over.”

“Ah, fuck.” Wylie gasped when Dorian sank teeth roughly into his throat. He groaned as heat spiraled through him, and his entire body jerked. His first stream of cum hit along Dorian’s stomach, who moaned from the feel of the hot fluid. Wylie pulled back and stream after stream followed, painting Dorian’s flesh in what felt like an unceasing wash.

Dorian couldn't stop his moans. He gasped breathlessly as he realized just how much fucking cum Wylie was coating him with. He threw his head back with face flushed. A part of him wondered if he wasn't going to orgasm again from how impossibly hot he felt.

“Wylie?” Dorian gasped out weakly, only to groan when he felt another splash of cum. God, it was so much. Looking down, he whimpered when he discovered Wylie’s cock had changed. Even bigger than before, it was swollen and angry looking with black translucent scales at the very base of his shaft where he pulsed. Dragon… Was that what a dragon dick looked like?

The room spun when Dorian was suddenly rolled onto his stomach. His flesh slid wetly on the hardwood and the pillows fell away. More semen streaked across his shoulders and the dip of his waist. A stream moved over his ass and then down his thighs. He moaned weakly. Dorian spread his legs, and rocked back when he felt Wylie's hot dick slide between his cheeks. Seed dripped wet down his crack and against his hole. “Yes… God yes.” He wanted Wylie inside him. So bad. He didn't even care if it hurt. It would be worth it.

Wylie wrapped Dorian tight in his arms and leaned against his back. He thrust gentle, controlled strokes between his cheeks. Hot drops of cum spattered down Dorian's crack. “You okay?” Wylie asked breathlessly. Dorian’s only response was another moan. “God, you do something to me. So fucking crazy.” Wylie buried his face into the nape of his neck. He kept spurting cum; the dragon was determined to coat Dorian from head to toe.

“Y-Yeah… Just so much.” Dorian swallowed hard. “Your scent… God, you really… You really just covered me in cum.” He was beginning to worry he might faint. He was shaking uncontrollably while panting on the floor. So good. Crazy good. Going to lose his mind good.

Wylie held him closer. He kissed down the side of Dorian's neck while he crooned a strange animalistic noise. “Promised you’d like it. Going to make you mine. Everyone will know you're mine.”

Yeah, if anyone fucking saw him like this it would be pretty damn clear something had claimed him. Dorian’s eyes fixed unfocused at the floor and he sank into the feel of Wylie touching him. He loved the perfect mix of soothing shivers and tingling fire, and hated that it was coming to an end.

With a wiggle, Dorian flipped onto his back. Wylie pushed himself up to keep from squishing him. Dorian didn't want him to leave. He grabbed him by the waist and pulled Wylie down until his weight was crushing him just right. “You know I'm going to have to shower, right? I can't just go walking around dripping in your cum, dragon boy.”

Wylie’s head tilted and strange white eyes glared down at him. He shrugged. “It’ll just make me want to do it again. The dragon wants to mark you as mine.”

Dorian couldn't stop his hungry whimper. His lashes fluttered shut. Fucking sexy, crazy ass shifters.

“You can wash it off right now if you want.” Wylie ran his teeth over Dorian’s jaw. “I can go with you. Cover you again. Tie you up so my scent has some time to sink in and get into you deep. You'd like that too, pretty sure.”

“Fuck, Wylie,” Dorian gasped as his hips rocked up. “How can you even have anything left after all that?”

Wylie grinned down at him. “For you, I apparently can do a lot of crazy stuff.” He held up his hand which was still free of deadly claws and the scales smooth and flat. “You must be magic, beautiful.”

Damn. Dorian stared at Wylie’s hand and couldn’t answer. It hit him like a stray spark of magic and his eyes widened in shock. His heart was a hummingbird threatening to escape and leave him crushed with the fathomless emptiness that was welling up inside him.

Fucking whore. Was he in love with Wylie?

Dorian dared to meet his eyes. Wylie stared back silently. He looked gorgeous, rumpled, and terribly sexy. The feeling in his heart only grew worse now staring into his wild, beautiful eyes.

“Okay?” Wylie combed back Dorian's mussed locks.

“Sure,” he lied quietly. “I'm fine.”

Fine as fucking doomed.

SCENE #34

Dorian sat in the back during his Magical Arts class. Unlike Body Magic, this course was gratefully free of shifters. It focused on sorcery as a business. No shifter would be caught dead pursuing magic in such a way and today he was absolutely grateful.

After the reflection room incident he managed to avoid Wylie for over a week. Seeing him hurt too much. It made him feel too much of everything. It was misery. Not seeing Wylie was also driving him crazy, and catching small sights of him during the day was even worse. God, he hated this so much.

Master Thane was droning on about something concerning the properties of crystals. Dorian had heard it all before and didn't feel like hearing it again. Even though he had avoided Wylie, he couldn’t stop thinking of him.

Wylie softened for him. He flattened his scales and retracted his claws just for him. What could he do for Wylie? Explode him if he ever kissed him without a null-collar. It was hardly a fair fucking trade-off. His only way to be with Wylie was to live his life in a collar as a null. Also a shitty trade-off.

God, why? He was doing so damn well. He should have listened to that annoying but brilliant inner voice. The one that told him to walk the fuck away the day he smacked into Wylie Doe and started sparking. But no, he was an idiot and apparently he hated himself on top of it.

Dorian did his best not to groan as he recalled the most recent incident of doom which occurred right before class. He hadn't been paying attention. He just assumed the shifters were out in the yard running their afternoon sprint of animal survival they always did. He nearly walked smack into Wylie again. The dragon’s hiss his was only warning. Wylie was with Fox and Forest, the two shorter shifters following him around like riffraff puppies.

Wylie didn’t say anything to him. Nothing about how Dorian was dodging him the last week, nothing about being pissed or hurt or fucking anything. He just stood there staring at him with such damn feeling in his eyes like he fucking understood what he was going through.

Fuck, maybe he did. Even though Wylie had a dragon in his ear, he never pressured him, never tried to force the damn mating thing on him. Wylie was able to see he was dealing with his own shit and gave him all the space he needed.

Fuck.

Self-loathing was not a new feeling for him, but it was damn near overwhelming as of late. Dorian tried to focus on the teacher, and when that didn't work, on the other sorcerers talking quietly in front of him.

There weren't many pure sorcerers at the Academy. Not that magic users were super rare. Those with enough power to end up in need of the Academy, usually had family or a master to guide them and keep them out of trouble. That Vincent was there suggested he didn't have anyone back home. The other two magic users, Jake and Antonio, were pretty much at the end of their stay.

Sorcerers didn't talk a lot about what brought them to the Academy. Hell, they barely talked at all. Sorcerers mostly viewed each other as competition. Even though Antonio and Jake shared a dorm for over six months, once they went back out into the real world, they'd make a point to stay in separate territories for fear of angering the other. It was stupid shit which made Dorian wish for a life without the trappings of magical powers.

It didn't mean he was willing to actually live without magic, though.

“I was thinking a bonfire. You know, all of us.”

“With the shifters?” Jake’s head was ducked as he peered up at Vincent with a slight scowl. “Seriously?”

“What? You can't spend a damn hour at a party with shifters?” Vincent gave him a challenging look. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were frightened.”

Scoffing at the very notion, Jake and Antonio exchanged glances and considered. Dorian got up from his seat. His anger was barely contained.

Fucking Vincent. He was just looking for another way at Wylie. Like the guy really wanted sorcerers and shifters to be best fucking friends all of a sudden? It was all just too fucking much. Dorian dismissed Master Thane's questioning look. He headed for the nearest door while he pulled his cigarettes free.

Dorian groaned internally when he got outside into the Academy yard. Michael was sitting by a large potted tree. He scowled and lit a cigarette and made his way over to the instructor. “Master Whiteheart.”

Michael raised a brow at Dorian's tone and insistence on using his formal name, but didn't say anything. He let Dorian smoke in peace for a few minutes.

It didn't feel like peace, though. Dorian twitched under his scrutiny. “What?” he finally snapped. He kicked at a small rock and listened as it clattered down the walk.

“You've been different.”

“So?”

“Moody,” Michael elaborated.

Dorian huffed and rolled his eyes. He exhaled smoke through his nose.

“Your magic has been all over the place,” Michael continued. “Erratic spikes at all hours of the day. I'm growing concerned.”

He didn't have to say just what he was concerned about. Dorian took out another cigarette in silence. That was the way of the Academy. They let you work at your own shit until they saw you were totally going to fail. Then they swooped in to keep you from fucking it all up. The thing was, Michael was jumping the gun. He didn't need help. He was dealing on his own.

Dorian looked up and froze when Michael pulled a letter from his back pocket and held it out in offering. Once he saw the return address, Dorian continued to stare until Michael took his hand and placed the letter in it. “Do you want a collar?”

He shook his head slowly. “No… Just, stay until I'm done. Just in case.” Dorian stared expressionlessly at the envelope. He forced his fingers to move and he stiffly tore open the back. He felt very cold all of a sudden as the sun failed to reach him.

His father was well. Business was good, and he was considering retirement so he could spend more time at home. He was thinking of taking an apprentice. His mother had started a small non-profit to help raise funds to screen children for sorcery abilities. Janette was practicing for the school play but his parents were concerned she was neglecting her studies. The Winter Ball was fast approaching. Would he be stable enough to attend this year? Alastor's parents were asking about him. They were planning a memorial and wouldn't Dorian be honored to speak?

Each word was a knot in his gut. The tone was cold, even and familiar.

Of course, if he wished to bring his friends, he could. Just, shifters were so very different. It would be unfair to have them taken away from their peers where they were best understood.

His mother. She was always so concerned with how other people felt when she was trying to avoid social embarrassment. It wasn't her fault. His father was probably muttering in the study as she wrote. He probably warned, again and again, to make sure he didn't bring any of those horrible animals with him.

It was the world he was from. His parents' world. The world of sorcery and rich, coldblooded, cutting assholes who all thought they were better than everyone else.

Michael watched silently as fire spread from Dorian’s fingers. The paper curled and turned black until ash floated away on a breeze teasing by. Dorian let the pieces disintegrate, and finally lit the cigarette he neglected and took a long hit.

“You have to talk about this stuff, kid. You can't just keep it all inside.”

“Wanna fucking bet?” Dorian glanced his way with his expression blank. “I'm fine. You can sense my magic; it's perfectly smooth.”

Michael wasn't convinced and he sighed as he straightened. “You're hiding from your own shit and if this keeps up you're headed for an explosion. It doesn't go away. It just sneaks up and hits you when you least expect it.” He gave Dorian a pointed look. “That means different things with your power.”

Dorian shrugged unconcernedly. “Well, guess we all better hope I have a collar at the time.”

It was the shittiest, most intense wake-up call he needed. If his father didn't tear Wylie apart verbally, his grandfather would just tear the scales from his beautiful flesh. He could lie to himself about his power not harming Wylie, but Dorian knew he’d never be able to protect him from his family.

SCENE #35

Wylie was having a difficult week. Extremely difficult. Oh, the Academy was fine enough. Leo had backed the fuck off after he kicked his ass. He was hardly pleasant, but Wylie wasn't expecting miracles from an alpha type. Fox and Forest were cool enough and taught him more than a few ways to pass the time. He even had his first run-in with Justin when his inner werewolf made an appearance right before the full moon.

It was awkward as fuck having the kid go from sweet to crazy bitch in two seconds flat. But they settled it once Justin came to his senses. The werewolf was territorial about random things, food one of them. Wylie would not be reaching over his tray again anytime soon.

No, Wylie's problem was Dorian. He wasn't sure if he freaked the guy the fuck out with the whole dragon marking his mate thing, or if Dorian was freaking over the sparking thing or what. All he knew was Dorian wanted nothing to do with him. His inner dragon was heartbroken.

He might have been a little heartbroken too, except he still wasn't sure what the fuck he was even doing with Dorian. He hadn't come to the Academy expecting any of this. Not the magic, not friends, not his dragon changing and becoming more prominent in his life. He sure as fuck hadn't been expecting to find a guy a part of him loudly demanded he spend the rest of his life with.

Just a taste of blood and Dorian fixed his dragon problem in an instant. Wylie never dreamed his demon arms would one day be nonlethal. Dorian made it happen without him having to kill anyone.

Wylie looked around at his surroundings. Theodore had shown him the current room, located not too far from his classroom. Theodore had decorated it as a home away from home for his inner dragon. Visually, it left a lot to be desired. It was dimly lit with rocky outcrops he could only assume were magical in origin. It was like being in a cave, one with crystal formations and scratchy floors. His dragon liked the room even as Wylie twitched at the sorcery used to create it. Although he was capable of doing a lot of magic, he wasn’t used to it at all.

With a sigh, he pushed his scales further over his body and called the dragon forth. His shirt was ruined, now shreds on the floor. Even though he could get his scales to lie flat, he still transformed with them out and sharp. He was working on it. He was working on a lot of stuff. Ever since Theodore showed him the dragon room two days ago a switch had flipped in his inner beast. It wanted to be strong for its mate. It saw how Theodore looked—powerful, beautiful and full of regality—and he wanted to be that way for Dorian. Surely his mate would relent and stop their game of chase if they could do a full transformation.

Wylie gave up trying to explain to the creature that Dorian had damn good reasons for resisting. Dorian’s magic was out of control and well, fuck, Wylie was a total fuck-up.

He hadn't shared with Dorian just how much he was destroying his life before the Academy. It was self-sabotage if he ever saw it. Just, while he could point out to a stranger how she was fucking up her life and needed to fix it, Wylie couldn't do the same for himself. He could see his patterns but couldn't break the cycle.

Ending up at the Academy was a twist of fate. He should have ended up in Roth's gang. You know, robbing people, maybe hurting people, maybe in Daiker already or even dead. He told himself he was going in for all the right reasons, but time to think just revealed the same old patterns again. Roth's gang was just another very familiar dead end. A way to finally fuck-up his life permanently. And for real, he just didn't know how to be any other way.

Dorian deserved better than him.

Wylie turned when the door to the hallway opened without warning.

“Oh, shit… sorry.” It was Vincent. He stared wide-eyed at Wylie like he was shocked he existed. Which reminded him he was almost completely covered head to toe with black dragon scales now.

Wylie had noticed Vincent following him around a lot. He wasn't sure just what Vincent wanted from him, but he could guess given the intense look that went along with his dogged steps. “Lost?” Wylie asked even though he knew it wasn't the case.

Vincent stepped into the room. He was blind to the crystal formations and rocky floor as he stared at Wylie intently. Wylie was starting to feel self-conscious. No one had seen his new dragon form yet, including Theodore. The damn near hungry look in Vincent's eyes as he stalked forward was unsettling.

“Did you want something?” Wylie’s frown grew when Vincent walked right up, and circled around him. He looked at him from head to toe.

“Never seen one transformed,” Vincent mused under his breath as he took in Wylie’s mirror black form. Besides his face and a trail of transparent scales leading down his chest, Wylie was covered in the shiny, black, iridescent scales. “I heard—but I never could have imagined. Too rare… too beautiful to be destroyed…”

“What?” Wylie’s fingers twitched at his sides as he held himself still. Vincent was standing too close for comfort. Vincent, like many of the sorcerers, was absolutely beautiful. Just shy of Wylie's height, his aristocratic features were nearly ethereal. His beautiful silver eyes were wide and flecked with sparks of light and shadow. Those eyes were currently fixed on his. His flushed lips parted as he wet his lips silently.

Vincent didn't seem interested in talking. Wylie took a step back when a minute ticked by with him still staring. He considered walking out the door to see he would continue to stare when Vincent finally spoke.

“I'm trying to get the shifters together for a thing tonight. You know, because we're all so divided.” Vincent combed his fingers through his long, blue-black hair. His gaze still took in Wylie's shirtless form. “I'd really like you to come. The shifters like you and, well, you're new. You're not stuck in the idea of one group or the other. It’s weird, right? That the sorcerers never spend time with the shifters?”

“Uh… I guess.” Wylie had nothing against sorcerers. Theodore warned him about sorcerers because he was a dragon shifter. No one at the Academy treated him badly, though. Besides Vincent constantly fighting with Fox, he’d yet to see a sorcerer act rude to a shifter. “No one's bothered me here,” he said truthfully.

“You look really different,” Vincent blurted out. His pale skin was slightly flushed. “Are you… Are you safe to touch?”

Wylie nodded and watched as Vincent edged closer with fingers extended towards his chest. His gray eyes had a daze to them and Vincent looked ready to sway against him. With a meaningful look, Wylie quickly grabbed his wrist to keep Vincent from touching. “I like someone. A lot.”

“Oh.” Vincent peered up into his white-blue eyes. “I won't tell.” He went to press up against him but Wylie stepped back and kept him at arm’s length.

“I really like him. My dragon would never let me hurt Dorian like that,” he said determinedly. He really hoped Vincent would get a clue already.

Vincent glanced away with his expression closed off. “You know he can't be with you, right? It's a total lost cause with his magical affliction.”

“That's my problem.” It wasn’t something Wylie wanted to get into with Vincent of all people. “What time is this thing?”

“Eight. We're going to have a bonfire out back.” Vincent looked mildly nervous and asked after a pause, “Can I get your email? It's, uh, easier to contact that way. I'm hoping we can do one of these nights twice a month, you know? To help us get along.”

Wylie didn’t see any harm in it. He gave him his email and Vincent conjured up a small notebook to write it down. Vincent shut the door when he left, but not before sending a final hungry glance his way.

Wylie stared at his hand sleek with black scales and free of claws. Even Vincent thought being with Dorian was impossible.

The dragon hadn't turned aggressive the entire time Vincent was there. His dragon was really getting better. He hadn't expected it to happen so soon—at all, honestly—but it seemed Vincent was the proof. His dragon didn't trust him but also knew it didn't need to slice Vincent up unless real danger showed. It was a huge improvement, one he wasn't sure how to get used to just yet.

It wouldn't matter, would it? The dragon was working so hard for someone he couldn't have. Wylie had grown very good at shutting down hope for things he couldn't have. His dragon, though… It was a part of him but also separate. It didn't want to give up no matter what Wylie said.

SCENE #36

Somehow Vincent convinced all the shifters to show up to the bonfire. Dorian wasn't sure how, nor how he got the other sorcerers to attend. He wasn't surprised to see Will. As an elf halfling, Will didn't care about the history of bad blood between sorcerers and shifters. Even Christopher was there; the incubus was hunched over by the fire where his strange red eyes glinted in the flame. Vincent had gotten all the patients to show. Amazing considering he had the personality of a psycho.

Dorian was there for one reason—one he willingly admitted to himself—to keep Vincent away from Wylie. He was there to play cockblock and nothing else. No talking to Wylie, no looking at him, no trying to get into his pants. No matter how tight they were.

Dorian currently had the bonfire between them. He was strategically next to Vincent but made a point not to talk to the obnoxious sorcerer. And if he happened to find himself moving closer to where Wylie was standing with the other shifters, he could blame it on Vincent's movements.

“There is no way in fuck I'm going over there,” Jake muttered when Vincent tried to pull him over to the side with the shifters. Dorian could hear Fox howling something enthusiastically on the other side of the fire pit. The group of shifters had claimed the spot since the event began and were sitting upwind of the smoke. Yeah, Vincent might have gotten them all there but he couldn't make anyone talk to each other. Even in the dark, the boundaries between the two groups were clear.

“Did you see that fucked-up email Vincent sent?” Fox gave another hoot of laughter.

Wylie did his best to pay attention to his lively friend. “Was it bad?”

“Fucking hilarious. Sexy but terrifying, that guy.” Fox's grin split his face. “Seriously, read it when you get a chance. In his attempt to invite us he called shifters—”

“Dimwitted but well-intentioned animals,” Forest chimed in. He was much less enthusiastic than Fox. “Laugh all you like but that guy is messed up.”

Fox shrugged. His gaze drifted to where Vincent was trying and failing to get the sorcerers to come over and say hello. “He's harmless enough.”

Forest didn’t bother to keep the disdain from his snort. “You're so begging at his feet. You know he's never going to give you the time of day, man.”

Fox grinned again. He gave another howl and sprawled back on the grass surrounding the pit. “Vince gives me the time whenever I ask. He just happens to be threatening to hex me while calling me a moron at the same time.” He uncapped a water and chugged it down while ignoring Forest’s eye roll.

Wylie was sitting beside the two. He burned a stick in the fire and did his best to bite his tongue. Fox didn't seem to give a fuck that Vincent was staring at him since he got there. If shifters recognized one thing, it was attraction. Still, he didn't want to upset Fox by mentioning it. He liked Fox. He had no interest in Vincent and, if Fox enjoyed being yelled at by the gorgeous psycho, he wasn't going to interfere.

Leo gave a grunt while glaring at Justin. He was behind them all, aloof as he refused to join the party. He also refused to leave. Justin held up a singed marshmallow on a stick to the towering Leo and smiled beckoningly. Justin was so short and slender in contrast, and Wylie watched the exchange warily. Leo was grumpy as hell since their fight, and was full of snarls and defiant glares. When Leo finally responded to the werewolf, it was another wordless grunt. He took the offered stick and ate the marshmallow in a sharp bite.

“So, not to state the obvious here, but he keeps looking at you.”

First glancing over at Fox, Wylie followed to where he indicated. Dorian was standing with the other sorcerers. Wylie caught a flash of Dorian's eyes before he looked away. The small group looked awkward as hell as they stood stiffly like they were at some middle school dance or some shit.

Wylie still wasn't sure just why the sorcerers felt the need to be separate from the shifters. Leo was the surliest out of all of them and he never spoke negatively about sorcerers. Well, unless it was personal. Antonio cast a spell too close when Leo was eating and he was vocal about it. But still, not violent. It wasn’t a reason to act like the shifters were going to beat them.

“Hey, Dorian!” Fox jumped up and Wylie grabbed for his shirt. It was no use. Fox ducked around him with a wicked grin. Fuck. Whatever. It didn't matter how persuasive or annoying Fox was, Dorian wouldn't talk to him anytime soon.

“He's got skills,” Forest muttered with a begrudging smile. Not only did Fox herd the sorcerers their way, he also managed to get Vincent to yell at him at the same time. “Shit, I have this really strong feeling one of us is going to be thrown into that fire by the time this night is through.”

Probably Fox, Wylie silently agreed. He moved over so Justin could crouch next to him and roast another marshmallow. Shifters avoided sugar but the little werewolf seemed ready to rot all his teeth out. It was a special occasion so they stayed quiet, but Forest was keeping a sharp eye on Justin just in case he started going crazy wolf while full of sugar.

“Aren't the masters worried we're going to burn the place down?” Wylie asked Forest.

“Nah. We can magic it out really quick.” Forest waved his arm around the area. “Besides, there are so many wards in place. Theodore or Michael would be out here in a second if something bad went down. They pretty much let us do what we want.”

Wylie involuntarily scowled in jealousy. Bitterness was an ugly taste in his mouth. The freedom these guys had just to live was so different from the group homes. Kids might have been allowed to do stuff like this where he was from, but they wouldn't have. They were too afraid to break an unspoken rule and be sent off to somewhere even worse. Thrown away. The patients at the Academy never had to worry about that. Someone loved each of them enough to bring them to McPherson and get them help.

“Whoa, watch it there.” Wylie was up in an instant to catch Fox before he stumbled backward into the flame. Fox gave him a roguish grin. He unashamedly loved the fact Vincent shoved him. He might have some damn issues. He looked half ready to go fox and start running circles around the angry sorcerer.

“Alright?” Dorian came over to help Fox straighten up. “You must have a death wish.”

“We all gotta go someday. If I happen to be staring into angry silver eyes at the time…” Fox’s grin was lazy as he looked over to where Vincent was bitching to Jake about him.

“I keep thinking you're the smart one, then you do shit like this.” Dorian shared a concerned look with Wylie. “Some things are just really bad for you, Alvarez.”

Fox clearly didn't care. He twisted his bandana back in place and swaggered over to his angry-eyed crush. It left Wylie and Dorian staring at each other awkwardly.

“I should, um…” Dorian tilted his head towards the three other sorcerers but made no move to join them.

Wylie remained silent. He was fairly certain whatever came out of his mouth would be the wrong thing. He was still confused when it came to Dorian although his dragon wasn't. The creature was well aware Dorian was collarless and looked particularly sexy in the warm fire glow. The last time they'd been this close was their day together in the reflection room. It was difficult not to think about it, even harder not to see Dorian the way he was that day; nude, gasping, dripping in his seed. He let Wylie scent him as his and then hadn't talked to him since.

“Did you want a…?” Dorian held up his cigarette case. Except for the slight tremor of his hand, he seemed completely at ease. But Wylie could smell his turmoil.

“Sure.” He didn’t realize just how well-behaved his dragon was being until Dorian's fingers brushed his when he handed him a cigarette. Wylie’s form gave a ripple, and he stepped back when scales sprouted over his body. His t-shirt was slashed by the longer scales on his shoulders. “Crap,” he muttered. He quickly flexed his scales down and retracted his claws. It was too late; his cigarette was sliced in half. “Damn it.”

He looked imploringly to Dorian. He hoped he might take pity since he was the reason his dragon reacted. Dorian was staring at him in wide-eyed awe. Small sparks jumped off his skin and were lost in the fire. Wylie dared a glance around and found everyone staring at him with similar expressions. It was the first time he revealed his improved transformation to all of them. Apparently Vincent's reaction wasn’t unique.

“Is it complete?” Dorian finally asked. He sounded breathless.

“No, not yet.” Wylie tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of being stared at. He indicated his forehead. “Guess I'm missing some horns. Wings too, and a tail.” He was a walking, glittering waterfall of black rainbow scales and not much else, but it seemed to be eye catching. His dragon purred from the attention Dorian was giving them.

“And you're safe?”

He fought a sudden, overwhelming urge to grab Dorian by the arm, pull him against his chest, and kiss him soundly. Dorian was staring at him hungrily now his sparking was under some control. A fucking week he ignored him. It was mind-boggling Wylie managed to stay away so long.

Exhaling heavily, Wylie held his arm up and revealed his scales were completely flat.

Dorian's fingers unconsciously reached for him. His power was chained the last time he touched his scales. Now that it wasn't, Wylie's dragon was reacting to his magic. The creature wanted to claim his mate properly and taste the crackling power and the body it belonged to. As if Dorian could tell, his fingers sparked the instant he touched Wylie's arm.

“Shit, sorry.”

Wylie grabbed his hand and held him still. “Didn't hurt. My scales are resistant to magic,” he reminded quietly.

Dorian stared at where his hand was captured. He carefully extracted it from Wylie's grasp. “Resistant isn't the same as withstanding a magical explosion.”

Wylie read the sober message in his hazel eyes. “No, probably not. Your magic is powerful. It would be unrealistic to expect that.”

If he could get the sexy sorcerer into a null-collar, it wouldn’t be something to worry about for the moment. All Wylie could think about was having him again, to taste him and hear him cry out. Given the hazy look in his eyes and the fresh scent of arousal, Dorian was thinking something similar. “Did you want—”

Dorian cut him off swiftly. “Can't.” He pulled away. His gaze was suddenly cold and shuttered. Dorian nodded towards the shifters and sorcerers. They were in a loose group now but still divided. The sorcerers were hunched up like they were afraid to so much as brush against the shifters. “Where I'm from, shifters are animals. Less than human. Beneath us.”

Silent, Wylie glanced to where his pack watched. Their expressions were closed off. “Oh? That's pretty shit.”

Dorian wasn't done. “Things to be used; that's what shifters are. Slave labor at best, parts for the rest.” He smiled cruelly. “My grandfather would have taken you apart. He would have skinned you and thrown your scales on the wall like a trophy. Then he would have used your magic to hunt down the rest of your family and do the same to them.”

“Dorian?” It was Justin. The sweet werewolf looked up at him with wide brown eyes full of pain. Wylie wasn't sure what the hell had gotten into Dorian but he seemed in a rush to have every damn shifter in the Academy hate him.

“You're not your grandfather.” Wylie hoped to remind Dorian as well as the shocked shifters. “I never once worried you’d do something like that.”

Dorian just shrugged and his expression grew colder. “Just because I play nice doesn't mean I see you as an equal.”

His jaw tensed and Wylie stood taller. He glared back this time. “You want to hurt me, Dorian?” The question was unnecessary; he could see the truth in his body language.

“Wanting to fuck doesn't mean I'd ever see you as worthy of being my boyfriend.” Dorian spoke quietly but the words were crisp and clear. “You're a shifter. A failed one who can't even transform fully. Even your own parents knew you were a lost cause, which is why they gave you away.”

“Son of a—Dorian!” Fox crouched and threw himself at Dorian. He was stopped frozen by a spell sent by the sorcerer’s raised hand. Without saying another word, Dorian turned from Wylie. He walked back to the Academy with hands in pockets and cigarette smoking between his lips.

“What the fuck is his problem!” Fox growled. The spell released once Dorian was out of sight. “Wylie, he's full of shit. Don't listen to that—”

“Chill.” Wylie held his hand up. The wry grin on his face did nothing to hide the bitterness he felt. “Just drop it.”

“He has no right!” Fox was red faced, Justin looked ready to burst into tears and Forest wore a scowl. Even Leo was standing stiffly with his chin raised defiantly.

“He has every right,” Wylie muttered under his breath. Everyone who touched Dorian Black was destined to be burned. The sparks hadn't done the trick because of his scales, but Dorian was not to be denied. When magic failed he used words to push others away.

“None of that was directed at you guys, okay?” Wylie said to the pack. “That was all for me, and I don't need anyone fighting my battles.” Sighing, he drew his scales in and pulled at his shredded shirt.

“He shouldn't have said that.” Antonio stepped up to Wylie and Fox. “We don't think that way. Yeah, we all have a relative or two that still talks shit, but it's antiquated and backwards, and it's just talk. No one goes around hunting down shifters anymore.”

“We don't see shifters as animals,” Vincent said as he looked at Fox meaningfully. “Even if you're annoying as fuck at times.”

“Dorian's always so nice,” Justin whispered. He wrapped his hands around his arms as if cold. Will put his arm around his shoulders comfortingly and Justin leaned against him. Internally, Wylie sighed and wondered just what the fuck was going on in Dorian's head. Did it really matter? Dorian sure as fuck didn’t want him and he was going to respect it.

It helped that on the inside, Wylie felt like he was bleeding out.

He crouched down in front of the bonfire and stared blindly into the flames. In a weird twist, Dorian's hate speech broke the ice between the sorcerers and shifters. The two groups talked in hushed tones around him. Wylie blocked it out. His mind was unwillingly fixed on the unknown parents who gave him away so long ago. Loneliness felt like a weight crushing his heart.

SCENE #37

Wylie couldn't sleep. The bonfire ended an hour ago and the others were all settled and asleep in their dorms. Wylie crept into the lounge, no longer able to listen to Fox's even breathing. He secretly hoped Dorian might wake up and talk to him, but he remained stubbornly asleep and in bed.

He was unwilling to turn the TV on and wake anyone, so Wylie powered on one of the computers instead. He hadn't checked his email since getting to the Academy and apparently Vincent's invite was as racist and welcoming as you could get.

Wylie never got to Vincent's email. His attention caught on a heading dated nearly a week ago.

Beck's In Danger

“What the fuck?” He glared at the computer as if he could get the information that way. Wylie hesitantly clicked the link. His dread grew. It was from Adam, the little tech genius that got them past security during the initiation. “Fuck… Fuck, come on!”

Wylie snarled. He stood so quickly his chair clattered to the ground. His heart pounded in his chest.

Diego pinned everything on him. He said he shot the guy and ran with the cash. Since they couldn't take revenge on Wylie, Beck, as his boyfriend, was going to have to take the heat for it. Adam was pretty sure that meant death. Roth was in a foul mood and he hated disloyalty above all else.

Fucking Diego, the worthless piece of trash. He should’ve killed the gangster. It would’ve been nothing to let his claws cut too deep and tear that idiot's throat out. Fuck… Fuck!

Wylie looked at the email again and found the address Adam left him. It was the warehouse on the pier Roth owned. They were doing it at midnight. Fucking midnight tonight. If he waited just one more day to check his email, Beck would’ve been toast.

Fuck… They were going to kill him.

He shut the computer down. He began to pace as his mind whirled.

It was 11:20. He'd never get there in time. The Academy was a fucking three-hour drive from the city. The warehouse was by the docks and added another half hour to the drive.

It was all his fault. He was the reason B got into the gang. Wylie made Beck feel invincible and promised to watch his back through everything. He was his shield so no one in the gang messed with the idealistic kid. Then he just left him high and dry, and ran off to live in the fucking lap of luxury at the Academy. He hadn't even fucking thought of B since getting there.

One month was all it took for him to become a complacent little shifter who fucked around with magic, and transformations, and some fantasy of Dorian Black. All the while, Beck was terrified, interrogated and beaten. God, he was the fucking worst. B never made him feel less, never showed any reluctance to his fucked-up demon arms. He didn’t care about his poverty or lack of parents. Not only had Wylie wronged him, he lacked the decency to realize it.

He knew he wasn't in love with Beck, not after the heart-wrenching shit he was going through with Dorian. It didn't mean B deserved to be punished only because he left to play hero. If he’d gone back to Beck that night, just got in the fucking van and sped away from the stranger he wasn’t responsible for, his life would be completely different. For the first time, Wylie questioned if he made the right choice.

Midnight. By midnight, Beck would be dead.

SCENE #38

Dorian was having trouble sleeping. His words at the bonfire ran through his head like a song on repeat. There wasn’t any other option. It was the only way. He kept telling himself every time the misery welled too strong. Saying the worst was the only way Wylie would finally get a clue. They couldn't be together and it was time to get over this shit already. He destroyed what little foundation he had with Wylie—but why couldn't he just stop thinking about it? He did what needed to be done. Now he needed to get the fuck over it.

There was a click from his door handle opening. Dorian turned his head and watched as light spilled into the dorm. Wylie's form was silhouetted in the doorway. Damn it. Damn it, why did his heart have to race so fucking fast?

Dorian schooled his features and fought the anticipation tingling through him. He’d yell the fucking Academy down until Wylie got it through his thick skull they were never going to be anything. He slid out from under the covers and crossed the room, only to pause from his intended rant when he caught sight of Wylie’s expression. There was no softness, no desire. There was nothing but a tight frown to his mouth and something damn near desperate in his eyes.

“I need your help.”

He glanced back to where Vincent was sleeping. Dorian quietly closed the door and followed Wylie out into the dimly lit lounge. “What?” He watched nervously when Wylie began to pace.

“I need you to show me how to use the portal.” Wylie pointed toward the arrival chamber where the large mirror kept for travel was located.

“What… Now?” Dorian looked at him in disbelief. “It's the middle of the night."

“I need to get somewhere, asap, and I can't figure out how to turn the fucking thing on,” Wylie snapped. “I wouldn't have bothered you otherwise. I can't trust anyone else to not tell the masters.”

Dorian blinked dumbly and stared up at him. How the fuck could Wylie still trust him? He was an absolute asshole. That Wylie was just talking and hadn’t punched him was a feat all its own.

Dorian was completely thrown. “Where do you need to go?”

“It's not important.” Wylie briskly walked away. “I just need you to turn the damn thing on.”

Dorian shook his head and quickened his pace to catch up to Wylie’s strides. “I don't actually care; I just need to know where to key in. You can't just turn a portal on. You need to use magic to reach another mirror closest to your intended destination."

Wylie shot him a sideways glance full of wariness and gave him the address.

“I need more than that. A description would be best.” They reached the portal. The large mirror took up most of the wall in the foyer and was designed for many to travel at once. “Tell me as much as you can remember and that will help me key in.”

Wylie seemed even more resistant and his words came out haltingly. “It's a warehouse. It’s worn down. The red brick is crumbling in spots, and the wood rotting in others. There’s a stack of crates, wooden, that are new by the entrance.”

“What's in them?”

Wylie glared through the mirror and met Dorian’s gaze challengingly. “Is it important?”

It wasn't, but Dorian was growing more and more curious as to what Wylie was porting into. “Very.”

Wylie huffed and squared his shoulders. “Mostly computers. Small, high-priced tech you can resell on the street without people looking twice at you.”

“Guns?” Dorian ignored Wylie's warning glare.

“Probably, but not in the crates. That shit doesn't hang around long. It's by the wharf.” Wylie tried to get things back on track. “There's an auto place next door that chops cars. It has heavy machinery running all hours of the day.”

“Why do you feel the need to go to this place in the middle of the night again?” Dorian’s question came out much harsher than he intended. He wasn't supposed to give a fuck about what Wylie was doing with his life, even if guns and a fucking chop shop were involved.

“I just do,” Wylie gritted out. He refused to meet his gaze. “I owe a friend.”

Anger hit Dorian in a sudden wave and spurred him to action. He keyed the portal as close as he could to Wylie's intended destination. The drop point ended up in the auto place next door. There were plenty of mirrors for repair, and some large enough for transport.

“You know I can't leave it open. Once you cross, the portal closes and you won't be able to get back.”

“Fine,” Wylie said curtly and took a step towards the portal. Dorian quickly jumped in front of him and blocked his path.

“You're coming back, right?”

Wylie inhaled sharply. He eventually shrugged and kept his expression cool. He was either going to have to beat the fuck out of Roth, or pay off what the gangster thought he owed for bailing on the McPherson job. The Academy wouldn't want him back after that kind of fuck up. “It's not important. Just go back to bed and pretend none of this happened.”

“Like fuck!” Dorian pointed at Wylie’s chest. His face was clouded with anger. “This place is across the fucking state. What if you get hurt? How are you going to find your way back? You don't know how to portal!”

Wylie glared him right in the eyes and growled out quietly, “What does it matter, Dorian? It’s not like I have parents waiting up to give a shit. Right?” He pushed past and stepped into the portal before Dorian could reply.

The image of the warehouse dimmed. Dorian was faced with his own angry, wide eyes staring back at him.

Was Wylie leaving because of what he said? Had he hurt him that fucking much? Wylie was tough; not the type to cry over shit like…

Dorian sighed and combed through his hair brusquely. No, at the bonfire he chose his words well to hurt Wylie as much as possible. He meant it to hurt. Of course it had.

Fuck. Dorian scowled at his reflection as the familiar feeling of self-loathing threatened to consume him. Somehow his resolve was breaking. It was almost as painful as what it cost to build it in the first place.

Wylie didn't want his help. He hadn't asked for it beyond getting the portal to work. For all he knew, he'd just get in the way if he tried to follow after him. He should go to bed. He should forget any of this happened and think of a plausible lie by the morning for why Wylie wasn't at the Academy.

Dorian stared at his reflection. He was unable to meet his own eyes. It would be nothing for him to port in and port out. Wylie might not know how to summon a mirror, but it was easy for him. It really would be nothing…

Except it would be giving in after he promised himself not to.

SCENE #39

Wylie stalked into the portal so quickly, he forgot it led to the wrong building. The noise of machinery immediately overwhelmed him. Voices shouted and echoed in the large warehouse. There was a flurry of movement as sparks burst in the air from a welding torch. Wylie tried to catch his bearings. He crouched and looked at his surroundings. He had less than five minutes before it was midnight; there was no time to fuck around.

Decided, he let his scales cover his body. He surged forward and ran through the maze of car parts and activity, and refused to pause no matter how many people shouted. Most everyone he came across wore heavy goggles to protect their eyes. Hopefully, they wouldn't get a good look at him. His speed was increased significantly now that his scales also covered his legs.

The night air was a shock to his senses. Wylie stopped short once he leaped outside and was away from the noise and scents of gasoline and oil. He could smell the ocean, rotting fish and salt. The entrance to Roth's warehouse was guarded by one of the gangster regulars. Wylie retracted his scales only to sigh in annoyance when he realized his shirt was gone. He really needed to get one of the magic users to show him how to mend clothing.

“Joey,” Wylie greeted cautiously as he stepped up to the large man and the door he guarded. Joey had a scar over his eye. The eye was intact but it still made him look like a total badass even when just standing bored for hours on end. “Any way I can talk to Roth?”

“Guess that would depend on if you're packing, kid.” Joey spat on the ground, his lips twisted in a permanent frown. “Arms up.” Wylie stood still for the pat down and did his best not to roll his eyes. Joey knew he was a shifter; everyone in Roth's gang knew. It was a sore spot for half the men who were scared shitless of him on principle alone. Wylie didn't need a gun to fuck anyone up but the guard still insisted on looking.

“Alright, you're clear.” Joey opened the door and waved Wylie in. “He's in the back with your boy.”

“Beck?”

“Who the fuck else would I be talking about?” With a snarl, Joey slammed the door shut. Wylie felt a breeze from the force of it.

"Always a pleasure, Joey."

Wylie took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the warm, dim light that was contrast to the night outside. He made his way to the back of the warehouse. The place reeked of mold and mildew. More rain got into the old building than sea outside during storms. Roth liked to keep things neat but there was the inevitability of shit piling up, especially when it came to stolen goods. Jobs fell through, buyers lost funding, things suddenly appeared; the place was a mess. Sure, the piles of crates and boxes were filled with expensive shit, but that didn't mean anything while they rotted in the warehouse unpaid for.

Wylie saw Diego first. The junkyard dog of a man looked worse for wear. He was covered in scabs and pinks scars, and hissed in pain when he sat down on the top of a crate. Wylie smiled to himself. He hoped his scales had hurt the fucker more than he looked. Adam was next to Diego. The slender kid half trembled as he clutched at a digital tablet. Maybe if Wylie didn't show, it wouldn't just be Beck taking the heat. Maybe the little boy genius was being sent to the firing squad too. Fucking Diego, the cowardly fuck.

He took a deep breath. Wylie stepped out of the shadows with his head held high and shoulders squared. Roth came into view and he headed his way. The gang leader caught sight of him and called a few of his guys over in response.

Roth was not what one would call a typical gangster. At least, that was how Wylie viewed him. It’s not like he knew many people in the crime business outside of Roth, so he didn't really have a lot to go on. Short, chunky, and dressed in a bright green tracksuit, Wylie was still pretty sure there weren't a lot of crime bosses like Roth.

“Freak,” Diego greeted. His face was twisted in a bitter scowl.

“Ass hat,” Wylie retorted. “Or should I just call you a lying bitch? Where's Beck?” He turned to Roth and ignored the way Diego jumped up.

“Wasn't sure you'd show, kid.” If Roth sounded surprised to see him, he couldn't tell. “Heard you were in some institution upstate. For paranormal types.”

Wylie wasn’t there for a conversation about the Academy. “Something like that. Where's Beck? He had nothing to do with that job going bad. He saved that idiot's life.” He pointed to Diego. “The fucker pulled a gun and fucked it all up. Leave B out of it.”

Roth pulled out a cigar. His pasty face was momentarily painted in orange when he flicked on his lighter. “Beck's fine. We were just looking for some incentive to get you to show tonight.”

Wylie stiffened and took in his surroundings for the first time since catching sight of Roth. It looked like the entire gang was there. Most of the men were hanging behind a stack of crates near the loading area. There was a buzz of energy to the group. Emotions were high and the guys were armed to the teeth. He could scent gun oil and sweat. Something was going down, and soon.

“I want to see B. Whatever the fuck this is all about, I want to see he's okay,” Wylie snapped as he met Roth's dark gaze.

Roth nodded to Adam, who seemed relieved to escape for any amount of time. Diego took it as his cue to make an ass of himself. He came over to spit at Wylie's feet. “I owe you, freak. You fucked-up my arm. Ruined my tats, ruined my—”

“Get the fuck out of my face,” Wylie warned. He stepped forward and bumped his chest against Diego’s. He refused to back down. “I fucked your arm up by accident. It’s nothing compared to what I’ll do to you on purpose, you stupid fuck. I almost ended up in Daiker because of your fuck up.”

“My fuck up? If you had minded your own fucking business—”

“Diego.” Roth’s voice was low. Diego growled. He glared in parting and stomped back to his crate. It didn't take much; no one fucked with Roth. Wylie assumed it was the man's connections because, besides being doughy and a terrible dresser, he’d yet to do anything impressive since their introduction. But men followed him, the type more likely to turn on their own, so Roth must have something to back up his threats.

“Wylie? Holy fuck, what are you doing here!” Beck suddenly ran up. He threw himself into Wylie's arms and nearly knocked him over. Wylie grunted. He straightened and grabbed Beck by his shoulders to make sure he was okay. It hadn't been that long but staring down into Beck's warm eyes felt surreal. He hadn’t expected to see him again.

“I heard they sent you to Daiker.” Beck bit his lower lip anxiously. “Where's your shirt? Did you… Did you escape? How did you…?”

“I dodged Daiker,” Wylie answered. He didn’t want to go into it. “You're okay?”

“Okay? I'm fine. I was worried sick, Wylie! I seriously thought you were trapped with those psycho shifters. I should have known you'd find a way out.”

“B…” Wylie sighed when Beck gave him another abrupt hug. He glared over his head at Roth. “B, I got to talk to these guys for a second. We can catch up later, alright?”

Beck pulled away and blinked up at Wylie in confusion. He glanced behind him and found Roth and Diego waiting. “What's going on? Are you joining us tonight?”

“Doe's getting us in.” Roth held his arm out and Beck approached him hesitantly.

“You are?” Beck looked back at him expectantly. Wylie wasn't sure what to say so he just nodded and stepped closer. He didn’t want Roth anywhere near Beck. Wylie’s gaze fell on Adam, who was hunched next to the group just at the edge. There was something off about him, something he was only able to identify from his time at the Academy. He had no way to prove it but he was certain Adam was a sorcerer.

Roth exhaled vanilla flavored smoke and tilted his head at Wylie. “I called you here for a reason. A job. It's good money.”

Wylie hadn't come for a job but to stop Beck from being killed. For some reason, Beck was fucking oblivious to that little nugget of information. “No disrespect, Roth, but I'm in a good place. A place that I'd lose really quick if I got into trouble with the law.”

“None of us want trouble with the law. We're not looking to get caught. Your skill set will guarantee we get through easy as can be. You can get through steel, kid, and we need that tonight.”

Wylie looked to where Diego was staring him down like a rabid animal, and shook his head. “I'm done with that shit. Sorry, you wasted your time calling me here.”

“Don't be that way, Wy.” Beck held his hand and grinned up at him. “Do you even get how much we'll be making on this one job? One night and we're all set for life. You'll have enough money to move to some tropical island and live out the rest of your days in bliss. No one will care you're a shifter when you have shit tons of money.”

Wylie was starting to remember just how fucking idealistic Beck could be at times and the wakeup call sucked. “B, it took only one person to fuck up our last job and I nearly ended up in Daiker because of it. Whatever they're looking to do, there are now—” he turned, and pointed to behind the crates where the rest of the gang was stationed, “At least two dozen guys to fuck it all up. I'm done throwing my life away over shit that isn't even important.”

There was a distinct click. Wylie whirled and stared as Roth handed a pistol to Diego. A pistol that the gangster then pointed at Beck. He stiffened as the gun was raised and aimed at his head. Wylie dragged Beck behind his back and held his arm tight to make sure he didn't move. “Roth, you don't have to—”

“The thing is, Doe, you were motivated enough to come out here when you thought we were going to kill sweet Beck.” Roth smirked meanly. His teeth were yellowed and stained from his constant cigar smoking. “Let's see if that can't work in my favor again, hmm?”

Diego stalked up and pointed the gun up to the side of Wylie's head. The metal was startlingly cold. Wylie’s growl stuck in his throat. Even if he could get his scales up, he had very little confidence his skin was thick enough to stop a fucking bullet at point blank range.

“Let him go, freak.” Diego’s breath was no better since the last time they were face to face. Reluctantly, Wylie released Beck’s arm. Beck gasped when Diego pulled him forward roughly.

Diego turned him by the collar of his jacket, and forced Beck down to the ground in front of Wylie with the gun resting on the back of his bowed head. “Just wait a fucking second!” Wylie roared. He stalked forward only to stop with a growl when the gun was again pointed his way. He met Beck’s frightened eyes; he was near tears and still oblivious to the fact he was a pawn in the whole setup. Fuck.

“Well? Have you made a decision?” Roth stepped up beside Diego. He showed no sign he gave a fuck if Beck ended up dead or not.

Rage was a hand clutching his throat. Wylie's body was tight with restrained force. He never let his anger get the best of him. He never let his beast do what he wouldn't. Anger would get Beck killed and that was the one thing he was there to avoid.

His teeth gritted tight, Wylie forced himself to answer. “What do you want me to do?”

SCENE #40

It was his first time leaving the Academy grounds since his arrival over two years ago. Dorian realized his mistake the moment he stepped through the portal. He didn’t have a null-collar. He found enough sense to change out of his pajamas and grab a hoodie, but his preparation had ended there. Magic gave Dorian everything he could ever desire. He was fearless as he stepped through the portal into a den of car thieves and their chop shop. But once on the other side, he realized he was vulnerable. Not from being harmed by a thug, but from losing control and killing everyone.

There was no Michael to come running if he lost his cool. No null-collar. No help. It left him alert and tense. He was hyper aware of his magic and what it was trying to do as he fought to stay calm and focused. He was there for Wylie, nothing else. Just a quick portal service back to the Academy once his business was finished. That Wylie hadn't asked didn't matter.

The first person to see him was steps away when Dorian moved through the mirror. It was an older man covered in sweat with a dark tan that spoke of grease more than sun. Dorian ignored him even as he gaped wide-eyed. He continued to ignore him when fingers bounced off his magical barrier when the stranger tried to grab him. Dorian looked around and spotted the likeliest way out of the building. A jungle of car parts and large equipment threatened to get in his way.

“Fucking little bitch—”

Dorian ducked reflexively. His magic shielded him and made the move more annoyance than anything else. The man, now sprawled on the floor from the momentum of his failed punch, fumbled for a cell phone. Tsking, Dorian quirked his finger and the phone skittered across the concrete floor and shattered. “Seriously, stop distracting me.” He finally spelled the guy still when he tried to get up again.

The warehouse was huge, poorly lit, and outrageously noisy. He considered a floating spell; it would be nothing to fly across the area instead of trying to walk through the mess. He had a feeling he’d be spotted quick though. He wasn't interested in a room full of professional punks looking to beat him. Not that they could do much. They weren't sorcerers and they didn't possess unimaginable strength or speed like a shifter. He had little to fear except the annoyance of being slowed down.

Decided, Dorian cast a spell to camouflage himself. His fingers gave a rebellious spark once he was done. Using his magic did not expel it. No, casting only made the power inside bubble higher, and each spell was a step closer to losing his control. The other reason he didn't want to fuck around if he didn't have to. Without a null-collar, if he lost his shit, there would be no way to keep him from going nuclear on the building and everyone in it.

Dorian walked unseen through the maze and observed the many illegal activities going on around him. He was never one for stealing or drugging or whatever people did to make big money while taking from others. Before the Academy he was dealing with his own problems with his family and their many expectations. But he knew a few sorcerers who fell into questionable magics for money or attention.

It was twisted shit like revenge magic where you'd be hired to fuck someone up with a spell. Usually angry lovers whose guy or girl hadn't cared enough about them, or just fucktards who never had a shot in the first place. There were potions you could brew to get a person high much better than drugs, and probably even more addictive. There were plenty of ways he could have been a total monster if he didn’t have to worry his Grandfather would hunt him down and make him pay in a similar fashion. Not to mention, fucking people up hadn't really appealed.

The night air was cool and smelled of the ocean when he finally stepped out of the warm glow of the auto shop. Dorian paused and let his senses expand as he sought out Wylie's magical signature. If one was adept enough, he could find pretty much any magic source in the area. Dorian knew what Wylie felt like. He’d secreted the knowledge away a month ago when he first saw Wylie fall to the ground from the police cruiser nullifier.

Dorian found him after only a few moments. Wylie hadn't gone far, but he wasn't in the building next door like he expected. No, Wylie was somewhere on the wharf and he wasn't alone. There was something else interfering with his abilities and Dorian opened his eyes and glared. A powerful something.

Turning in the direction of the pier, he started to walk toward Wylie and the magic burning like a white-hot flame to his senses.

SCENE #41

“I don't understand,” Wylie finally spoke. He stared blankly at the huge metal crate. It was the type used to ship cargo overseas. The box was covered by others and there were piles of them. It was like looking at a colorful collection of LEGOs a giant child failed to put away after playing for the day.

“I just need you to open it.” Roth had switched to chewing on the end of his cigar instead of smoking it. It was a habit he did when he was excited.

“What's in it?”

The rest of the gang was behind Wylie with guns at the ready. For what, he wasn't sure, seeing as they hadn't even left the fucking docks yet. Roth led them all down the boardwalk as if they were getting ready for an all-out gang brawl. But there wasn't another gang waiting. No, it was just some big red crate.

“That's really none of your business, now is it, kid? Just open the crate.” Roth gave another chew on his cigar and grinned fiercely.

Wylie's nerves were frayed. Diego had Beck in a headlock; his thick arm was around Beck’s delicate neck and gun pressed to his sweating temple. Wylie already agreed to do whatever the fuck they wanted but they still felt the need to drag Beck around like a ragdoll getting ready to be executed. That was only the tip of the problem. Even though everyone had their guns drawn, Diego's was the only one pointed at Beck. Everyone else was aimed at the crate Roth wanted him to open.

Whatever was inside the thing, he had a feeling he didn't want to be the idiot to open the door to let it out.

When Wylie still made no move to approach the container, Roth gave a nod to Diego. Beck gasped in fear when Diego squeezed his throat painfully tight.

“Shit, chill the fuck out!” Wylie snarled. He glared at the junkyard gangster and hoped Beck could hang on a little longer. Beck had gone quiet after the first strike when Diego felt the need to punch him for being too slow. Sure, Beck could smart talk himself out of a lot of shit, but he couldn't handle pain.

Wylie tentatively approached the crate. He raised his hands out in front when he felt something in the air. The metal container was eight feet tall, eight feet wide, and twenty feet long. There was something really wrong about it, something he couldn't fully identify until he let his dragon out and scales erupted over his flesh in a cascade of shimmery black.

His muscles bulged, body lengthened in height, and senses roared into focus. Wylie could easily hear the gasps behind him and a few guns pointed his way now. Great. Just what he needed, to get shot by some trigger happy fucktard while doing a job for Roth. The thing in the crate might not have a chance to kill him if the idiots shot him first.

Wylie stepped forward with a clawed hand out, and flinched when some sort of barrier buzzed before him. Magic. The fucking thing reeked of magic. The metal crate was wrapped in a barrier of protection. It buzzed so powerfully it gave off the scent of singed ozone.

He turned. He wasn’t about to bullshit with Roth. “There's a barrier, a strong one from what I can tell. I don't know any magic. I won't be able to take it down…” he trailed off and fixed on Adam when he stepped forward.

“You're a dragon. Your scales will protect you from the barrier enough so you can pass through.”

Wylie had a dozen rude words for the little shit. Adam was a sorcerer and he knew about dragons. “My scales might give me some protection, but this spell is strong. It's going to hurt like a fucker. Even if I can get through it, I won't have any strength left to rip through the damn crate after.”

Roth had another chew to his cigar and raised his hand. Diego immediately pushed Beck forward, grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him. Diego's hand with the gun slammed down across Beck's face. Beck howled in pain.

“God damn it!” Wylie snarled and went to run back and beat the shit out of Diego, only to stop when he heard a gun click. Fuckers. The god damn fuckers.

“It's up to you, Doe.” Roth’s dark eyes were full of malice. “A little pain on your end or watch your pretty boyfriend's brains get splattered on the docks. What's it going to be?”

Why the fuck had he ever let B talk him into joining with these fuckers? Beck sure looked to be questioning it. Fear was bright in his eyes as he gingerly touched the swollen flesh below his eye. Blood dripped from the wound.

It didn't matter. They were in shit deep now, and it was up to him to get them out of it. Wylie didn't know what the fuck was in the crate but he knew he was afraid of it. Maybe even slightly more than his fear of what Roth would do to Beck if he failed. But B was depending on him. The naïve idiot still hung with these losers even after Diego proved just how untrustworthy the whole group was. He was the only way Beck was going to survive and in that moment, Wylie resigned himself to his fate.

Hopefully, whatever the fuck he released wouldn't kill them all once it was free.

Whirling back, Wylie put held both his demon arms up and threw himself at the invisible barrier. “Fuck,” he growled as a current of magic rushed through him. It was beyond painful even with his scales. He felt his dragon stir from the pain. The beast pushed closer to the surface as it tried to help.

Wylie’s arms had at least made it through because his hands no longer burned. It meant the rest of his body still needed to get through the thick barrier. He gritted his teeth and stepped forward. This might kill him. Being found stuck halfway through some invisible barrier with a really stupid expression on his face hadn't been at the top of his list of cool ways to kick it.

His dragon gave another shudder of power. It was helping him move faster and tried to force them through the barrier quickly. Wylie’s scales fluffed out in defense like the dragon wanted to slice the barrier the same way it would a physical target.

He abruptly slammed into the crate as he broke past the magic resisting him. The barrier gratefully didn’t reach the actual metal. He realized why as he stood there panting with his face against the cold container and tried to get the sounds of his own screams to stop echoing in his head. There was a thin gap between the magical barrier and the crate. The longer Wylie stood in it regaining his strength the more he realized how difficult it was to breathe. Air couldn't get through the barrier either.

He reached for the thick padlock and immediately pulled his hand back when his skin burned. It wasn't like the barrier magic, but it was very familiar to when he took a hit to his head trying to get out of the police car. Testing his theory, Wylie raised his claws to the wall of the crate before him, and slid down in a deliberate slash. Thin scratches taunted him. The metal barely gave to his dragon strength. It was imbued with the material used to make the nullifiers.

“Give me a fucking break!” He dared to look back where there were two dozen assholes with guns ready to kill Beck if he failed. Beck was on his knees with another bruise on his face. Fucking Diego.

He couldn't stop now. He could either asphyxiate while standing there hoping something would change, or magically electrocute himself trying to get back through the barrier. Both options would still get Beck killed.

Wylie curled his hand into a fist, puffed his scales out, and slammed down on the wall of the crate right above where the lock was in place. He didn't need to tear a hole the size of him or break the lock, he just needed to get the lock off the door. The metal was stronger than anything he’d tried to break before, but it wasn't indestructible. The wall was much thinner than the door and brute force crumpled it like paper.

When a black hole appeared after a particularly heavy blow, Wylie tore his claws into the opening. He grabbed and wrenched down hard, and pulled the metal apart like a jagged can. He smiled grimly when the lock fell free and nearly stumbled back into the barrier. Stale air greeted him, along with the scent of urine. Wylie pulled the door open; the barrier gave to the null metal but not enough to allow him to open it wide.

His dragon's night vision took over and Wylie peered into the dark crate with growing dread. Something moved, something very much alive as it scraped on the metal floor.

“Holy fuck,” Wylie whispered. He stepped into the yawning darkness with eyes fixed ahead.

SCENE #42

Wylie didn't return after a few tense minutes. Diego took a kick at Beck out of spite, who hissed and grabbed his side. “What the fuck is he doing?” Paranoid and pissed off, Diego looked ready to beat the fuck out of someone. When he saw Wylie's fully scaled form he nearly pissed himself. If he actually had, Beck thought it might make up for the fucker ruining his face.

“The barrier is still up,” Roth reminded calmly. His stub of a cigar was almost completely chewed to the quick.

“He's alone in there with our loot.”

Beck watched Roth out of the corner of his eye. The gang leader was unconcerned. Clearly Diego had no idea what was in the crate, but Roth sure did and was unmoved by the fact that Wylie was alone with it. The leader's next words sent a chill through Beck and he gasped.

“He's going to be dead either when he comes out or by our friend in there. Less work is less work.” Roth stepped towards the barrier and called out into the opened gap of the door. He pulled his stub of a cigar from his mouth to be heard when the barrier kept him from getting too close. “Come on, kid. That thing has already killed twenty guys just during its capture. Get your ass out here and let us take care of it.”

No answer came. Roth turned to Adam and waved him over. “Think you can get this barrier down since he broke through it?”

Adam glared at the invisible wall of magic and raised his hands. He sighed after two minutes of no effect. “It's weaker where he went through but I'm not strong enough. It's a really powerful spell.”

Roth nodded slowly. “We need a way in. Can you make a hole the next time he comes out?”

“Maybe… If Wylie is right in the middle of the barrier at the time.” Adam looked uncertain.

Roth smirked in anticipation and turned back to the crate. It was utter darkness through the gap of the door but he had faith Wylie hadn't gotten himself killed just yet. “I'm not fucking around, Doe! Get your ass out here or I'm killing your boyfriend.”

SCENE #43

Wylie could hear Roth fine enough but there was no way in fuck he was leaving. It was a kid. There was a kid in the crate tied up and struggling to breathe. Not a monster, not a pile of treasure but a poor, scrawny kid. He couldn't have been over eight. He was pale and thin with dark hair. His bangs fell across his cherub face. He was also terrified. Some psycho had wrapped him in chains made of the same metal Wylie just broke through. The kid was hogtied head to toe and reeked of human waste and fear.

Wylie crouched down and moved closer. He wasn’t sure if he could see him in the utter darkness of the crate. The kid’s breathing sped up and he let out a terrified whimper while he tried to roll away.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” Wylie assured soothingly. “And I'm not going to let those creeps outside hurt you.” The kid’s flesh was red under the chains. It had to hurt. He was either a shifter or a sorcerer, and someone had tied him in chains that would burn his fucking skin.

“Can you speak? What's your name, kid?” Wylie tentatively reached his hand out and brushed the boy's face with his knuckles. He watched green eyes widen in realization that he wasn't fully human.

“D-Dante.” His voice was soft, and had an Italian accent. He sounded like he hadn't had water in days. He was still looking determinedly in Wylie's direction. He peered intently as if he'd be able to see him if he only squinted hard enough.

“Dante, my name is Wylie. I'm a dragon shifter. Have you ever heard of one of those?”

Dante shook his head mutely and his eyes grew wide.

“That's okay. I didn't know they existed until a month ago, but I've been one my entire life. It means I'm really strong, Dante. I can get through magic lots of other people can't. Because of that, some people might want to hurt me.” He leaned closer and Dante blinked at him in the dark. “Did someone want to hurt you?”

“I can do things others can't,” Dante whispered. “Big things.”

Wylie’s fingers twitched towards the chains and the nullifying magic that threatened to burn him. A sorcerer then. Would a shifter wrapped in these same chains die? He could feel the power in the metal and hadn’t even touched them. “I'm going to get these chains off of you, Dante, then we're going to get the hell out of here. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

“W-Wylie?” Tears sparkled in Dante’s eyes. “You're not… you're not afraid of me.”

Wylie smiled grimly. “Nah, kid, I know what it's like to have a lot of power. But I always chose how I use my power. If you're not afraid of me, the guy you can't even see that just tore through a metal door to get to you, I'm not going to be afraid of you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Dante answered softly and closed his eyes. “I'm not afraid of you either.”

“I'm going to try and get these chains off of you. It's made out of a metal that hurts me, so don't be scared if I start yelling. Can you be brave, Dante?” Wylie was sure he could. He survived a trip overseas alone in the dark while chained up; the kid was brave.

“Yeah. I'm brave.”

“Good. I'm gonna get you out of this shit.” Wylie stared at the chain carefully. It was thin enough, and if it had been made out of any other metal, he would’ve been able to break it like blades of grass. But it wasn't normal metal. He turned Dante carefully and found a link that didn't look as well welded as the rest. The raw edges of metal were exposed. If he could bend it far enough, he'd be able to get him free.

“It's hard to breathe,” Dante whispered while Wylie struggled with the chain. Wylie gritted his teeth from the pain and exertion.

“It'll be better outside.”

Dante nodded at the answer and slumped on the metal floor. His muscles lost tension while Wylie's efforts caused small bursts of pain whenever the chains moved.

“What's that?” Dante’s head turned towards the door down on the opposite end of the crate.

Outside, Wylie could hear gunshots. He growled under his breath and pulled tighter on the metal. The chain cut into his fingers and grew slippery with his blood. He couldn't leave Dante until the kid could defend himself, not after he heard Beck talk about the amount of money this score was going to make the gang.

Roth was going to sell Dante to the highest bidder, but only after he took the kid from the people who stole him first. And whoever stole him, they fucking knew what they were doing. The crate was damn near impenetrable and the chains impossible for Dante to get out of on his own. Adam apparently knew a fuck ton more than he let on. No, none of this was sitting right with him. He could only hope Roth wasn't stupid enough to kill Beck, his only leverage in getting Wylie to obey.

Dante whimpered in fear when more gunshots fired outside. “Fuck,” Wylie muttered. He wasn't beating the fucking chain, just bleeding all over the thing. Pausing, he focused inward and tried to reach the dragon inside. They needed more if he was going to get Dante free. He needed greater strength and he was willing to let the dragon have more of his body in exchange.

Wylie grabbed the chain with both hands, ignored the searing pain, and pulled as hard as he could.

SCENE #44

It wasn’t difficult to find Wylie through the maze of towering shipping crates. The power radiating in the area was a beacon and any sorcerer in miles probably sensed it. Which made him wonder just what the fuck kind of idiot sorcerer would go through the trouble of protecting a crate and not mask his signature. It was just begging for a cocky bastard to come along and steal whatever was inside.

It wasn't a sorcerer trying to get into the crate, Dorian soon discovered when he stepped up behind the gang of punks loaded down with weapons. No, it was some snot nosed amateur magic user and a bunch of gangsters, all of them human. They were camped out in front of the crate as if the thing was going to suddenly rear up and attack them. Seriously, what a bunch of idiots.

Although he wasn't in a hurry to meet the arrogant sorcerer who spelled the canister, he sure as hell wasn't going to let Wylie get caught up with the powerful stranger either. Any sorcerer who could raise such a spell would know the worth of a dragon shifter. It was dangerous shit.

Unfortunately, Wylie was in the crate and Dorian had to get past the idiots with guns first.

He pulled a cigarette free and lit it idly while taking in the formation of men. The weirdo in the green jumpsuit looked like he ran the show. Someone was bleeding, a guy about his own age, and a tougher guy stood over him with a gun. It seemed like a good place to start. Dorian walked forward without bothering to camouflage himself.

His choice was correct. Dorian picked up on Wylie's scent the closer he got to the guy swaying on the ground. He turned his gaze towards the large metal crate and wondered what the hell was inside it. But people were shouting at him now and the sounds of hammers being cocked were surprisingly distracting.

“Who the fuck are you!” He dismissed the man covered in scars and tattoos, who was waving his gun like it was going to do shit. Dorian turned to the guy on the ground. He offered him a hand and helped him to his feet.

“You know Wylie?” Dorian finished his cigarette and dispersed it with a puff of smoke. That got the angry yelling to stop. The men around him grew tenser when they realized he wasn't just some powerless teenager wandering in.

Beck nodded slowly in answer to his question. He watched as the beautiful stranger moved so he was between Beck and the many men with guns. Dorian touched his face and he jumped. Dorian just raised an eyebrow at his reaction and pressed fingers again to his cheek. Heat radiated from his touch and soothed away the pain throbbing in the bruises Diego gave him.

“He a friend of yours?” Dorian wanted to make sure he was helping the right guy. Probably. Beck was sweet looking and lacked the resolve to kill, unlike the hard-eyed men around them.

“Dating,” Beck muttered while he touched his face gingerly. When no pain came, he quickly wiped the remaining blood away. His hands were shaking, likely from having a gun at his head for so long.

“Ah.” Dorian didn't know what to say to Wylie's ex—or what, current? Had Wylie gone there just to get back together with the guy?

Well, fuck.

Dorian licked his teeth and tried to push the stab of jealousy away. There was a mini army of punks with guns and Wylie was in some crate with god only knew what. Now was not the time to start feeling sorry for himself.

“What's in the box?” Dorian asked while inconspicuously studying Beck, who was pushing his hair from his face. He wasn't bad looking beneath the bruises. He had a sweet face if not a bit innocent. Of course Wylie had been dating someone before he came to the Academy. Hell, maybe they were still dating. For all he knew, this guy was waiting patiently for Wylie to get his dragon form under control so the two could live happily ever after in their white-trash gangster ghetto.

Nope, he was totally bitter as fuck. Damn it.

Beck stared warily at the large metal crate and gave a shrug full of uncertainty. “Not sure. Something worth a lot of money but it's supposed to be dangerous. Wylie went in there over ten minutes ago and he hasn't come out. I don't… I hope he's okay.”

“You should mind your own business.” Adam walked over to the two and met Dorian's gaze challengingly.

“Fuck off, Adam,” Beck snapped. “Go lick Roth's boots like the little bitch you are.”

Adam folded his arms over his chest and continued to glare at Dorian. The kid was short with mousy brown hair and wide, frightened eyes. He had power but it wasn't flowing properly, which meant he had no clue about what the fuck he was doing. Hardly a threat to someone like him.

“I'm here for my boy, Wylie. I really don't give a fuck what's going on.” Dorian turned and took in the array of gangsters still pointing guns at him. “Except, seeing as you all seem to be ready to go on a shooting spree aimed where my friend is, I might have to step in just to prevent that.”

“Maybe we can help each other out,” Roth spoke up with a fake smile plastered on his face.

Dorian watched as the weirdo in the green tracksuit approached. For someone with absolutely no magical power, he managed to look confident. “Oh?”

“Yes. Doe has gotten himself trapped in that crate over there and we can't get through the magic locking him in.” Roth looked him over with an assessing gaze. Dorian’s eyes narrowed in response. “But you seem to have some power, kid. Either that or you're really fucking brave. If you get that barrier down, we'll be able to set Wylie free and the two of you can be on your way.”

Dorian wasn't an idiot. If there were men more manipulative and terrifying than his own grandfather and father, he had yet to meet them. The poorly dressed gangster wasn't even close to their league. Dorian glanced at Adam's closed expression and then to Beck’s wide, fearful eyes.

“Don't,” Beck pleaded under his breath. “They're gonna kill him.”

A spark jumped off of Dorian's fingers. Beck stared at him in shock but he didn’t notice. Dorian’s magic was bubbling up in response to the sudden emotion rising in him.

They were going to kill Wylie? Fucking kill him?

“Fuck,” Dorian growled. Two more sparks shot free while he struggled for control.

“Are you—oh!” His eyes wide, Beck stumbled back when Dorian grabbed him. He hauled the shorter boy to the crate. Dorian sliced his hand down, tore a temporary hole in the barrier and shoved Beck through before he could protest.

“What are you doing?” Beck pressed uselessly at the invisible barrier.

“Stay here. It might keep you alive. Wylie can shield some magic.” The barrier plus Wylie’s abilities might be enough. Maybe, if anything was ever enough.

It was getting hard to think. Dorian felt the magic surge up and try to take him over. It wanted blood and he, well, he wouldn't mind killing these stupid, arrogant fuckers who thought they could just take Wylie away.

Wylie had left the Academy for these freaks. Had left him. No, fuck that.

Beck blanched from the expression on Dorian’s face. Jolts of light sparked across the sorcerer's body while Dorian's eyes changed. His once expressive hazel orbs turned black along with the whites of his eyes. It was creepy as fuck, somehow more so because he was so beautiful. Beck held his breath and was relieved when Dorian finally turned away.

Dorian hazily took in the gang of men. The shipping crates were stacked high around them and formed a bizarre metal canyon. It might be enough to contain his power. It might be enough to keep him from taking out more than just the area and the fuckers around him.

His eyes fell on Adam, who was so small and scrawny among the bulked and muscular gangsters. He smiled and felt his lips stretch in a more than psychotic way. “Are you looking to kill my Wylie too?” His voice was deceptively calm as he stepped towards Adam and more sparks flared from his skin. “Are you planning on skinning him? Stealing his fucking magic for some shit dark spells?”

Adam shook his head wildly and stumbled away from Dorian. He cringed when he saw the blackness of his eyes. “N-Never. I'm self-taught. I don't know anything about magic except what I learned on the web. I'd never kill someone for a spell.”

Dorian's smile grew. “Then you better get the fuck out cuz once I get started, this whole place is going down.”

Adam licked his lips nervously and glanced at Roth. If the gangster let him go, it would be riddled with bullets. But Dorian had damn monstrous power. If he were to choose between guns or the sorcerer, it would be Dorian. Adam slipped around the sparking sorcerer and headed to the crate Beck and Wylie were in. He swiftly moved down the length and ducked behind the makeshift shield.

“Do I give you creeps the same choice?” Dorian’s voice was unfamiliar in his own ear. It sounded smooth and controlled as he stalked forward. “You're pointing guns at my guy.”

“Chill the fuck out, kid.” Roth hardly looked impressed with his power even though Dorian's clothes were smoking and flames just started to lick up his shirt. “You're getting worked up over nothing. The guns are for what's in the crate, not Doe.”

“Wylie's in the fucking crate!”

“Stupid kid.” Roth sighed resignedly and looked over at Diego. Diego raised his gun, pointed it at Dorian's chest, and three bullets exploded out in succinct explosions.

Dorian didn't bother moving. The bullets didn't hit, not that Diego's aim was off. They hovered in midair in front of the now flaming sorcerer where they were suspended inches from his body. Moments later, they fell with a metallic clatter.

“You guys might want to start running like the little bitches you are.” Dorian’s teeth bared in an expression he couldn’t comprehend. He felt wrong, twisted. It was the first time his power hadn’t immediately exploded outward and he wasn’t himself.

Roth glared back at his men who were staring at the sorcerer like they were facing the devil. “Come on, you pussies. It's just a fucking kid. He can block one gun, but there's no way he can block us all. Fucking shoot him!”

Dorian glared when two dozen guns immediately clicked in preparation to fire. Wow, they were really fucking stupid. What did he have to do, start flying for them to take him seriously? Fucktards.

A vicious smile twisted his lips. Let them shoot. They had no idea who they were fucking with.

SCENE #45

The shooting grew louder. Wylie gasped when he got another centimeter open on the chain now coated in his blood. It was nearly done. With a growl he gave a final pull. He roared triumphantly when the chain snapped apart in his hands.

“Did you…?” Dante blinked back tears and whimpered as Wylie moved to untangle him. It was overwhelmingly loud after so much silence. Metal struck metal as each freed loop landed on the floor of the crate. Dante sat up unsteadily with Wylie’s help. The chain was wrapped so many times around him Wylie swore under his breath.

“You're like a fucking mummy.” Wylie hissed when metal burned into the cuts on his hands. The chain gave a final ear piercing clatter and fell flat on the ground in a heap.

Wylie licked his palms to heal his bloody cuts. He let Dante sway in his sitting position and get used to being unbound.

“You're really strong,” Dante finally whispered. His rail-thin body shook uncontrollably. “Are all dragon shifters like you?”

“No clue.” He held his hands out and Dante fumbled for them the instant he made contact. “Try not to be scared when you see me, okay? I'm covered in black scales and I'm sure I look scary as hell. Can you stand?”

Dante tried. He clutched Wylie's hands when his knees gave out.

“Damn.” Wylie’s anger grew to see how weak he was. “How long have you been in this crate?”

“I… I'm not sure,” Dante whispered. “It’s so dark. I couldn't tell the time. I… I got sick…” he trailed off and blushed when his hand brushed over his damp pants.

“Don't worry about it. It's not like they gave you a bathroom.” Wylie tugged his hand and Dante nearly fell again. “I'm going to carry you, okay? We might have to run really fast and I don't want you to fall and get hurt.”

“Okay.” Dante let himself be lifted. He wrapped his arms around the back of Wylie's neck as scaled arms engulfed him. “You're really strong.”

Wylie couldn’t answer. His rage was too great. The kid was thin as a straw and weighed barely anything. Who the fuck would have chained a little boy up in the dark and thrown him in some fucking crate? He didn't know but if he ever met the person, he was going to make sure they suffered even more than little Dante had.

“We're going to get you home, Dante. First, I'll take you to the place I live. There are lots of good people there, and they'll protect you. Then we're going to find your parents and get you home. Just remember, I'm not going to look like a normal guy when you first see me. I have lots of scales.”

“I know.” Dante’s breath was too cold against his neck. Wylie had a chilling fear that the kid might be losing the last of his energy while in his arms, even though he was now free of the chains. He quickened his pace and headed for the door to the container. Wylie stopped short when he caught sight of an arm framed in the narrow gap leading out. He breathed deep and his confusion only grew from the familiar scent.

“Beck?”

Beck didn't answer. He barely glanced at Wylie when he pushed his way out the door with Dante in his arms. “Holy fuck, Wy. Your new boyfriend is fucking awesome.”

“Boyfriend?” His gaze followed to where Beck was staring. Wylie almost dropped Dante when he saw Dorian. “What the hell? When did he get here?” Better yet, why was he there? After the bonfire incident, he could have sworn Dorian wanted nothing to do with him.

Wylie jerked when he realized the bursts of magic shooting off of Dorian were just powerful versions of the sparks he had a habit of letting loose around him. “Shit. B, I need you to watch Dante. Don't let him out of your sight.”

He carefully lowered Dante to the ground. Dante was transfixed as he stared up at Wylie’s scaled form in wonder. “Who is he?” Beck asked when he finally noticed the kid.

“Roth's fucking treasure,” Wylie growled bitterly. “Be gentle with him. He's weak, and probably starving and thirsty. I need to help Dorian before he loses his shit.” Wylie went to leave but Dante's hand suddenly clutched his.

“I don't want you to go.”

Sighing, Wylie crouched down and smiled grimly. “Don't be scared, okay? I'm going to be right back.”

“They have guns,” Dante whispered.

“It's okay. I'm going to be fine. Beck's a good guy and he's going to watch you until I come back.”

Pursing his lips, Dante reluctantly released Wylie's clawed hand. Beck held a hand out to the boy and smiled encouragingly until Dante tentatively took it and stepped closer.

Wylie could sense where Dorian previously sliced the barrier. He pushed through the thin tear faster and with much less pain than last time. Noise immediately roared around him when he crossed the threshold and Wylie was momentarily stunned. He hadn't realized how the barrier muffled all the sound until on the other side.

Shaking himself, he headed towards the sorcerer alight with magic and fire. “Dorian! Stop!”

At the sound of his voice, Dorian whirled. “Wylie!”

Wylie couldn't help but stop and stare. Dorian was backlit with orange and surrounded in flames. The wood around them had caught on fire from the sparks jumping off of his form. Peering closer, he found a pile of guns at his feet. Dorian had collected them one by one with simple flicks of his wrists.

He was fucking beautiful.

A smile lit his face and Wylie reached a hand out to Dorian. He’d taken on the entire fucking gang for him, and didn't even break a sweat. Well, besides his burning clothes, anyways. Wylie’s dragon had stopped its aggressive stance just on seeing its mate's amazing power.

“It's not worth it, Dorian. They're just a bunch of dumbass scum. Not worth the guilt you'll feel if you lose control of your power. Not worth ending up in Daiker—”

Dorian's eyes went wide. Gasping, Wylie stared down at his chest when he was pushed back a step. Two small, perfectly round holes dotted his flesh beneath shattered scales. Blood slowly trickled out of the wounds.

“Shit.” It didn't hurt. Being shot was supposed to hurt. Wylie’s body shuddered and tilted sideways. Against his consent, he slammed down heavily to his knees. “Shit.” He lurched forward. His face hit the ground hard and everything went black.

SCENE #46

Dorian couldn't breathe. Wylie was bleeding out, with his blood thick and black as it poured down his beautiful scales. But for some reason he was the one who couldn’t breathe. He felt lightheaded and no longer attached to his body. All he could do was watch Wylie gasp for air on the ground.

There was an explosion as his magic reacted to another array of bullets. Dorian turned slowly and looked blankly at the men remaining. Twelve were left. Roth's lime-green tracksuit was lost in the dark while his men formed a shield to keep him from being harmed. It didn't matter. Once his magic finished its quickly spiraling climb, anyone within a mile would be dead.

The moment the thought hit, it was a dam breaking of the numb wall blocking his emotions. His shirt was char and the wind swept it away. Smoke billowed up with his power. Dorian raised his hands and spread them wide. He pulled his arms down in a sweeping motion and the men before him fell, pinned flat to the ground even as the fire continued to burn higher.

They could have been something. They could have been something amazing. It was why it was so fucking hard to let Wylie go. Wylie could have been his damn life if his fucking magic hadn't gotten in the way of everything.

God, he hated it! Years a slave to his grandfather's ideals just because he was born with magic. And once he found a way free—at the sacrifice of Alastor's life—he allowed himself to forget. He chose his terrible, cursed magic over a real future. He picked power like his heartless family would have instead of the one he loved.

Now the option was gone. He had chosen wrong and there was no do-over.

“Just so you know, you're all going to die.” Dorian’s voice was hoarse from the smoke. He stepped forward and stood over the closest of the men who struggled and failed to move. It was the one covered with tattoos who threatened to kill Wylie's friend. No, Wylie's boyfriend.

Sparks flew from his body. Dorian embraced the feeling of jealousy. It was easier to focus on than the hollowness threatening to consume his heart. Ever since the accident with Alastor, he did everything to keep his emotions in check. Now he was doing everything to let them flow free. He wanted them to die. He wanted to see everyone die and there was more than enough pain inside to make it happen.

SCENE #47

In the darkness, Wylie found his dragon. The creature was longer here, with pure sinew muscle and sharp, deadly edges coated in a black rainbow of scales. Its eyes glowed an icy blue with teeth long and sharp as it glared back at him from beneath heavy horns.

It was Wylie’s first glimpse of the beast inside. He could taste blood. Somewhere metal liquid dripped from his lips. He wondered blearily if he was dying.

Do you accept me?

He stared into the glowing eyes. It took long moments for him to understand the creature’s words. “Accept?”

The dragon uncoiled and rose up. It was sleek, shimmery and far larger than Wylie had ever conceived. Its talons were out, scales puffed and dangerous, with limbs tight with restrained force. It towered above. He could see its wings now; they were thin black membrane stretched over hollow bones that the beast flexed.

I asked you once before, human. When I awoke from the darkness, I asked for you to join me. You refused.

Wylie could vaguely remember ten years ago. He fainted moments before attacking the revolting man who hurt his sister. There was something in the darkness behind his eyes. Something with glowing white glare and frightening teeth.

Had he not accepted? Was that his problem all along? Was it why other shifters were taken over by their beasts while he couldn't fully transform? He didn’t remember refusing the dragon, but still, he remembered his fear.

The dragon was still terrifying even now so many years later, but Wylie was no longer afraid. He had met other shifters who lived with their beasts. Theodore, who housed just as dangerous a dragon inside, helped people every day. He met Dorian, who fought a magic inside him so powerful, it would make him a killer if he ever let it loose.

If he was going to die, Wylie wanted to be whole for the first time.

He reached his hand out to brush razor sharp scales. They smoothed at his touch. “I accept you.”

SCENE #48

Wylie awoke to a terrible pain, not in his chest but his head. Black bone pierced through his skin, twisted up and wrapped back. He could feel the dragon claw through him and reform his body from the inside out. His back gave a terrible crack. Wings slick with blood tore free while he screamed. His tail swiftly followed. The new limb thrashed on the ground as Wylie twitched in pain. The darkness loomed and threatened to drag him back down.

“Fuck.” His back twitched again. Fluffy, pure white hair itched as it grew down his spine from his head all the way to the tip of his tail. He stared blankly at his hand; his talons looked more deadly than before and covered in his own blood. Surely now his demon arms were complete and the rest of him was just as terrifying to match.

Warmth slowly teased through him. The pain abated with each stronger breath he took. He raised heavily to his hands and knees, with head bowed to watch the holes in his chest change. Two small, bloodied slugs pushed free from his flesh and scales and glinted as they clattered to the ground.

What the fuck? Wylie tried to remember what Theodore told him about dragons. He must be a self-healer. He wasn’t just capable of healing others with his saliva but could regenerate his own flesh.

He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. Wylie stumbled sideways for a moment until he found his balance. His tail kept sweeping behind him, determined to distract him with the fact he had a fucking tail. God, that couldn't be good.

He took a few steadying breaths only to break into coughs as thick smoke filled his lungs. “Holy fuck,” he whispered as he took in his surroundings. The wharf was on fire.

“Dorian!” Every other thought pushed to the back of his mind. Wylie searched frantically for Dorian, terrified of what he might find. The smoke was so thick and everywhere was an orange glow. It would be so easy to get confused and lost. Dorian, for all his power, was still just a human.

Wylie stepped through a wall of fire and barely felt the heat. Through the smoke, he could see a figure. It was the right height and shape, but he was standing there, not looking to run, not looking to escape.

“Dorian?” Wylie whispered. His presence pulled Dorian around the moment he recognized Wylie’s energy.

Dorian looked up and tears welled in his dark eyes. “You… You're alive?”

“I'm fine!” Wylie shouted to be heard over the roar of the flames. “Dorian, you need to stop. The place is going to burn down.”

“I…” Dorian looked around with strangely blank eyes. “I can't. I can't control it. I let out too much and it's only growing.” He turned back to Wylie and slammed both hands on his chest. “Run. Fucking run before I kill you too!”

Tears flowed freely down Dorian's face and something inside Wylie wrenched. His dragon responded to his mate’s need. He held the hands trying to push him away, and pulled Dorian hard against his chest. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“You idiot! It's not safe. Fuck.” Wylie cut him off, surged forward and dragged him into a deep kiss. Dorian tried to struggle, tried to explain he wouldn't be harmed by his own magic. Wylie's mouth was hotter than the flames around them and far more destructive to his senses.

“I've got you.” Wylie curled talon-free fingers into Dorian’s hair and pulled him closer. “I'm going to help.” His dragon wanted to eat his energy and it wasn't going to hurt Dorian to do it. No, the damn beast had known all along how to help his mate. Wylie was just too disconnected from the dragon to listen.

He wrapped an arm around Dorian’s waist and walked them to the nearest firm surface. It was a wall of metal crates Dorian was quick to spell cool to the touch. He sealed their lips together again and crushed Dorian back against the wall. He drank as much of his energy as he could. Dorian held him tightly around the neck and kissed back just as hard.

His dragon roared inside. Dorian’s energy burned like an electrical current; wild, destructive and full of power. It was all Wylie could do to hold back. Each new spark grew his dragon until he was full of the beast's demand.

Mate. His dragon wanted to claim his mate. As much as Wylie tried to hold back, the beast was just too strong.

“Aw, hell.” Wylie ran rough hands down Dorian's sides. His hissing compelled while he nipped down his neck. The dragon was thundering in his ear and Dorian tasted so good, so perfect. His. Dorian was his and he had every fucking right to have him.

Dorian groaned. He tilted his head back and observed Wylie through half closed lashes. He took in his new horns, wings, and rippling muscles. Ice blue eyes pierced his and Dorian’s breath caught. Wylie looked like he was about to eat him alive.

“You need to run.” Dorian gasped when Wylie found the waistband of his burnt jeans and tore claws through them. Wylie pulled the material off with a sharp tug, and the flat of his palm cupped Dorian’s erection immediately after. “Oh… hell.” His knees went weak and Dorian clutched his broad, scaled shoulders. He cried out when Wylie began to stroke him.

With a hungry growl, Wylie released him. He spun Dorian around and pushed him chest first against the wall. “Spread, beautiful.”

“Fuck! Here?” Wylie had to be out of his mind!

“Yeah, baby, right fucking here.” Wylie fumbled with his jeans. He wrapped around Dorian's bare back, probed claw free fingers down and pushed demandingly into his entrance.

“Wylie… God… It's not safe…” Dorian couldn't find the right words, not with Wylie's fingers thick and long and stretching into him without restraint. It was all he could do not to fall, and Wylie was the reason he hadn't yet, his strong arm wrapped around his waist.

“A dragon never abandons his mate.” Wylie groaned and thrust his dick against the smooth flesh of Dorian's ass. “You're mine. Beautiful, powerful, smart with a wicked sense of humor… Going to make you mine.”

“Wylie,” Dorian whimpered. A third finger pressed into his hole and his passage clenched before he opened to the long digits. His legs were trembling and all he seemed capable of was pressing his face against the metal wall and gasping. “Don't… don't want you to die.”

Wylie slid his fangs slowly over Dorian's neck. “Baby, you're not sparking anymore.”

“I'm not?” Dorian attempted to catch his breath, and focused on his magic for the first time. He was distracted by the thick fingers pumping into his entrance in a tormenting rhythm. He wailed as Wylie's fingers withdrew suddenly, and his hot, blunt cock head pushed against his hole. “Fuck, oh fuck.”

“Relax,” Wylie hissed. The sound made Dorian shudder. “Need to claim you… Can't stop. Need to be inside you.”

Dorian moaned lowly. He reached behind him and held onto Wylie's hip when he pushed forward. He closed his eyes and exhaled shakily as Wylie began to breach him, his aching flesh opening to his large length. Wylie’s dick felt slick, sleek and so wet, and was already coated in precum. Dorian remembered just how big he was when he had covered him in cum. Right now, he was sure Wylie was even bigger; the dragon had more height, more muscle, more everything.

Wylie held his mate’s hips in a steel grip, and hissed from the heat of his entrance. “Tight… Fuck, you're tight,” he groaned. He did everything he could to not surge forward. Dorian was gasping wildly. His perfect body was sweaty and shook as small, choked sobs escaped him. “Hold on, beautiful. Going to go slow.”

“Can't… Fuck, it's so much,” Dorian gasped out. “Please… please, Wylie… Need it…but it's so big,” he babbled uncontrollably. Dorian reached his arms up and back and clawed at Wylie’s hair as he arched. So big inside. It was so big and it was making him crazy. He gasped when another thick inch sank into him. Dorian's nails bit into Wylie's neck and held.

“Fuck.” Heat flooded his entire body from the feel of Dorian scratching him. Wylie surged forward and buried himself with one hard thrust.

Dorian sobbed loudly from being filled so completely. His passage was stretched unbearably wide with Wylie deep inside. He came seconds later, with his muscles so tight and face flushed as he struggled with the overwhelming sensations.

“Oh god… Oh, fuck, Wylie,” Dorian mumbled weakly. Cum dripped down the wall in front of him. The fire inside wasn't subsiding, not with Wylie so thick in his already sore passage. He groaned as Wylie slowly pulled back, and clenched around the hot cock rubbing his inner walls. Wylie wasn't close to done with him, and he thrust deep once more. Dorian cried out as he was filled again.

“God, you sound good like this,” Wylie whispered hoarsely. He held Dorian with an arm around his chest. His other hand gripped his hip. “You're so fucking tight, baby. So tight and mine.” He pressed his lips to Dorian’s cheek, and tried to keep his thrusts slow. But his dragon was crazed by all the energy it siphoned from the sorcerer and it would only find release in filling his beautiful mate.

His dragon knew even though Wylie had done his damnedest to ignore it. Dorian needed release. A release of all the magic inside him, a release of all his many worries and guilt, a release of the need he showed every time he looked his way. Wylie was more than happy to give Dorian all the release he needed.

“Oh fuck! Fuck!” Dorian wailed as his prostate was rubbed. He clutched Wylie’s arm harder. It was so much. His nerves felt frayed and each sensation was amplified with every slick, hard thrust. He couldn't understand how he was hard again but it felt like a fire had taken his body, and was growing hotter every second. Wylie kept hissing in his ear. He sounded more dragon than man as he tormented him with his unceasing thrusts.

“W-Wylie… I don't think I can… God, it's so much,” Dorian moaned out. He arched as his prostate was hit again.

“You can take it,” Wylie hissed, and tightened his arms around him. “You're the mate of a dragon. You can fucking take it.”

He moaned weakly to realize Wylie was actually claiming him as his mate, not just fucking the sanity out of him. Dorian curled his fingers and dug his short nails into the dragon’s scales. “Do it, Wy… Fucking claim me. Show me I'm yours… God, please… Fill me.”

“Mine,” Wylie snarled. His thrusts grew more erratic as he got close. “Never going to let you go. You're mine.” His hand moved over the slick of Dorian's sweat and Wylie found his mate’s hard cock and stroked it heatedly.

“Oh… Oh, wait,” Dorian gasped. Wylie's dick swelled inside him. Fuck, he was getting bigger. Dorian sobbed from the sensation. He held himself impossibly still when Wylie slammed into him a final time and buried as deep as he could get. The base of Wylie's cock still grew, and stretched Dorian's hole even wider as he felt the scales flex and lock Wylie deep inside him.

Dorian had a moment with Wylie breathing heavily on his neck to understand what was about to happen. Mate. The dragon was actually trying to breed him.

“Oh hell.” Dorian gasped loudly at the first splash of cum. He wasn’t surprised when more hot, wet fluid followed. Wylie held his hips and humped forward shallowly as he filled him with spurt after spurt of his seed.

A cry caught in his throat and Dorian came again. His hips bucked with his release as he clenched around the spasming flesh filling him with cum.

Wylie kept pumping into his tight channel. He supported Dorian when he swayed. “That's it, Ri. God, you're mine. My mate.”

Dorian couldn't stop moaning. His passage was stretched so wide. His hole ached and limbs shook and dripped sweat. “God… Just, god.” He closed his eyes and his head hung down heavily while Wylie continued to pump shallowly into him. He was making sure to fill him with everything he had.

“My mate,” Wylie murmured in his ear then nuzzled against his neck. “My beautiful mate.”

The darkness spun around him. Dorian’s heart hurt too much to comprehend. “Yeah, babe. Yours,” he rasped out.

Wylie groaned at the confirmation and pushed them forward. Dorian ended up flat against the wall with Wylie around his back as he unloaded the last of his seed inside him. He could feel it dripping out as Wylie's dick began to return to normal proportions. His thighs itched as the thick fluid trickled down and he couldn't suppress his aching whimpers.

His. Wylie was his.

SCENE #49

“Err… sorry to interrupt and all, but we seriously need to get out of here.”

Dorian started at the sound of Beck's voice. Beck stepped up hesitantly with his shredded and burnt jeans.

Wylie growled half-heartedly. His mouth was on Dorian's shoulder, and body was still pressed up tight against his. He didn't want to move. He didn’t want to do anything that involved not being flesh to flesh with his mate at the moment.

“Come on, Wylie,” Beck snapped when he saw he wasn't going to move. “You know Roth will be back with bigger guns if the fucking cops don't get here first. We need to leave now.”

Wylie glared. He slowly pulled himself from Dorian's hot flesh. His eyes were drawn down to where his mate was still wet and dripping with his seed. He couldn't stop from sliding his hands up Dorian’s inner thigh where his fingers sought out and probed into his slick entrance.

“Wylie,” Dorian groaned. “No more.”

Wylie turned Dorian to face him and was unable to stop staring once he was in full sight. Dorian was flushed. His golden skin nearly glowed and his lips were swollen and parted with each heavy breath he took.

“Get lost, B,” Wylie said distractedly. He stroked down the back of Dorian's thigh and went to pull the toned limb up around his waist. His mate was beautiful and deserved another proper fuck.

“For fuck sake!” It was Adam, who ran up to them angrily. “Move your fucking ass. We have five dead bodies and I don’t want to be added to them.”

That got Wylie's attention. Dorian's eyes widened when he looked behind him. Wylie turned, and took in his surroundings for the first time since his dragon tasted Dorian’s wild energy.

The fire was out. Blue-gray smoke and black char was all that remained. There was a glitter of bullet casings on the ground and as Wylie searched, he found the bodies Adam mentioned. Five armed men were grouped around the magical barrier that had locked Dante and Beck in the crate. Dante was sitting on the ground a few feet away from them. He looked tired but not injured.

“What happened?” Wylie turned to Beck questioningly. “How did you get out of the barrier?”

“Put your damn pants back on and I'll be happy to tell you,” Beck said with a small scowl. Wylie had never lost it like that over him, had never wanted him so much he'd fuck him out in the open, and he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. “The fire went out when you two were, well, you know. Most of the gang was gone by then. I tried to keep him with me, but the kid just stepped forward and walked through the barrier.”

“There wasn't a lot of air in there.” Wylie gruffly zipped his fly. His jeans were ruined but Dorian just waved his hand at him and the material repaired and was clean again. Wylie looked over at him, and regretted it immediately when he caught sight of Dorian’s swollen lips and shirtless form.

“Yeah, well, Diego saw the kid, realized he was what was in the crate, and he told who was left to grab him,” Beck continued, his voice pitched lower. “Cept, it didn't quite go that way.”

How it went Wylie didn't get a chance to hear. Dorian caught sight of Adam and glared at him warningly.

Adam took a stumbling step back, with his hands held up. “I'm sorry. I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”

Beck snorted and pulled a crushed cigarette from his back pocket. “Like fuck. You were the one who told Roth about the crate.”

“Yeah, but it was, like, right there! It was just sitting there, giving off huge amounts of magic,” Adam said defensively.

“You were also the asshole that called me down into this,” Wylie pointed out.

“Only because you're a dragon! You were the only one I knew who’d be able to get through the barrier!”

“Yeah, but did you also know they were going to fucking kill me!” Beck shouted. His anger was free to rage now there wasn’t a gun pointed at his head. “They were going to kill Wylie too. Why? Did you tell them to kill us!”

“Shit, chill. Of course not!” Adam yelped and stepped away from Beck's angry form. “I found out about Wylie being a dragon when I went online to see if they arrested him. I was just trying to figure out if he gave my name to the cops. I swear, I didn't know they were going to kill you after,” he promised Wylie. “You saved all our asses. If that guy had died back at the house, we would’ve been picked up for murder.”

Wylie looked at Adam calculatingly. He had no idea if he was being truthful or not. “What about the crate? How did you find out about it?”

“Like I said, I sensed the crate, that's all. Last Thursday, Roth had us all come down for a shipment and I sensed the magical barrier. It was so strong, I couldn't not. I didn't know what was in it. I told Roth about it and he went digging. He called me all excited and wanted me to open the thing.” Adam sighed heavily. “But I wasn't strong enough. I read about dragons and thought maybe Wylie could get in. Seriously, I didn't think it would go wrong. Roth said that we were all going to make a fortune on what was inside. I still don't know what was in the stupid thing.”

“A kid,” Beck growled. “A fucking kid. Some freaks stole him from his home and were trying to sell him to some fucked-up sorcerer who would probably drain him for his power. So, for real, Adam, are you like that too? Do I have to worry about you trying to hunt kids down to drain them of magic? Are you going to go after Wylie?”

“Geez, no. I'm not fucked-up.” He huffed at the suspicious glare Beck was shooting and glared right back. “I was just hanging with the gang cuz I'm tired of being walked on. I can only do a little magic. I'm not some damn monster! I came back to help!”

Wylie didn't really give a fuck at the moment. He walked around the arguing two and went to Dante. They needed to get the hell out. Dante looked so small and weak where he was hunched on the ground.

“I don't feel good,” Dante whispered once Wylie reached him.

“Don't worry about it. I know a guy who's going to patch you up and get you back to feeling good.” He held out his hand and the small boy clung to it readily. Wylie scooped Dante up and straightened. He tried to dismiss just how frail and light he was. Dr. Rob would know what to do. He really hoped.

“You're really strong.” With a sigh, Dante rested his head on Wylie's scaled shoulder. “I wish you had been there when they took me away.”

His heart wrenched. Wylie combed fingers through Dante’s hair. “I'm here now. You're not going to be alone. I won't let anything bad happen to you.”

He carried him back to the group. Wylie caught Dorian staring at him with a funny look in his eye. “What?”

When he found Wylie staring right back, Dorian glanced away with a blush. “Fucking cute,” he muttered under his breath. Wylie raised his brow when he heard.

“I want to take Dante to the Academy. McPherson will know how to find his parents.”

“Good thing I'm here then, huh?” Dorian said flippantly. “I only came so you could portal back to the Academy. I didn't want you walking; you know how dangerous that can be.” He kicked a bullet casing aside and winced when it hit the leg of a corpse only a dozen feet away. “Can we get the fuck out of here already?”

It was Diego. Wylie stared silent at the gangster’s slack features. He wasn't even scorched. He’d hated Diego from the moment he met him but Wylie took no pleasure in seeing him dead. Instead, all he saw was a path he could’ve easily taken if he hadn't turned back to try and save McPherson's life.

Beck saw where Wylie was staring and stepped into his line of sight. “He took them out in under five seconds.”

“What?” Wylie looked at him in confusion.

“The small fry.” Beck tilted his head at the sleepy Dante in his arms. “Diego told him they were going to take him away and they raised their guns at him. The kid's eyes turned black the same way your boy's did. All five guys dropped dead. Just like that.”

A shiver ran down his spine. Wylie peered into Dante's perfectly blank cherub face. He was breathing shallowly even though they were out of the thin air of the crate. Wylie had demon arms but he never hurt anyone he didn’t intend to. He was pretty sure Dante was the same way. All the more reason to bring him to the Academy where he’d be safe from the things that made kill.

Wylie patted Dante’s head and followed Dorian, who had a waiting portal in the auto shop. The walking was precarious. The entire wharf was seared from the fire even though Dorian had only sparked among the metal crates. Wylie stepped carefully around smoking debris and questionable spots in the wood. Dante slept on his shoulder; his breathing was too quiet to be reassuring.

The auto shop was empty. All the occupants had fled when the fire started. Beck and Adam hovered in the doorway while Dorian summoned the mirror to him. The piece of glass floated in midair.

“You wanna come, B?” Wylie asked. “Just to get the heat off of you for a while with Roth and the gang.”

Beck shook his head and grinned. “Seriously? Except for them threatening to kill me, I had things pretty good with Roth.”

“Beck! Are you fucking crazy?” Wylie gaped at him in shock. “You can't seriously be considering going back to those asses? They were going to kill the fucking both of us!”

“Relax.” Beck rolled his eyes. “I'm just going back home, idiot. You really think Roth is going to give a fuck about me when he has five dead guys and way more wounded? He knows what'll happen if he fucks with you now.” He shot a smirk Dorian's way. “It's sweet to have badass friends.”

Wylie shook his head and sighed in exasperation. “Be careful, B. Email me if you find yourself in trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah…” His expression turned soft and a sad smile twisted Beck’s lips. “At least we can say goodbye properly this time.”

Wylie nodded as he thought back to their last goodbye. Diego had been alive and everything so uncertain. Wylie went to hug Beck but paused when he realized Dante was definitely in the way. He glanced over to a very tightlipped Dorian, who held his arms out so Wylie could pass the sleeping kid over. Given Dorian's expression, he had a feeling if his hands went anywhere below the belt on Beck he was going to be hexed into next Tuesday.

This time when Beck went to hug him, he stopped and stared worriedly at Wylie's scales. It was his first time seeing them when Wylie could control the dangerous blades and he was rightfully wary. Wylie pulled his scales back and slowly shifted to his smooth, human form. Beck beamed up at him but Wylie only felt more awkward.

He wasn't good at goodbyes. Not since the Andersons and trying to say goodbye to Sarah. She cried so much and he did everything to look big and brave even at eight so she wouldn't worry. Wylie had moved through plenty of foster homes since then but hadn't bothered to get to know anyone well enough to want to say goodbye. Beck was different and he didn't know what to do.

“Thanks for saving my life, Wy.” Beck threw his arms around his shoulders. “You came back for me even though it turned out to be a trap. I know you're happy where you are, I can tell, but that still means a lot to me.”

Wylie hugged him tentatively and pat Beck's back. “You sure you're going to be okay?”

Beck snickered and pulled away. He quickly wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “I may not be as street smart as you but I know enough not to get myself into this kind of gang shit again.” He glanced over at Adam, who looked small and bedraggled in the cold autumn air. “Hell, I might play bodyguard for the nerd. Who knows?”

“You can always email me, you know,” Wylie reminded when Beck's eyes turned watery.

“Yeah.”

Beck wouldn't though; Wylie could tell. Maybe it hurt too much. Wylie turned and scooped Dante from Dorian's arms. He didn’t have time to interpret the return of the funny look Dorian was shooting him.

“Uh, before you go.” Adam waved his hand briefly. “I really am sorry about the email and about dragging you into this, Wylie. And I wanted to thank you for saving that old guy. And, well, the kid. You're an upstanding guy, and I'm sorry I was so scared of you before.”

“It's cool, Adam.” Wylie meant it. He didn't have any anger left for the tech wiz or Beck or even Diego. He had a home to go back to at the Academy and he was just starting to understand the truth of it.

Dorian grabbed his arm and tugged Wylie towards the now glowing mirror. “The kid is wiped. We need to get him to Dr. Rob.”

“You guys better run before the cops show.” Wylie gave a last look to Beck, who was having a terrible time fighting back tears. Fuck. He couldn't seem to do anything right by anyone.

At Dorian's insistent pull, he turned back and met his hazel eyes. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Let's go.” He wasn't going to miss it. Going back to his old life only pointed out to Wylie just how little he was truly alive back then. When the portal showed the arrival chamber at the Academy, Wylie stepped through with Dante in his arms. He didn’t look back.

SCENE #50

Wylie’s feet just hit the tile of the Academy floor, when he jolted to discover they weren't alone. Theodore and Michael stood in the arrival chamber as if they’d been waiting. The two looked pissed.

“Shit.” He adjusted Dante in his arms while he tried to come up with what to say. Was he going to end up in Daiker over this? Five dead at the pier. Fuck, probably. Fuck.

Dorian stepped up beside him and fixed the two instructors with a bored look. “Wylie, could you take the kid to your room and get him cleaned and in a change of clothes? We'll meet you in Master Howld’s office.”

Wylie blinked and looked to Theodore questioningly. His teeth grit, Theodore nodded his consent. “We'll talk once you arrive. Bring the kid.”

The three left and Wylie stared after them in confusion. Dante shifted in his arms and he glanced down to meet his sleepy green eyes.

“Um… I really don't have anything your size.”

SCENE #51

There was no way Wylie was letting the small kid go until he was clean of the days of filth and dusty crate clinging to him. Dante grumbled the entire time he was scrubbed down while determinedly trying to fall back asleep. Why Dorian couldn't have just cast a cleaning spell was beyond him, but Wylie suspected it was so he could talk to Michael and Theodore alone. What they were talking about Wylie was dying to know.

He was right; he owned nothing that would fit Dante. Staring in frustration at his bureau after throwing a clean shirt on, Wylie eventually turned, and fixed his sights on the sleeping fox shifter he shared a room with. Fox was half a head shorter than him. He wasn’t as small as the diminutive Dante, but a lot closer than he was. He tiptoed to his dresser and pulled out the first warm sweatshirt he found. He tossed it and a pair of clean boxers at Dante, who was watching curiously from the bathroom doorway. Fox wouldn't mind. Probably.

Wylie grinned at just how ridiculous Dante looked in the sweatshirt that reached down to his knees. He held his hand out and Dante quickly took it.

He led him down to Theodore's office; the dragon shifter preferred the lower levels of the Academy. Dante peered into open doors curiously and only swayed a little as he fought off sleep. The building was quiet but the peace didn't last when they pushed into Theodore's room.

“I don't need a fucking collar,” Dorian said tightly to Michael, who continued to hold a null-collar up in front of him. “You're supposed to be monitoring me. Can’t you tell? My magic is fine!”

Michael stepped back at Dorian's tone and raised his hands defensively. But of course, no sparks followed. Dorian just glared. Michael exchanged a look with Theodore and then took a seat on a black-leather chair.

“Sit,” Theodore ordered Wylie when he insisted on hovering in the doorway. “I want an explanation for whatever the hell has happened tonight.”

Wylie sat on the couch next to Dorian. Their eyes caught when he looked at him sideways. They hadn't discussed if they were going to hide anything about what happened. It seemed pointless given Theodore's ability to force the truth out of anyone. Dante tried to climb into Wylie's lap. He failed twice before Wylie picked him up. Theodore and Michael both watched the small boy with twin looks of concern on their faces.

“It's my fault,” Wylie finally said. “All of it. Dorian followed me but he couldn't have known what he was getting himself into.”

“And what exactly would that be?” Michael pressed. His anger was more than evident as he turned his glare to Dorian. “We could feel your energy across the state! Do you even understand the risk you caused to yourself and to so many others—to the Academy—by leaving without a collar? If even one person died from your power outburst, we could be looking at a judge deciding the Academy isn't equipped to help you guys anymore.”

Dorian glared back and only sat up straighter. “They were going to kill Wylie. What the hell did you want me to do? Let them?”

Michael growled and snapped his mouth shut. He folded his arms over his broad chest. His handsome features were currently red with anger.

Theodore leaned against his desk, and spoke when Michael seemed at a loss for words. “Are any of you hurt?”

“No,” Dorian snapped, only to reconsider and look at Wylie and Dante. “Wylie was shot a couple times but he healed himself. The kid needs help. He was locked in a crate for who knows how long. He's a long way from home and I'm sure his parents are worried.”

Wylie leaned down when Dante whispered against his shoulder. He looked up and met Theodore's gaze. “Dante doesn't have parents. He was living with some relatives in Italy when his uncle took him away and told him to get in a car with some foreigners. He didn't want to. He tried to run away but a man got a nullifier wrapped around him. They locked him up in a cage for a long time, then they put him in the crate. He's not sure for how long.”

Michael was already reaching for his cell phone. He was well aware of what needed to be done next. “What's his last name?”

“Salvador.” Wylie leaned down again. Dante's voice was soft and full of sleep. “He lives with his uncle and two aunts but he's not sure if they’re actually related to him.”

“Do you know how long ago this happened, Dante?” Michael asked while flipping through his contacts. “What's the last date you can remember when you were home?”

It took a long time for Dante to answer. He breathed quietly against Wylie's shoulder. “The seventh.”

“That's nearly a month,” Wylie whispered. He unconsciously held Dante tighter.

“Well, it's something to go on.” Michael got up and headed for the door. He glanced back with the phone up to his ear. “Make sure he gets to Dr. Rob if I'm not back in time.”

“Wait,” Dorian called. Michael stopped and held his hand over the receiver. “The kid took out five guys at the pier. Dead. One spell.”

“Fuck.” Michael nodded sharply and slammed the door as he left.

“Probably should have started with that,” Theodore observed blandly. He gave Dorian an assessing look. “Is there a particular reason you're able to sit here with your magic in perfect control after I'm certain every magic user in the state felt your power flare?”

Dorian shrugged. He bit his lower lip and glanced hesitantly at Wylie. “I'm not sure, actually. Something happened and… well, I don't know what. I don't even know why it worked and…”

“My dragon ate his energy,” Wylie broke in. He met Theodore’s gaze challengingly. “Not all of it, just the extra power to keep him from being taken over.”

His expression blank, Theodore was silent for a long minute. “How, exactly, did your dragon do that?”

“By mating with him.” Wylie ignored his exasperated growl. Theodore threw himself back into his chair.

“Of all the foolish, selfish, inconsiderate—”

“I don't care what you think,” Wylie growled with eyes narrowed. “He's my mate. I knew it the second I met him. And apparently my dragon can help him with his power.”

“For how long?” Theodore gritted out. “Do you think magic runs out when you use it? His power will just grow back to the same dangerous levels. Given Dorian’s strength, it will be only hours from now. What are you going to do, mate him every time he's out of control?”

“So what if he does?” Dorian snapped. He glared at the both of them. Theodore and Wylie seemed very comfortable talking about mating him like this wasn’t the first time. It was annoying as fuck to not be included in such a conversation when he was the one being mated.

Wylie shrugged and pursed his lips. He wasn’t willing to state such a claim to fixing Dorian’s energy until he had a chance to discuss it with him first. “Maybe.”

Theodore sighed in exasperation and waved his hand. “I want to hear about what happened tonight from the beginning.”

Wylie shifted Dante when the kid slumped sideways. He was fast asleep, with his head now heavy on his shoulder. He wasn't sure how much to tell Theodore. He trusted him. Not because he had to but because he’d grown to respect him. But Dorian was there and Wylie felt awkward about many of the things he didn't know about him yet.

There was no point hiding anything if he was serious about mating Dorian. He was. To see Dorian follow after him blazing with power, so emotional when he thought he had died…

Wylie had never felt more serious about anything in his entire life.

His decision made, he raised his head. Theodore's violet eyes bored into him. “I got an email from Adam.”

“That Adam?”

“Yeah, the one I was with when I robbed McPherson's house a month back. The kid that got us through the gate. Turns out he can use magic.”

SCENE #52

Wylie was exhausted by the time Theodore determined Dorian and his account of the events were complete. Tiredness hit him quickly. His body was pulling him towards sleep in a way he’d never felt before. He still had to get to the hospital and Dr. Rob. Dante was a thin drooling lump in his arms, who breathed evenly against Wylie’s neck while he walked through the empty halls of the Academy.

It was strange; he hadn't held someone like this since he was a kid. Sarah used to cuddle, with sticky fingers and soft blond hair every night when they all watched TV together. It was so long ago. He spent his years after the Andersons hating touch. He was afraid to be hurt, and afraid to hurt others. Something changed in him recently and holding Dante felt comfortable, not awkward.

There was something familiar about Dante he couldn't help but respond to. Maybe it was the absolute need in him. Dante was lost and alone. His own uncle had sold him. It didn't matter that Dante had killed those men, amazing as it was to have so much power at such a young age. He was still just a kid in a terrible situation and Wylie was going to do everything to help him out.

Dr. Rob was up and waiting for them. His easy smile dimmed when he took in Dante's frail form and shallow breathing. “Leave him on the bed, Wylie. How are you feeling? Theo told me you were shot.”

Wylie carefully arranged the small boy on the bed and straightened. “I'm fine, really, just really tired. I think my dragon form is fixed, actually.”

“You had a full transformation? Is that how you healed?” Dr. Rob bent over the sleeping Dante. His hands hovered above him while he read his energy.

“Yeah. I thought I was dead,” Wylie admitted, but his yawn muffled the seriousness of his words.

“Well, you're probably going to sleep like the dead.” Dr. Rob glanced over his shoulder to look at Wylie. “Healing wounds like that can take a lot out of a body, as can your first full transformation.” Turning back, he carefully pulled back the collar of Dante's shirt and found red splotches on his pale skin. “This looks like it was made with a nullifier.”

Wylie peered down at him and exhaled heavily when he saw just how raw Dante's skin was. “I found him wrapped in a chain made of that stuff. He was in it for as long as it takes for a boat to get from Italy to here, plus however long he was on the wharf.” His expression was grim. “Is he going to be okay?”

“It's hard to say,” Dr. Rob answered honestly. “He's young and young people tend to bounce back faster. But he's been through a lot. He's very thin and that just doesn't happen in a few weeks. Theodore told me he's been killing with his magic?”

“Yeah. He took out five guys with one hit.” It seemed unbelievable that anyone had captured Dante now that Wylie understood how powerful he was.

“It sounds like an emotional disturbance. Magic responds to its wielder. Dante didn't choose to incapacitate or push away; he was so afraid that all he could do was kill.” Dr. Rob walked over to the glass cabinet and pulled a null-collar free. He returned to Dante's bedside. “It'll take some time to see if he can learn to keep from killing, but he might end up in a null-collar for the rest of his life. It depends on if he can distinguish between everyday stress, and life and death circumstances, and act accordingly.”

Wylie hadn't realized just how sophisticated the null-collars were. He had no fear that the collar would burn Dante’s flesh like the pure metal had as he watched Dr. Rob click one around his narrow throat. He was grateful. He knew Dante was going to be scared enough when he woke up without his magic again. At least he wouldn’t be in pain.

If Wylie learned anything the last month, he knew the Academy would do right by Dante. He had faith in Dr. Rob and the master sorcerers and shifters, and he was certain the small boy would learn to trust them as well.

A sudden yawn interrupted his thoughts. Wylie’s body again demanded he sleep and soon. Dr. Rob looked at him sympathetically. “Better hurry off before you pass out on your feet.”

“Right.” Wylie turned to go, but stopped before he reached the door. “Call me if he needs me. I don't care how tired I am.”

Dr. Rob smiled to himself and just nodded. There was no way Wylie would be up at all the next few days. He’d learn soon enough.

Wylie shuffled down the quiet halls. When he got to the lounge he found Dorian curled up in his favorite chair. Damn, he was beautiful.

He crouched down when he got to Dorian, and whispered in his ear, “Come on, gorgeous. You need to get to bed.”

“Was waiting for you,” Dorian mumbled. His arms slipped around Wylie’s neck and he leaned against him. “Wanna be with you.”

Wylie's eyes closed at the words and his breath came out in a sigh of relief. He’d been brutally honest about his connections with Roth and the gang. He even worked in how Diego, the same guy who threatened Beck, was also the one to shoot McPherson. Wylie revealed everything about the terrible incident yet Dorian wasn't running from him. His chest felt tight just thinking about it.

Wylie knew he was tired when he lifted Dorian and nearly fell sideways. There was no way he was going to make it to his dorm room and bed. He picked the nearest couch, and pulled his groggy mate down on top of him. Dorian was quick to wrap his arms around him. He settled half on Wylie, half in the nook of his arm. It was another thing Wylie wasn't used to but felt oddly comfortable with as Dorian nuzzled against his side.

Beck always wanted him to be the cuddling type but Wylie could never feel comfortable. He told himself he was just afraid to wake up and find his scales sprouted and Beck bleeding, but the truth was he just couldn't stay still long enough. He never truly felt comfortable except when alone. He was always waiting for the moment to sour with Beck. For some reason that feeling was gone when it came to Dorian.

Dorian mumbled something and his head tilted up toward him. Wylie bent down and kissed his sleepy pout gently. He sighed when Dorian pressed back.

He combed clumsy fingers through Dorian’s hair while his tired mind clicked things together. It didn't matter how hard things got, how complicated it might get with Dorian's parents or their different pasts. None of it mattered. He was going to pursue him properly. No more holding back.

He had been. Wylie thought it was because he didn’t know what he really wanted but his dragon was quick to point out that lie. He knew he wanted Dorian the second he saw him. Denying it was just telling of how much he denied all the many things in life he wanted. He pretended he didn’t want family and friends and a place to call home. To lose those things was to hurt all over again. It was easier to never dare want and chase after his dreams than risk feeling that pain.

He’d been afraid to break his heart. It wasn’t an irrational concern; it would be so easy for Dorian to break him. Dorian understood him. He saw him when so many others only saw his fucked-up demon arms. It would be so easy for Dorian to hurt him because Wylie didn't know how to shield himself from the beautiful, brilliant, damn amazing sorcerer. Dorian could destroy him and he didn't care one bit.

He loved Dorian Black and he wasn't going to shy away from it anymore. Even if it hurt. Even if he failed. For once he was going to hold onto the things he wanted and not let them slip passively through his fingers.

SCENE #53

Dorian woke slowly to the sounds of snickering. Living in a dorm full of magic-charged patients warned him how dangerous a noise that was. Still, it was hard to pull himself awake. He was exhausted and his bed wonderfully warm.

He blinked up at the sunlight flooded ceiling he couldn’t quite place and focused on the person standing over him.

Fox peered down at him and grinned a wicked fanged smirk. “Hey there, sleeping beauty. Find yourself a nice pillow?”

It was way too early for riddles. Dorian turned over, determined to ignore him, only there was an elbow in his way. An elbow not connected to him. Wylie was stretched out underneath him. His chest moved in a slow, even rhythm as he slept. “Yeah… A damn nice pillow.”

Fox barked in laughter. He chuckled as he bent over. Dorian sighed. Crap, he was so never going to hear the end of this.

Once his laughter was under control, Fox pointed to the open door to his dorm room. “Thought you two might want to get a room, like, literally before all the guys get up. Unless you want to hear months of just how cute you two look cuddled up like kittens?"

With a faint blush, Dorian glared halfheartedly at the snickering shifter. “Thanks.” Fox broke into another laugh at Dorian's grim tone. Damn, the happy little brat.

He pushed up from his very warm nest of Wylie, and tried to straighten his hair into some sort of order. If he was going to endure being laughed at, he was going to have perfect hair at the time, damn it.

Dorian got to his feet unsteadily and grabbed the couch to keep from falling. His body felt bruised all over as if he survived a car crash. It happened the last time he'd lost control of his magic; the current moved through him so intensely it fried a bit of his flesh as it flowed. He'd heal after a day or so but for the moment he could barely walk. His thighs and ass… Right.

That.

Dorian blushed scarlet and glared at the still sleeping Wylie. There was no way in hell he'd ever let him fuck him in his dragon form again. Some things were not meant to come in such large sizes no matter what nature provided.

“Everything okay?” Fox noticed the large streaks of dried blood on Wylie's arms, and his nose picked up the scent of smoke and char. “One of you didn't end up in the bonfire after we went to bed, right?”

“Let's just say it was a rough night.” Dorian shook his head slowly. “Wylie can tell you if he wants. It's kind of some heavy shit and I don't think it's my right to tell it.”

Fox yawned widely and stretched. His t-shirt rode up on his narrow frame. “Hey, just as long as you guys are okay. I was half expecting you to either kill each other, or totally fuck after the shit you said last night at the party.”

Dorian frowned grimly. Fuck. The bonfire felt like a week ago. Everything seemed so certain then. He tried to push Wylie away by showing how shifters didn't belong in his family's world. It made so much sense at the time. Now… Now he just felt unbelievably lost.

He turned his gaze back and Dorian couldn't help but notice Fox didn't seem to hate him as much as his words had warranted. “I'm sorry about that, Fox. It was a shit thing to say and wasn't meant for anyone else to hear. You know I don't think of shifters that way even if some people in my family do.”

“Hey, I know, but don't think you haven't fucked things up for yourself, man.” Fox shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on the heels of his bare feet. “You're going to have to get our resident werewolf the most awesome, never before heard CD ever if you want that kid to say two words to you again.”

Damn, Justin was so sensitive. He was probably more upset to think Dorian was arguing with Wylie than anything else. He had some bridges to unburn and magic wasn't going to be able to help.

With a sigh, Dorian turned back to the couch. Wylie managed to have a furrow in his brow even in sleep. He didn't remember how he ended up sleeping next to him, not that he was complaining. But it was getting close to breakfast and there was no way he was going to let himself get caught in such an embarrassing position.

Dorian leaned down and ran his fingers through Wylie's short, white-blond locks. The blue hair dye was completely faded now. “Come on, Wylie. Your back is going to kill you if you sleep out here.”

He was out cold, likely regenerating from his eventful evening. Dorian cast a spell to imbue his body with greater strength, then leaned down and lifted Wylie from the couch.

Fox stared at him wide eyed. “When the hell did you get so strong!”

“It's magic, dolt.” Dorian grinned wickedly. He stepped around Fox and nearly knocked him down with Wylie's long legs. “Remember it the next time one of you loud asses decides to stay up all night howling at the moon.”

A month at the Academy and Wylie's side of the room was still so sparse. Wylie already had such an impact on the guys around him, yet he looked ready to leave at any moment. It was sobering and Dorian carried him the rest of the way in silence. He spelled the blanket aside before placing Wylie on the bed.

Wylie went full dragon last night with his first successful transformation. The Academy fixed him like it fixed everyone Dorian had watched come in and then move on. Surely Wylie would be moving on like all the rest.

“Hey, if you want to stay and sleep, I won't say shit,” Fox said from the doorway. His voice was free of laughter.

Dorian straightened and shook his head. He pulled the blanket up over Wylie's sleeping form. He wanted to be alone. So much had changed in the matter of a night and he didn't know where he fit anymore. Wylie found a way to help him fix his magic levels only to be well enough to leave for good.

It was all just so fucked-up.

Dorian was tired and he stumbled to his own bed. He patted Fox on the shoulder in passing. Vincent was still asleep. Dorian kept as quiet as possible as he kicked off his shoes and slipped under his blankets. His bed felt as good as it always did, but this time too large, too empty.

He didn't want to think about losing Wylie. He had just found him; he didn't want to lose him.

SCENE #54

It was the day after Wylie fell asleep and Collin McPherson came down to talk to Dorian. They sat in the lounge while the others were in their classes. Wylie slept all of yesterday away and was still sleeping. Michael assured Dorian he was just in a healing sleep but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

Dorian was both relieved Wylie was still sleeping so he could avoid talking about him leaving the Academy, and frustrated his magic had already surged back to full power and was threatening to overwhelm him. He could feel his magic bubbling strong in his core again. It was a wealth of power waiting for his guard to slip so it could escape and wreak havoc. It was just so hard to think properly about Wylie when his magic wanted to explode every time he had an emotion.

Dante wandered over to where Dorian was sitting on a large, cushy couch and climbed up next to him. Collin was welcoming enough but Dante was very withdrawn and quiet without Wylie. He kept hovering by Wylie’s bed while he slept. Fox managed to supply Dante markers, crayons, and a very elaborate coloring book full of huge-eyed unicorns he would not disclose the origins of no matter how many people tried to guess.

Collin was sitting across from them in the comfortable setting. His blue eyes looked particularly sharp. It was his game face, and the man's wide shoulders were tense, with his jaw set. Dorian could only assume things weren't going so well with the search for Dante's family since the owner of the Academy insisted he be present for the meeting as well.

Collin looked at the small boy who was leaning lightly against Dorian’s shoulder, and confirmed his suspicions. “Michael is talking to your relatives now, Dante. He ported overseas to find them personally. I'm afraid it's as bad as we suspected.”

“They sold him?” Dorian couldn't keep the disbelief and anger out of his voice.

“Well, nothing is fully confirmed just yet, but a large amount of money showed up into one of the Salvadors' bank accounts a half hour after Dante was taken. We don't think it's a coincidence.”

Dorian was appalled. He’d hoped against hope it was just a misunderstanding, that Dante confused things when being stolen away. But no, his relatives actually sold him.

He wrapped his arm around Dante's shoulder. Dante rubbed his forehead into Dorian's side and refused to speak. “He doesn't have to go back there, right? They're clearly unfit to keep him.”

Collin nodded in agreement but his expression was sober. “We're working on it. These sorts of matters are very tricky. For one, we can't find any record of Dante's birth. We're looking for records of his parents, but those are missing as well. Usually, there's something to trace to help us determine just what he might be.”

“He's a sorcerer,” Dorian said automatically. He looked down at Dante’s bowed head. “Right?”

Collin's expression said otherwise. “Dante is something more than a sorcerer. Dr. Rob can't pinpoint it, but he isn't fully human. That his eyes turn black when he was using his magic suggests, well…” He spread his hands out wide. “You know why your eyes turn black when you lose control, Dorian. It's a very species-specific trait.”

Dorian inhaled sharply and didn't answer. He instead pulled Dante tighter against his side. He might be some sort of demon hybrid. And if he was, there was no way anyone could be allowed to know. Demons were slaves to sorcerers with no rights. They didn't even exist in most people's eyes, including the law's. No, there was no way Dante was leaving the Academy when there was a sorcerer out there who expected to pick him up at the wharf.

“Will the Academy take him in?” Dorian asked quietly. For the first time he had to wonder. Shifters and sorcerers were dangerous enough, but a demon?

“He's young. Possibly too young to consider the dangers around him and realize he's hurting others.” Collin sat back with a troubled expression still on his face. “He could be uncontrollable.”

Dorian stiffened at the suggestion and looked down at Dante again. If Dante was listening to a word, he didn't reveal it. He kept his head buried into Dorian’s shirt. “If the Academy can't take him, I'll speak with my parents. I come from a long line of sorcerers with demonic blood and I can trust them to do right by him. They might even know of a way to help contain his outbursts.”

Collin smiled gruffly. Dante's small fingers coiled around Dorian's wrist. “Yes, well, Dante might not give us a choice as to where he wants to be. I was told he's very attached to Wylie and clearly he's taken to you as well. I expect we'll be housing him for the next five years as long as we can ensure his previous guardians don't interfere.”

Dorian met his gaze in confusion. “Five years? Why five?”

“Because that's how long Wylie will be in our care. I suspect his shadow is going to wish to be wherever Wylie is.”

Dorian must have misheard. “Hold on, just… Wylie is going to be at the Academy for five years? But he already fixed his transformation problems. Why would he stay an entire five more years if he…?” No, it didn't make sense and he was confused as hell.

“The conditions of Wylie's stay here are a bit unique, but let's just say it has to do with how I met him.”

“You mean when you were shot,” Dorian blurted tactlessly. “Is that why? Did you, like, adopt him or some shit?”

His eyes widened and Collin coughed. “No, nothing like that. Wylie's far too old, I'm sure, to want something like that.” He swiped at his brow and added gruffly, “Wylie is welcome here for as long as he chooses. But for now, he is court ordered to stay for at least five years.”

Five whole years? It felt like the world flipped all over again just in the matter of one sentence. Dorian must have been squeezing too tight because Dante squirmed out of his hold. He landed on the floor and wandered towards Wylie's closed door.

“Is this bad news?” Collin’s eyes sparkled with hidden mirth when Dorian continued to stare at him with a befuddled expression. “Would you prefer I ship him out? Maybe some sort of military school—”

“No! Not funny, you old bastard.” Still, Dorian couldn't stop his smile. Hell, he might have to get a collar to handle this news.

Five years with Wylie. Five years to figure out their shit and see how it would work between them. Five years without having to worry about holding Wylie back from going off and doing his own thing while he was stuck at the Academy. Not that Wylie couldn't just port to a job or something… Hell, if they got things right, Dorian might be able to actually leave the Academy for good one day. Wylie could siphon his excess power so he wasn't dangerous, and he'd be able to fucking live an actual life.

He realized too late just what the hell he was doing. He was sitting and planning their life together like some crazy, lovesick moron. Dorian immediately stood. He hadn't even talked to Wylie yet. Fuck, he'd have to tell his parents. Oh, god, what the hell was he thinking?

And seriously why the fuck hadn't Wylie told him? Idiot!

Collin watched with a small smile as Dorian got up and began to pace around the lounge while he muttered under his breath. He picked up the bottle of water he left at his feet and took a long drink. Dorian made two more rounds until he came back to stand in front of him.

“Definitely five? He's not, like, going to get to leave early cuz of good behavior or community service or anything?”

“Definitely five,” Collin replied, as straight-faced as possible.

“Yes!” Whirling, Dorian looked around the room until he found Dante. He was staring at Wylie's closed door while he fiddled with the null-collar around his throat. Dorian crossed the distance and opened the door. He kept it spelled shut just in case a particular lion happened to try and sneak in and maul the sleeping Wylie while he was in class.

Dante stepped into the dim room. The shades were pulled down to keep the sun out while Wylie slept. He immediately walked up to the bed, crawled up, and snuggled up beside Wylie. It was adorable as fuck but Dorian couldn't help the small stab of jealousy with Dante being in the exact spot he wished he could be. Little brat.

He was smiling again, he realized and sighed in exasperation. Idiot. He was being a total idiot.

Fuck, five years. Five whole years. Awesome.

SCENE #55

“It was an accident, you ass!”

“Right, an accident that burned half my hair off! How convenient you suck at magic, you shifty little fox!”

Dorian sighed and rubbed his temples as Fox and Vincent continued arguing in the hallway like five-year-olds instead of going to Dr. Rob's like they were supposed to.

“It wasn't half your hair!” Fox’s tanned face was flushed red from yelling and covered in soot. His left arm was bleeding and he was completely oblivious as he waved it at the currently smoking head of the sorcerer before him. “Just… Well, it's a lot of your hair,” Fox snorted. Vincent growled angrily. “Just spell it proper and stop yelling at me. I said I was sorry.”

“I can't spell it right, idiot.” Vincent pulled at his once beautiful silky, blue-black locks and shoved the singed curly edges in Fox's face. “It's organic material. You can't just make hair grow back! And your sorries aren't worth shit! All you say is sorry instead of actually paying the fuck attention and choosing not to blow everything up. This is the second time today! In the same fucking class!”

“Shit, just chill out! Glamour the fucking thing. Sure, it won't be fixed, but it will look just as fine. Shit, why do you have to be so fucking vain, Vince? No one cares how you look. It's just a bunch of guys here.”

“Stop,” Dorian warned when he saw a familiar glint in Vincent's eye. Vincent looked ready to hex Fox into a tree, one likely miles away and full of wasps. “Come on, you two. Fox, you're bleeding all over the floor. Vincent, your hair is smoking and you're going to set off the sprinklers. Both of you get your asses to the hospital before I have to spell you there.”

“I'm not sharing a fucking hospital room with him,” Vincent insisted grumpily.

“Fine, you go find a fucking hospital in the middle of nowhere,” Fox retorted smugly. “Dr. Rob likes me. He gives me lollipops when I get hurt.”

“Then you must have fucking diabetes, you're so accident prone.”

Dorian was ready to kill the two of them. One bonfire and Vincent admitting he wasn't really a bigoted asshole had done nothing for the pair's fighting. If they didn't absolutely hate each other, he would almost suspect they actually wanted to fuck. But Vincent really, really hated Fox. “Hey! I said no hexing!”

He stomped up to the two of them, and grabbed Fox before Vincent could curse him. “So help me, if you two don't grow the fuck up this second… What?” he trailed off. Vincent and Fox stared behind him with suddenly nervous expressions. “What are you looking at?”

A warm tingle shot down his spine and his breath quickened. Wylie. Dorian glanced over his shoulder. Wylie was nearly on top of him, he was standing so close. How the hell had he…?

“Dorian.”

Dorian closed his eyes. Wylie's low, hoarse voice was absolutely maddening. He hadn't seen him in three days. It gave him plenty of time to think, plenty of time to know exactly what he wanted. Plenty of damn time to miss him until one fucking word out of Wylie’s mouth made his knees weak.

Fuck, he hated love.

Wylie stepped closer. He hissed low notes as his breath curled over the nape of Dorian’s neck. Dorian shuddered and his fingers started to spark. Fox jumped back before he was shocked. Hell, Wylie didn't even have to touch him and he sparked.

He forced his eyes open when he heard Fox gasp. Dorian found the two gaping wide-mouthed and still staring behind him. Aw, crap. He dared another peek over his shoulder and groaned when he saw Wylie in his dragon form. He was long horns, sleek wings, sinewy tail and glowing eyes. All combined with a wicked fanged smile that promised to eat him alive.

Hah, maybe that wasn't too far from the truth. Dorian turned and took a cautious step backward. His eyes went wide when Wylie hissed again.

His shirt was torn from his transformation and Wylie pulled it carelessly from his torso to reveal black sleek scales over hard, toned muscle. Dorian's eyes moved down and he swallowed with difficulty when he saw that Wylie was hard already. He could almost feel those scales under his hands. His mind strayed to just how big Wylie felt inside him the last time.

More sparks flickered off of him and Dorian took another shaking step back. Wylie grinned fiercely and surged forward. He slammed him up against the wall and pinned him while Dorian gasped.

“Fuck, Wylie, it's a fucking hallway,” Dorian moaned. His heart pounded in his ears. Wylie didn't seem to care and he bent down to kiss him. His strong hand cupped the side of his face as hot lips crushed his. Dorian groaned and opened to the demanding tongue. Wylie explored his mouth as if they’d never kissed before.

“Need you,” Wylie said hoarsely before he nipped at his bottom lip. He wrapped an arm around Dorian’s waist and pushed up tight against his lithe body. Dorian moaned as his shirt was torn from him with an impossibly fast move. Wylie's erection ground against his hip. His hot leg then pushed between his thighs to rub against his hardening dick.

More sparks shivered over his skin. Wylie's tongue lapped out and followed their trail as he kissed roughly down his throat. “I woke up and you weren't there.” Wylie ran his fangs over Dorian’s neck and followed with his tongue. “Need to smell you. Taste you… claim you.”

“But… it's a hallway.” Dorian tried to get him to see reason. Wylie only hissed again and Dorian clutched the wall behind him to keep from falling when a tongue teased over his nipple. “Class is going to get out and… and god, do that again,” he whispered hoarsely. His head fell back heavily against the wall as fire shot across his skin.

Wylie grinned at Dorian’s surrender and slid down to his knees. His tongue moved down Dorian's taut stomach as he tore his fly open.

Dorian cracked his eyes open at a noise to find the two idiots had managed to stop fighting, but only because they were staring at him and Wylie. “Fuck off or I'm going to hex you across the damn Academy.”

Vincent huffed and turned. His cheeks were slightly flushed. “Like I want to see you two?” He grabbed Fox by the arm when he made no move to leave.

Fox grinned widely when Dorian moaned. Wylie's tongue slid down his navel as he pushed Dorian’s pants down. “Quit it, man, I want to see my boy's moves,” he growled when Vincent tugged on his arm harder.

“You're a degenerate.” Vincent scowled and pulled him away harshly. He made sure to dig his nails into the wound on Fox's arm. “Now move.”

Dorian had no problem ignoring the bickering brats. Wylie's tongue finally found his dick and slowly traced long lines up and down his shaft. He kept kissing his flesh. His lips were warm, wet, and firm as Wylie worshiped his cock. “Oh fuck,” Dorian gasped. His hands grasped Wylie's hair when he parted his lips and took his cock in deep. Damn, he looked good on his knees.

He moaned and was unable to stop his hips from bucking into Wylie’s hot mouth. Dorian stared fixated on his face. Wylie’s mouth was open wide to take all of him in. Saliva dripped down his chin, and his cheeks were flushed beneath the transparent scales on his face. “God, you're good at that,” he whispered. He jolted forward when large hands rubbed possessively over his ass. Each touch was a burning fire to his senses. It was like every burst of magic that would have sparked free was welling up inside him, and was trying to drive him fucking crazy with need.

“Wylie—hell, wait—hell!” His head slammed back against the wall. Dorian could only pant when Wylie pushed his leg up over his broad shoulder, and tongued lower until he was teasing around his entrance. He would have been fine with it except he was practically naked in a fucking hallway feet away from the class he was supposed to be in. Dorian gave a hard pull to his hair but Wylie just groaned from the pain and drove his tongue deep into Dorian’s entrance. “Fuck!”

Fine, he was just going to have to kill Wylie later. Preferably after he got him off. Dorian whimpered as Wylie’s tongue plunged in and out of his tight flesh in erratic strokes. He grabbed for his horns for balance. A thick finger joined his tormenting tongue to breach Dorian slowly and stretch him open.

“Damn it… A desk, a bed… something, Wylie,” Dorian demanded breathlessly when Wylie stood after a final lap to the tip of his throbbing dick. Wylie's lips were swollen. His chin was wet and eyes burned with sex. “Four fucking walls,” Dorian finished weakly as he stared. Wylie's pants had been lost somewhere. His hard cock was dripping and pointed right at him. Dorian licked his lips as his knees threatened to give out. Dear fuck.

“Next time,” Wylie rasped out. His gaze moved over Dorian intently. “Need you, Dorian. Need you to be mine.”

With a groan, Dorian conceded he was about to be fucked in a hallway. Wylie was just too determined and far too sexy for his own good.

His knee was pulled up and Wylie pinned him hard against his body. Dorian gasped as two fingers found his hole and thrust inside. He clawed at Wylie’s sleek shoulders, and did everything to keep from shouting. The last thing he wanted was someone to come looking to see what was going on. Sweat dripped down his neck. Wylie's mouth and tongue followed as he fucked him with his long fingers.

Dorian licked up Wylie's jaw with his trembling tongue. Small broken cries kept breaking free as Wylie's fingers stretched him wide and drove in and out in maddening strokes. “Another,” he whimpered desperately. He dug his fingernails into Wylie’s hard biceps. “Want to feel you.”

With a heated growl, Wylie plunged three fingers deep into his mate. Dorian sobbed and gasped uncontrollably. It was so much, his channel agonizingly full. Wylie was relentless, and pumped into him while Dorian moaned. He wasn't sure if he could take much more. His body remembered well enough and hips bucked as he tried to get Wylie deeper.

Wylie’s tongue extended slowly and traced over Dorian’s gasping red lips. He smirked at how wanton he looked. “You’re so fucking hot like this, beautiful. So sexy. So desperate for more. Anyone seeing you right now would know you were meant to be fucked.”

The world rocked when Wylie stroked his prostate. Dorian tried really hard not to imagine how the two of them looked at that moment, with Wylie like some winged demon ravaging him in the hallway. “God, Wylie, please… please, just…” He needed it. Needed it so bad. He needed Wylie to take him, have him and he didn't fucking care about anything else.

He groaned when Wylie's thick fingers slid from his passage. Wylie moved against him. Their bodies were slick with sweat, and his breath was strained as he panted in Dorian’s ear. Dorian's eyes opened to find him staring down at him. Wylie was bent close to tease his tongue over his bottom lip. There was something in his ice-blue eyes asking permission. Something Dorian readily answered even as he blinked the sweat from his lashes.

Wylie's large hands grabbed his ass, pulled him up and pinned him to the wall. Dorian's legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He gripped Wylie by the shoulders and his breath halted; Wylie's expression was so intense he felt lost in it. It wasn't until the hot tip of Wylie’s dick pushed between his cheeks that the spell was broken. Dorian shuddered and held him tight.

“God, yes.”

“Slowly,” Wylie hissed. He pressed his face to Dorian's neck and with restrained force began to push into the tight heat. “Fuck.”

With his lips parted, Dorian's silent cries became gasping moans as Wylie’s cock stretched his entrance wide. It pushed unceasing pressure forward until his body had no choice but to relent and open. Wylie's fingers bruised into his hips but Dorian barely felt it. All his focus was on that hot, thick flesh, and how it stretched him open, filled him, and melded them together. Wylie held so much back to keep from hurting him and he could only feel the perfect agony of their joining.

“Tight… so fucking tight, Ri,” Wylie grunted under his breath. He sheathed the last inches into Dorian's hot channel. Wylie held his shaking body in his strong embrace to help Dorian grow used to the sensation, but there was no getting used to such insanity. Dorian moaned with each heated throb of the thick member inside of him. There was no inferno of fire or hailstorm of bullets and still, being joined with Wylie was unbearably intense.

With a growl, Dorian gripped Wylie tighter. He used his magic to grow his nails into claws. “You don't need to hold back.” He nipped Wylie’s ear a moment before he slashed down his back.

“Fuck!” Wylie howled and slammed forward. He buried into him as Dorian arched and cried out. Dorian's fingers gripped the nape of his neck. Wylie stared with glowing eyes, then brushed their wet lips together heatedly. Dorian heaved soft gasps for air. His hazel eyes widened when he felt Wylie begin to swell inside his flesh. The extra girth stole his mind in a dizzying heat of pure sensation and need.

“So beautiful… Doing so good, baby.” Wylie's lips moved over his cheeks with soft kisses. He moved down his jaw and pecked his lips all while he thrust slow, desperate jolts into his gripping passage. Dorian was so slick inside and already wet from his precum. The thickness of Wylie's shaft created a perfect friction between them. “My mate… God, you're my beautiful… fucking sexy mate,” Wylie murmured hoarsely. His voice was full of emotion and need.

“Oh fuck…” Dorian's cries grew even more intense in volume when he felt Wylie swell larger, and his passage stretched so wide. “God, please, I need it,” Dorian babbled mindlessly. His teeth bit at Wylie's jaw to distract from the overwhelm of sensation. “Please, Wy, fuck, please don't stop.”

“God, I'm not going to stop.” Wylie slammed forward again when Dorian's passage clenched around his cock.

“Harder… Need it harder,” Dorian pleaded breathlessly. His thighs were tense and shook from the position. He wanted to be Wylie's. He wanted to feel that same crazed feeling of being filled as last time. Wylie was his mate and he needed to hurry and mate him.

Wylie responded to Dorian's raw need and stopped holding back. He surged forward while holding Dorian’s hips firmly, and fucked him with hard, rough strokes. He thrust in deep and stayed. The base of his dick grew so large it lodged tight inside him.

It was too much for Dorian. His entrance was stretched so wide he didn't even know who he was anymore. He came with a sob and clawed at Wylie's shoulders as he spurted streams of cum between the crush of their hot bodies.

Wylie kissed him fiercely. He slammed Dorian a final time against the wall. His own orgasm was pulled free with how hard his mate’s channel gripped his cock. He pumped load after load of his seed into the moaning sorcerer. Dorian's heavy eyelids were slit open to meet Wylie's gaze and watch his fierce, possessive expression as he claimed him.

Wylie's hips began to slow their rapid pumps but he still held Dorian tight. The last of his cum filled his channel. His kisses turned gentler. Wylie’s tongue was languid and slow as he tasted Dorian's sweat and skin. He nipped at the thin flesh of his throat.

Dorian was beyond sated. His limbs were loose, his head heavy, and smile lazy. His body was alive with contentment and his magic was a soft bubble in his core. He fluttered his lashes open, and fixed the smug shifter with an exasperated yet halfhearted glare. “Damn it, Wylie. A fucking hallway?” he trailed off and groaned when Wylie found his nipple and rolled it between his fingers. “Mmm.”

Wylie nuzzled against Dorian’s neck and sighed deeply. He was still buried deep in his passage and had little interest in leaving. He wanted to hold Dorian forever. Be entwined forever… Or at least, until he got hungry enough to move.

He lifted his head and his eyes trailed over Dorian's face. He memorized all that he found. Wylie moved his hand up to push his dark, sweaty locks from Dorian’s forehead. “Ri, you're mine… Right?” His expression turned sober with eyes full of uncertainty. “Tell me you're mine. My mate.”

Dorian didn't answer. He was fixated on the nickname Wylie gave him. He never had a nickname before. It always seemed to be something for happier, easier-going people than he was ever going to be. But he wasn't tied to his parents anymore. He wasn't trapped in a body with too much magic anymore… Well, not fully.

Dorian's silence stretched on too long. Wylie extracted from his entrance and lowered him to his feet. He cupped Dorian’s face and tried to read his expression. Dorian opened his mouth to speak but Wylie held his finger to his lips.

“It's okay. I'll convince you that I'm good enough for someone like you, Dorian.” Wylie’s expression was serious and intent. “Whatever it takes. I'll get good at magic if that's what you need so your family doesn't just see me as a shifter. I can get a job—”

“Shit, shut up, idiot,” Dorian interrupted with a growl. He grabbed Wylie’s scaled wrist only to pause when he didn't resist. All the dragon's strength and he still just let him push him around. “It's just a lot to think about. I never had a real boyfriend but… But I want to be your mate.”

Dorian bit his lip and glanced away for a moment as he tried to remember all the things he planned to say to Wylie while he slept. Now that they could finally talk, everything slipped from his mind.

“It's not just because you fix my magic. You need to know that—although, fuck, it's just perfect that you do,” he added with a dazed smile. “It's like you're meant for me or some crazy, sappy shit like that. I mean, you're just fucking perfect.”

“I'm certain we're made for each other, Ri. My dragon thinks so and I think so. Not that it didn't take some damn convincing.” Wylie frowned at his own stubbornness. His expression softened as he touched the edge of Dorian's ear. “If I couldn't fix your magic, I just would have found some other way to be an important part of your life. We're meant for each other.”

Dorian couldn't stop his blush. He peered up through his lashes. Yeah, sappy as fuck; Wylie was lucky he was hot. “You're going to be here five years, right? Well, we can, you know, see how things go. I mean, there are a lot of complications with my magic problem and, well, I don't really know what all this mating business is actually about.”

“Neither do I,” Wylie admitted softly, with his eyes fixed on his red lips. “I just know you're mine and nothing is going to keep me from you.”

Dorian ran his palm over the transparent scales of Wylie's jaw. He leaned forward and kissed him. “We'll figure it out. We have plenty of time. Just… Just don't think you have to be different. That shit I said about shifters I said to, well, get you to give up on me. I'm not like my family. I don't think that about anyone, and I really don't give a fuck about how my parents think about anything. You're my mate,” he said with another blush and a tentative smile. “What other people think doesn't fucking matter.”

Wylie beamed. He rubbed his cheek against Dorian’s and sighed. “You smell like me.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and snorted, but couldn't stop a grin from breaking free. “You've got issues, Doe. You can't just run me down whenever your dragon starts hissing.”

Wylie nodded in agreement, but when he opened his mouth his words didn't match. “I need to. I need to make you mine. I need to make sure everyone knows you're mine and only mine. My mate.”

Yeah, fucking issues. Dorian wasn't sure how he was going to train this particular problem out of Wylie, but he would figure it out. He was not one for being run down and fucked in public.

He wrinkled his nose when he felt the trickle of cum slide down his thighs. Dorian waved his hand and spelled himself clean. With another wave he was fully dressed and back to his immaculate self. Wylie just stared at him in confusion. His nostrils flared and he eventually reared back with a glare.

“Hey, I just spent a lot of time and effort getting you all dirty with my scent. You can't just spell that all away.”

Dorian hid a smirk and just raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Don't know what to tell you… but apparently I can.” He smiled sassily, turned on his heel and headed down the hall. Two seconds later and Wylie grabbed him from behind. His hungry hiss made Dorian shiver hotly.

“Gorgeous, I'm just going to have to cover you to mark you as mine.”

“Damn it… Fuck, Wylie.” Goddamn, fucking sexy, possessive dragons. Dorian exhaled shakily and arched into the hands running down his torso. Fingers sought a way under his shirt. Before he could get lost in Wylie’s touch again, Dorian forced himself forward. He refused to look back until he got to the corner where the hallway connected with another. Wylie stared after him with a look of determination and want. He was also still completely naked in rainbow black scales.

“A bed, idiot,” Dorian prompted when Wylie seemed content to stand and stare at him. “You know, in a room I can fucking lock people out of.”

His expression grew intense and Wylie stalked toward him. Dorian felt a wave of heat shoot through his body. Wylie was oblivious to his nudity or just how damn sexy he looked.

Fuck, okay, he might have some issues too. Dorian grinned wickedly. He ducked around the corner and broke into a sprint when he heard Wylie follow. He nearly got to the end of the hall before Wylie caught him. Wylie lifted him off the floor in a dizzying spin.

“Hell.” His heart was pounding in his chest. Dorian gasped when he found his arms and legs wrapped around Wylie's sweaty, muscular form. Wylie’s wings were stretched out behind him to keep them from being crushed. “You're fast.” Strong too, no matter how gentle Wylie was when he touched him.

Wylie grinned in triumph and went to kiss him but Dorian covered his mouth with his hand. Wylie was undeterred and his tongue teased out and licked between his fingers. “Bedroom,” Dorian insisted hoarsely. He beamed when Wylie started walking them to the dorms even as his lips still moved over his hand and wrist.

Mate. He had a dragon shifter for a mate. A strong, sexy, fearless man who got him on a level few did. Dorian thought for the longest time he was cursed with his magical disorder. At such a young age he saw his future turn from bright to bleak overnight. Now he was grateful for the struggle and the chain of events that allowed him to meet and love Wylie Doe.

SCENE #56

Wylie watched the even rise and fall of Dorian's chest. He was napping after a rather strenuous weekend of being fucked senseless. Wylie wasn't sure exactly how he was expected to behave when Dorian was so gorgeous, sexy, and in possession of such a terribly wicked tongue, but Wylie thought he was trying. Given his exasperated expression right before falling asleep, Dorian didn't agree.

He was back in his human form when Wylie fished around the floor for a pair of jeans. He pulled them on before snagging a cigarette from Dorian's case. When he wandered shirtless out into the lounge, he ignored the catcalls he got from Forest and Fox. Dorian was apparently loud during sex; something he warned the guys not to mention unless they were looking to get hexed by his grumpy mate.

Dante appeared at his side, and immediately grabbed his hand like he owned it. Wylie sent a small smile down at his bowed head and led them to the outer door so he could smoke. The mid-afternoon sun was warm even though the air was growing chiller with winter fast approaching. Wylie stared out at the fields and forest before them. He felt more content than he could ever remember.

Dante loved Will and Christopher's room. The tree inside a building was amazing to the small boy. But he refused to sleep there. No, Wylie ended up asking for an extra bed to be put in his and Fox's room so Dante could sleep next to his big brother. Dante was the one to start calling him his brother and Wylie couldn't, for the life of him, find a reason to disagree.

He’d never had a little brother but that didn't mean he was opposed to the idea. Not when Dante clearly needed him as much as he did. The more the two talked, the more Wylie discovered just how much the kid was in desperate need of someone to care about him.

Dante only dropped hints here and there but as each new piece of information came to light, Wylie could see the grim picture it revealed. Dante lived with relatives but they hadn't cared about him. They barely fed him, and had little interest in talking to him or playing. Dante was looked on as a curse on the family. One they hoped to cure when his uncle found a sorcerer to sell him to.

Dante didn't remember a lot of things. His memory fuzzed out on moments not worth remembering. But there was a lot he didn't remember and Wylie was left with a fierce need to make sure Dante’s current days were worth being present for.

Collin came back with the final word that Dante wouldn’t be sent back to Italy. The slavers the Salvadors sold him to would find him immediately, and his home situation was unfit. Dante needed structure and the right people to show him how to use his powers safely. There was no better place than the Academy for that.

Dante watched when Wylie blew a smoke ring. He looked up and made the ring twist into a spiral. With a smirk, Wylie blew another ring only to have it transformed into a somewhat blobbish ladybug. The masters let Dante out of the null-collar during the day when Wylie was around to be a pacifying presence. They hoped eventually Dante wouldn't need the instrument at all as long as he was on the Academy grounds.

Wylie's next smoke ring turned into a long string of Italian text. He blinked down at Dante’s innocent looking face. “How old are you again?”

Dante shrugged and smiled to himself. They weren't sure exactly how old he was, but Dante's relatives insisted they’d been taking care of him for years. Like, thirty. And no, they weren’t on drugs when Michael interviewed them.

It took some sweet words and strong arms on Michael's part to smooth things over, but the Academy came to an arrangement with Dante's guardians. They promised not to have the family arrested if the three signed Dante over into the care of the Academy.

Wylie wasn't sure just how much Dante understood of everything going on around him. He was silent most of the time and rarely reacted to what people said. But he liked hugs, human contact when he had a choice in the matter, and to know Wylie was around. All things Wylie found easy enough to oblige.

Dante glanced up at him and asked quietly, “Are you going to marry Dorian?”

“Jesus!” Wylie nearly spit his cigarette out as he coughed. He covered his face with his hand. Okay, maybe the kid was paying attention to shit after all. “I dunno, D. It's really fucking early to be thinking about stuff like that.”

Dante leaned against Wylie's side, with his head still turned upwards. “My mom got married when she was thirteen… but she died really young too.” His face was an expressionless mask when he added, “You love him.”

Wylie grunted in confirmation and chose his next words carefully. “Just because you love someone doesn't mean you need to marry them, D. Love doesn't come in the same package every time. Families are all different and you don't need some ceremony or a priest or shit to tell you you're a family.”

Dante nodded to himself and held Wylie's hand tighter. He was silent for a long time as he watched him smoke.

“I want you to be my family.”

Wylie stared down at Dante’s sleek, dark locks, while he wondered the best way to answer something like that. Family didn't mean living in the same house. It didn't mean sharing blood or even the same magical powers. It was a choice built on bonds. You could choose to strengthen them or let them decay, but it was still a choice.

“You are my family, Dante,” Wylie finally answered. “No matter what. I'll be there whenever you need me.”

A small smile broke across his normally impassive face. Dante rubbed his forehead against Wylie's side. He looked at the scenery and the way the smoke drifted up. “Dorian too?”

Wylie nodded. “Pretty sure.” Dorian was in need of a proper family no matter how many people were waiting for him back at his mansion.

Dorian was clear he didn't want Wylie to change for him, but Wylie was still determined to make something of himself. He fucked-up his life enough. Sure, it was some messed up, backward rebellion against the world which took so much from him, but he was the only one getting hurt. At the time, the idea of destroying his life felt more controlling than letting absolute strangers destroy him. Growing up, that was how it felt; like people were trying to break him at every turn. He was done with it.

He didn't need to live his life in reaction to how others treated him. He just needed to live his life.

In the last month, Wylie learned to control his shift, found an amazing mate he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and even gained a group of friends so strong he could call them his pack. He wanted better for himself. If it made him a better person in Dorian's eyes as well, that was just a damn fine extra perk.

Wylie was pulled from his thoughts. He blinked down as a glow of magic flashed and faded. With a tilt of his head, he stared at Dante in confusion. “Did you just grow a foot?”

Dante shrugged. His hair was now down to his shoulders. “All the guys keep making fun of me for being so little.” His voice sounded stronger and accent less pronounced.

“How old are you?” Wylie had a feeling this was going to be a very familiar unanswered question. Dorian said that Dante was very special and to expect odd things you wouldn't see with normal sorcerer kids. He hadn't said anything about instant growth spurts.

Dante wiggled his longer fingers and smiled slightly. “I dunno, it's hard to keep track of after a while. My parents got married in '62.”

“1962 and your mother was thirteen at the time?” His jaw dropped and Wylie tried to keep the shock out of his voice.

Dante shook his head and watched his bangs float across his eyes. “1562.”

“Son of a bitch.” Wylie sucked down the rest of his cigarette and wished to god he had another one. Dante didn't do magic like the other sorcerers did and he might just be a couple hundred years old. Like almost 500. “Fucking shit.”

Dante tilted his head up. He looked closer to twelve now as he blinked bright green eyes up at Wylie. “You're still going to be my big brother but… I'm probably going to be taller than you.”

“Oh really?” Wylie glared down at him and gave a ruffle to his dark locks. He was unable to stop his grin. “Good luck to that, pipsqueak.”

Fuck, he couldn't call him gramps. Dante still looked and acted like a kid even if he was older than dirt. Wylie glanced over when Fox and Forest bounded out of the double doors of the Academy. “Wanna go chase Fox around the lawn?”

Dante nodded quickly. His eyes followed the two laughing shifters as they morphed into their animal forms and began to wrestle on the golden colored lawn. Wylie scooped Dante around his waist and carried him giggling to the pile of fur where he placed him down to play.

At five hundred years old and able to take out five guys with one spell, Dante still managed to fall on his ass and get a split lip in under a minute. Wylie shook his head and wondered if anything would ever be 'normal' at the Academy.

After a moment, he decided he really didn't want it to be. He joined in chasing Forest's leopard form up a tall tree. As homes went, his new one was perfect. Weirdness and all.

NOTES

Hey, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the orginal Demon Arms.

So, this is called the 'original' Demon Arms because it was initially written when I was going through mold toxicity and untreated Parkinson's, and as such, it has some issues. Although I love the original book, I couldn't allow it to stay as is for the same damn reason; I love these characters, I love this world, and I really want to take the opportunity to present this story as best as I can now that my health is improved. As of February, 2019, Demon Arms is in the midpoint of being rewritten so that it fits the stylization of the currently planned sequels, Shiny Thief, Sorcerer Slayer, and Manic Fool. The original will still remain (it's not being erased) but the newest version will be published along with the many sequels to come. ^^

Shiny Thief, the second book in The Paranormal Academy For Trouled Boys series is actually in its final draft where I just have to go through and fix up a few scenes and ensure the tension/energy is working all the way through. Fox and Vincent get a turn at driving each other crazy (and maybe falling in love <3) and we meet Raider, an anxiety ridden raccoon shifter who wants to be anywhere but at the Academy. You can read the free scenes now!