Galvin

He’s back. Coffee guy. Black hair, pale skin, gold eyes, red lips, really tight ass. Knocking on my office door like he doesn’t know who I am. Smiling at me like he doesn’t know what I am. Breathing easy like he doesn’t know he’s mine.

He’s been by six times this week. Coffee related. Stands outside my open office door, leaning on Margie’s desk while chatting up a storm. Tight jeans, hard thighs, very nice biceps under his polo. His name’s Jayden. Human resources sent me up a file on him before I requested it. Because they knew. One whiff of Jayden’s sweat, and I knew. Jayden, for whatever reason, has yet to figure things out. It’s been interesting.

“Hey, Mr. Starling, right? I’ve got five for you.”

He’s a terrible flirt. Margie’s been telling me. She also insists the kid is really just naïve as fuck. But he’s standing in my office doorway, breathing deep as he takes in every telltale scent my body gives off as he looks around. And he’s just smiling that lazy, confident smile he’s had since the first day I saw him. I have to say, I like it.

I don’t bother answering. I want to see what he’ll do. I’m a busy guy, and believe me, wasting my time not only wastes a ton of money, but jeopardizes the lives of every man, woman, and child in my very extensive pack. We’re shifters. Wolf. A few canine mutts, but not many. I have the most powerful clan on the East coast. I am the most powerful man on the East coast. And when I turn into a wolf, I am quite literally the top dog. Alpha. Packleader. Protector, warrior, and businessman all rolled into one.

“You must have an allnighter planned to need so much coffee. I think I’d be on a caffeine buzz by just two of these.” He steps in, drinks balanced in a cardboard holder. I watch him out of the corner of my eye while I finish looking over my financial report on my laptop. He hesitates a foot from my desk. I can feel him looking at me, taking in my broad shoulders, large hands, sharp, predatory face. I’m a silver wolf, and my hair matches. Combined with my ice blue eyes, and deep tan, I get a lot of stares. More so when my clothes are off. But he’s a slut, and he’s not subtle.

“The desk is fine,” I say when he continues to stand there. His hands have the slightest of tremors when he places the coffee down. Not naïve. Or at least, not anymore. I’ve got an Alpha’s voice. Low, seductive, and all power. I glance over my computer at him, and he’s stuck. Just like that. Gotta say, it’s good to be king. A couple of words, one hard stare, and a pretty thing like Jayden can’t move his legs.

“How many more people are waiting for drinks?” I ask, watching his pupils dilate from the sound of my voice. He’s hotter up close. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing jeans in my multibillion-dollar setup. Jayden’s lower ranks, and he’s got nice thighs, so I’m going to let it slide.

“Um, twenty or so…” He trails off, exhaling loudly as his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. He’s having a hard time. I have that effect on shifters. He’s close enough to smell my musk, and he’s pretty much jelly.

“I suggest you get going.” Or he’s going to stand here staring at me until he dies of starvation, or I leave.

He swallows, my eyes drawn to the way his throat convulses. Sweat is just starting to prickle on his brow, and he’s wafting a very enticing sex scent. “Right… I should, um, get back to work. Enjoy your coffee.”

I flash him a smirk, revealing a hint of fang. “I don’t drink coffee, Jayden.”

He swallows again, this time because he’s trying to figure out why I know his name. I’m an alpha. The Alpha. Only a few reasons I’d give a fuck to know my coffee guy’s name when I don’t drink coffee. His feet backpedal slowly, lovely gold eyes still caught in mine. Yeah, he’s something worth looking at. “Ah, well, you have enough to bathe in… so… yeah…”

Silently I watch him go. He practically collapses on Margie’s desk. Silly, naïve little wolf.

I IM my five guys. They’re in my office drinking the coffee by the time Jayden makes his way back. No one gets through the top floor without passing my office door.

“Trev.” I don’t say anything else. Trevor takes a final sip of his coffee, tosses the cup in the trash, and goes to greet my pretty new bitch.

Jayden tries to play it cool. He’s smooth, polite, and still has work to do. Trevor grins and grabs him firmly by the nape of the neck. Gold eyes half obscured by heavy lids, Jayden allows himself to be walked into my office. Good boy.

“Door?”

“Open.” It’s still work hours, and I might be needed.

Things have changed in my office since Jayden was last here. The most impressive would be the five muscular young men lounging on the leather couch that takes up two walls of the large space. I’m quick with introductions. Freddie heads Research and Development. Hans runs Accounting. Trevor’s my Vice, Sean my Junior Partner, and Liam’s my Marketing god. My guys call me Galvin, but Jayden will be referring to me only as Alpha. He will call them each Sir.

The guys give Jayden a polite hello while my coffee guy sways on his feet, his cheeks growing flushed from all the testosterone in the air. I hang with other alphas. They’re not rivals; they’re loyal. Useful for keeping my business running smoothly, and we all have similar interests. Jayden just nods, his lips parted as he begins to pant. Coffee guy has a very nice mouth.

I look at Trevor, who still has his hand on Jayden’s neck. “Strip him.”

“Oh, fuck.” Eyes widening, Jayden falls to his knees the instant he’s released. We’re off to a good start.

He’s ours…

Sitting in the large, sun-soaked cafeteria with the voices of excited students all around him, Daniel could not look away from Mason Blackthorne. It was a problem, and not a new one. He’d had a thing for the blond for years now, but lately things were getting worse. Dangerous. Something was different about Mason and it was driving him crazy.

Oh, he still looked the same. Mason Blackthorne was one of the hottest sorcerers Daniel had ever met, and that was saying something. With enough magic everyone looked damn sexy. It was just something innate about using the power, like the magic sank into the cells and transformed the wielder with each spell. Daniel was used to being surrounded by beautiful people, was used to being one himself with his dark hair and strange, gold eyes, yet Mason managed to stand out like a glowing flame to his senses.

To call Mason pale would be an understatement. The boy’s skin was pure cream, his hair platinum white. Average height but lithe and toned, Mason was a glint of moonlight most of the time, the only color he revealed being his red lips and maddening cerulean eyes that glowed in certain light. Mason was stunning and Daniel wished that was the reason he couldn’t stop staring at him.

He tried valiantly to focus on what his best friends William and Tiana were saying across from him at the table. The couple was getting an apartment together, both of them having already applied and been accepted as magical regulators in training. He didn’t want to think about the fact that it was his last day at the Academy of Magical Arts and Sorcery. Daniel was giving up magic and hadn’t told anyone yet. It was for the best. It was time to finally let magic and Mason Blackthorne go for good.

It was the only answer. Surely anything else would lead to him destroying the beautiful boy and himself in the process.

Daniel didn’t want to live in a world of magic. After four years of advanced sorcerer training, he no longer had any doubts. It didn’t matter that he had raw talent and even greater power. He had been named an Elite, a title bestowed on only the most illustrious of sorcery students, Daniel being the only one during the last five years to receive the honor. Since the title, he had been interview repeatedly in three different newspapers, offered two internships, one of them into the Council of Esteemed, and had received two dozen offers from Masters around the world hoping he would choose them for formal apprenticeship. Daniel had the magical world in the palm of his hand and he was determined to leave it all behind.

Unfortunately there was a loud, roaring, bloodthirsty beast inside of him that wanted to stay.

Ours… We must make him ours…

It had been a difficult year. Two months ago Daniel had lost his chronically ill grandmother, his only guardian since he was a small child. It had almost been a relief when Sofia Warweaver finally passed away. Even though he was away at what would be considered the equivalent of college in an academic setting, the majority of his attention had been spent dealing with the doctors and nurses keeping the sorceress alive. Her mind had failed in the end, the women a shadow of her former powerful glory as the curse that had been cast on her before Daniel was born took its slow, torturous course of eating her away.

It had been a reminder to him of just what magic did, even to the most powerful. And his Grandmum had been one of the greats. Older than what she claimed, certainly, although she managed to look under forty when Daniel last saw her, she had lost both her son and daughter to terrible warlocks over twenty years ago, that daughter being Daniel’s mother. For all her power, she had not been able to save either of her children and it had broken her more than the curse that struck her down.

Take him… Claim him…

Daniel, eyes having managed to find their way to his breakfast of scrambled eggs and ham, slowly looked back up to where Mason was chatting obliviously with his friends.

You can smell him… He wants us… He’s aching for us…

“Shut the fuck up,” Daniel muttered under his breath. His beast did not, growling lowly in his ear, commenting on all the ways Mason chose to not look in his direction, the boy blatantly ignoring them like the little flirt he was.

Over the table… He won’t fight us… He’s begging for us… Just cross the room, push him down to the table, and take him… He’ll give in… He wants to give in to us…

Daniel was not a crazy person, even if he did have a dark voice rumbling in his ear to fuck Mason Blackthorne senseless. He was a shifter, one of the rare mythical shifters at that. The beast inside of him had never walked the earth in any other form, waking up in the oldest, strongest family bloodlines to experience life with a human host. It was supposed to be a great honor to hold a beast within. Daniel had found out very quickly that it was not, the blood lion within him an absolute menace. The moment it had woken up he had caged the beast to keep it from taking over his body and transforming him into a wild animal. No, Daniel wasn’t a crazy person, but if he had to deal with the beast roaring over Mason Blackthorne for another month, he was going to go out of his fucking mind.

He looks good today…

Mason did, in fact, look fucking hot as hell, the boy dressed in tailored slacks and a collared short-sleeved shirt like the privileged preppy brat he was. His biceps, tight and toned, were looking particularly interesting as the blond leaned his elbows on the table to talk to his neighbor, cerulean eyes lighting ever so subtly on Daniel’s intense stare before looking away with a small grin.

He wants us… We should take him… Have him… Keep him…

“Shut up, you stupid furball,” Daniel muttered, wishing Mason would stop grinning every time he looked his way.

He’ll be tight… Loud… His cries for us will echo off the walls…

Daniel really needed to get the fuck out of there. It was the last day of class. Tomorrow he’d be officially graduated and no longer required to share a cafeteria, hallway, or classroom with Mason. Just one more day to endure, and he’d be free from this insanity.

“Seeing as you’re talking to yourself, I’m going to assume you haven’t been listening?” William broke in, only looking slightly annoyed when Daniel glanced at him blankly. William, tall with light brown hair and dark eyes, had been attempting to draw Daniel into conversation for the last ten minutes. His failure was only mildly disheartening, having grown used to his friend’s strange behavior. “Blackthorne?” He asked when Daniel’s golden gaze began slipping away again. “Has he hexed you again?”

Grunting noncommittally, Daniel forced his attention to William and Tiana’s expectant faces. He hadn’t felt it necessary to reveal to his friends of four years that lately whenever he was fighting with Mason he was also trying to hold back the beast from tearing the boy’s clothes off. The two knew about the Blood King inside him and had accepted a lot of weird behavior from him as the consequence. Still, some things were just a bit too much to share.

“We were asking if you’d like to join us on our vacation, Daniel,” Tiana spoke up. “I hate to think of you all alone in that big house now that your grandmother has passed away.”

Daniel winced, picking up his fork so he could pretend to eat. “I’m going to be really busy this summer. The Estate needs to be settled, things boxed up—That sort of thing.” He didn’t meet Tiana’s eye. Daniel was actually homeless. With the death of his Grandmum, the large Warweaver Estate had been spelled shut to everyone. He couldn’t even get to his own things until the reading of the will, something that wouldn’t occur for another month. “Besides, you two haven’t had a chance to be alone since you started dating. I’d hate to be a third wheel.”

William shot Daniel a grateful look. Tiana worried too much and William was a bit oblivious, but Daniel loved them both and didn’t want to burden them with his own shit.

He had met his Aunt April for the first time at Sophia’s funeral. He knew the woman existed but she had never contacted him after his father’s death. He hadn’t given much thought to why until face to face with his aunt. She was terrified of magic, and more so, the people that wielded it. Her brother and his family had been obliterated in the blink of an eye and she had not been able to take in the nephew that had survived. Until now, when she had demanded Daniel live with her family that summer until the will was settled. Daniel, with no place left to turn, had hesitantly agreed.

April’s only stipulation was that he didn’t perform magic while at the house. And well, that had been more than fine with him. It would be a summer without magic while finally getting to know the only family he had left in the world. And maybe, if things went well, it would be a lot longer than a summer.

“Oh, the Trinity’s here.” Tiana jumped up, her silky red hair flipping over her shoulders as she scraped her chair back to get a copy of the sorcery rag before they were all snatched up. There were a few different newspapers dedicated just to the magical going ons in the world, even though the main papers still had a section for magic users. Daniel had stopped reading them once he started finding his own face staring out at him since named the newest Elite. It was just bizarre.

He’s calling us… Can’t you feel his power? The dragon is calling us to claim him…

Daniel groaned inwardly, hunching into his seat as he tried to pull his beast from its focus on Mason.

He wants us… If we reveal ourselves he will bend to us… Cry for us…

Daniel wasn’t certain that the King was wrong. Something had changed about Mason. About three months ago when he’d been watching the last of his grandmother’s life slip away, Mason Blackthorne had woken up different and his beast had not shut up since about it.

Mason and Daniel didn’t have a traditional relationship to begin with—Well, unless you counted on the playground. Mason loved to annoy the shit out him every chance he got, from casting little hexes on him, to challenging him in class, to outright sabotaging his homework. The blond just couldn’t leave him alone and Daniel had been more than okay with it.

He enjoyed their strange game, forever transfixed on the vicious expression Mason made right before he struck. They had a bizarre interaction, extremely intense and one that Mason seemed quite happy to pretend was nothing more than childish rivalry even as he fueled Daniel’s attraction into a burning flame. And if he’d been fully human, maybe that would have been easy enough to resist. But the beast inside him full of power and terrible, malevolent instincts had different plans for Mason.

The Blood King found the taunting game fascinating. A lion toying with a soft, fragile mouse, his beast had flexed claws while Mason nibbled, twittered, and fluffed his whiskers whenever Daniel walked into the room. And in response to Daniel’s attention, Mason had become outright teasing, his otherworldly eyes flashing in laughter as he stared too long, hands brushing over him in electric moments as they passed too close. Even lips against his ear once, Mason leaning in to whisper something lewd and asinine while he’d been reading. It had become a very riveting game.

Take him now… He’s calling us, wants us… We must have him…

Then it had all gone to shit.

Mason was no longer a mouse. Months ago something had changed in the boy that made the King stare intrigued and possessive. Snapping, caustic energy, luminous and unrestrained had begun to crackle just beneath the blond’s surface. It was deadly, powerful, and awesomely alluring. To the point that Daniel’s beast could no longer concentrate on anything but said power whenever Mason was near. He’d been forced to push back to keep the blond at arm’s length and safe from his beast. He had enough control over himself, his beast still only a caged animal roaring inside him. But sometimes when Mason came too close, snapped his power too loud with clamping jaws and slashing talons, Daniel lost himself, the beast rearing up to… Well.

Screwing Mason Blackthorne into a wall was not an activity Daniel felt healthy, for himself or the obnoxious, rich brat.

It was an extremely complicated issue, seeing as Mason was fucking gorgeous, adorably snarky, and usually fun to be around when not hexing him. Fine, even when hexing. It didn’t really matter. It was a lost cause, one Daniel should never have indulged in. No matter that Mason flirted with him every chance he got, in cruel, cutting ways to shock him. No matter that his beast roared loud and demanding whenever the boy was near, snapping and rattling its cage until Daniel was brooding and ready to break something for want of the blond. They could never be together.

Even if Mason Blackthorne came to him on hands and knees and begged, Daniel would never, ever, touch the boy, no matter how much he wanted to.

Tiana gave a huff when William began to prod her, finally handing the newspaper over to her boyfriend, who always demanded the sports section before she became ensnared in the pages. Daniel’s eyes were across the room again, watching Mason bow his head as he read his own paper. For the life of him, he just couldn’t keep his eyes off the boy.

Mason was biting his lip, thoughtlessly gnawing on the flushed flesh as he flipped through the oversized pages. His hair, shining blond and silvery, was hanging down loose, soft around his shoulders. Slowly a tint of pink began to reach the perfect, creamy skin of his cheeks as he stopped and started reading intently.

The terrible things he would do with Mason Blackthorne’s lips. The things he would make him say, beg… He could make Mason beg. Beg for more, for harder, and faster, and every drop of seed he had to give him…

“Son of a—Phsssh!” William spluttered, spraying orange juice all over the table and the paper he was reading. “Holy hell,” he uttered between coughs. “The fucking… ass… is getting bonded.”

Daniel wasn’t sure who or what he was referring to, but he was grateful for the distraction. It had been enough to draw his attention from Mason and the heated thoughts swirling in his mind once again. God, he really needed to get the fuck out of there.

“What?” Tiana asked, snatching the paper from William when her boyfriend showed more interest in choking on his drink than finishing his thought. “Oh. My. God.” She gaped, jaw falling open and staying open.

Narrowing his eyes at his friends’ display, Daniel grabbed the damp paper from Tiana’s slack grasp. On the third page a large black and white image of Mason stared back at him, looking restrained and cool with mild hints of nervousness around his mouth. There was no fucking escape from the brat. Daniel resisted the urge to crumple the paper up, instead folding the page so he would not have to stare at Mason Blackthorne’s face as he read the article beneath.

Unreal. Fucking bizarre.

“It’s a joke, right?” Tiana asked. “A dragon? He’s looking for suitors because he’s part dragon? I never saw him as having a beast.”

Daniel shrugged distractedly as he read, realizing he had never mentioned it to his friends. He really didn’t need them to know just how crazy he was about the kid. His eyes followed down to where Selina, Mason’s mother, was said to have passed down strong dragon ancestry to her son when conceived. Dragon genes were prominent in the Rowe family bloodline and woke up during the early twenties.

William shook his head, finally able to get his coughing under control. “Being part dragon isn’t the issue. He’s a conduit. Anyone looking for a hit of power will be running him down to force a bond.”

Daniel then got to that part; the very special ability Mason had locked inside him. Unimaginable power that the boy couldn’t access alone but his bondmate could, the sorcerer of choice capable of wielding it however he so desired.

Daniel paused, taking a slow breath as his blood lion gave a rattle to its cage. That would be the wild power that had been driving his beast insane lately. It wasn’t unique… it wasn’t just him. Every beast that got a look at Mason would sense it too. They would all want him.

He is ours…

Daniel ignored the creature and turned back to the paper. Mason needed a bondmate, soon, before some power hungry jackass decided that they’d have that power no matter how the boy felt about it. And the mate had to be powerful and fierce because those power hungry madmen would have no issue in killing Mason’s chosen just to chain the dragon and have it at beck and call exclusively.

It was a chilling situation, Daniel’s mind wandering to his dead parents and sister, their lives cut down because of insane men that had wanted power so much they had drained it from the living. It was the seedy dark side to sorcery no one talked about; insatiable greed in the hands of powerful men. Mason wouldn’t be killed, but he would be enslaved for the rest of his life, some monster draining him dry whenever he wished if the boy were captured.

Mason would be seeing suitors that summer, going through a selection process to find an acceptable bondmate. Until then, the boy would be locked in his house, protected from any maniac that would try to kidnap and force a bond on him.

Daniel threw the paper into Tiana’s waiting hands, scowling darkly at the table top. Suitors. How many fucking sorcerers wanted into Mason’s pants? Probably a shit ton if they only had a look at the gorgeous boy. Fucking absurd. With furious restraint, Daniel raised his eyes and sought out Mason’s face across the room.

The blond was in full out angry blush, pink having turned to red as he ripped his paper in half right down the middle of his photo. His parents must have had the article published in the hopes of attracting eligible suitors. Mason’s handsomeness, wealth, and many talents had been listed at the end, most with glaring tones of innuendo.

“I don’t understand,” Tiana mused aloud, reading through the article again. “Why are they calling for powerful sorcerers? Wouldn’t Blackthorne want to be bonded to a sorceress? I mean, bonding is like some antiquated form of marriage, but with magic.”

“He’s gay,” Daniel said darkly, eyes fixed on Mason, who was taking the torn pieces and ripping them again, slowly turning the paper into a mess of long strips. Gay, containing a dragon, and apparently a conduit. How many fucking sorcerers would be chasing after the boy now?

“Oh… Ohhh.” Tiana blinked up, looking at Daniel. “Is that something… Like, you can tell your own kind?”

He glanced her way, the corners of his mouth curling in a grim smirk. “As in beast, or as in fag? Both seem to apply.”

Tiana nodded mutely, then turned back to the article. Only to look up again, eyebrows raised inquiringly. “So are you going to…?”

Slowly and deliberately, Daniel turned his full attention to Tiana while William spluttered again on his juice beside her. “Tia, I want you to finish that sentence. And then I want you to stop and realize just how fucking halfwitted you are.”

Tiana glared, staring Daniel down as her ill-tempered friend tried to intimidate her. She had grown used to his foul moods and dark power years ago and never allowed it to get the best of her. “You are both gay. You both apparently have powerful beasts. And you are both absolutely and madly obsessed with each other,” she hissed lowly. “It is not an unreasonable thought that you might want to date him.”

“You are out of your goddamn mind,” Daniel growled, hands biting into the wood of the table as he gripped hard. It didn’t matter that his beast was agreeing with the girl, very much wanting to claim Mason, and preferably before any competition showed up.

“Yeah? Then why are you so angry?” Tiana shot back, picking up the paper and unfurling so he was forced to stare at Mason’s obnoxiously attractive face. She knew Daniel wanted Blackthorne, for years now. She just couldn’t figure out why he refused to admit it, especially since he’d apparently known the kid was gay the whole time.

William, once again gaining control of his coughing, crushed the paper down, grabbed Tiana around the waist, and pulled her against his tall form so that she fell away from Daniel’s menacing glare. “Tia, you’re sticking your nose in it.”

“He called me a halfwit!” She muttered with a petulant huff.

“He’s going to do a hell of a lot worse if you don’t stop pissing him off about the pain in the ass. Daniel, calm down!” William ordered, slamming his fist loudly on the table to break Daniel from his angry, low growl.

Daniel blinked out of his glower, looking up and around while the other students sitting at the table gave him wary glares. He had become rather dangerous lately, prone to moods and violent outbursts at the slightest of provocation since Mason’s energy had started sparking. He hadn’t hurt anyone yet, that they knew of, but it seemed to be only a matter of time.

Scowling darkly, Daniel’s gaze once again trailed over to where Mason was sitting, only to meet an answering blue glare. Fucking Blackthorne.

He flipped the blond off, rewarded with a vicious snarl and a returning rude hand gesture. Then the fucker blew him a kiss, his beast practically salivating at the sight, and Daniel got up and stormed out of the cafeteria.

***

Glare following as Daniel left, Mason turned to Jackson. “Fucking Cross.”

Jackson Falkner just rolled his ice-blue eyes, ducking beneath long black hair and reading the paper he had refused to let Mason tear up. His friend had issues with Daniel Cross, usually resulting in endless, drawn out monologues filled with more obscenities than usable words. Not commenting was the only way to keep from encouraging Mason into said rants.

Unfortunately, Mason rarely needed the encouragement, and this was one of those times.

“Fucking headcase, probably making fun of me with his fucktard friends. Like I wanted my fucking life put in the damn paper like a damn fucking fool. Now the whole fucking school knows I’m not only a fucking conduit beast, but that I also like cock. Fucking shithead, crazy ass, Cross.”

Jackson didn’t bother pointing out that Cross had actually no fault in Mason’s life being dragged out in the paper. It was exclusively his friend’s terrible, manipulative parents. Mason’s parents were always doing things to embarrass the boy, to the point that Jackson wondered if it wasn’t intentional. Really, a call for a bondmate didn’t need such details. Those were normally given later in privacy once an interested suitor had approached.

“What exactly makes your parents think you can blow as good as you get?” Suzy drawled, her long blond hair sparkling in the light, brown eyes flashing teasingly as Mason turned his glare to her. “Is this something they’ve seen first hand? Or do you just share far too much information?”

“Fuck off,” Mason grumbled, trying to grab her paper so he could destroy it, only to have her hold it out of reach.

“Oh no, I’m framing this. And did you see Cross? He was pissed. Must be jealous he has competition for your special, freakish affection.”

Mason rolled his eyes, stabbing his fork into the table until it stood vertically into the wood. Suzy had a theory, the miserable bitch, and insisted on trotting it out every time Cross showed any emotion towards him. Of course, most Cross ever showed towards him was anger, even more explosive recently than before. Mason didn’t know what the asshole’s problem was and he didn’t fucking care. It just made things more fun when he sabotaged his spellwork.

“They’ve gone too far,” Jackson interjected before Suzy could once again run down her many reasons she was certain Cross was gagging for Mason’s dick. “Mentioning you were a conduit before you’re bonded—They’ve put you in serious danger. You’re not even safely hidden within your ancestry walls yet.”

Mason bit his lip, well aware. His parents meant well, in their overbearing arrogant need to show him off, and themselves as a result. But letting the whole fucking world know that he was a conduit was asking for every crazy warlock in the vicinity to come knocking on the Academy’s front door to kidnap and rape him. It was concerning, to say the least.

“Stupid fucking Cross and his fucking show off Elite power. Couldn’t get a goddamn article on that championship duel he won to bump this fucking disaster my fucking parents put out. Fuck, fuck, fuck… fuck… fuck…” Mason started dropping his head on the table, clunking repeatedly to every muttered curse. It helped a little.

Jackson reached over and placed his dark hand beneath his friend’s forehead before he could smash his brains out. “This needs a strategy. What the fuck are you going to do? You’re putting everyone at risk as long as you’re here.”

Mason glared, resting his face in Jackson’s palm. “I suppose I’ll find the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the school and have him make me his bitch.”

Jackson raised a brow while Suzy cackled happily and clapped. It was difficult to argue with the girl when Mason kept saying things that clearly showed an interest in the Elite sorcerer. He might not have been particularly tall or muscular, but Cross was the most powerful sorcerer to come out of the Academy in years. The kid had become damn near beastly in attitude, and no one could match him in fighting or much anything else for that matter. “Or instead of letting Cross fuck you, you could, you know, take a portal home.”

“Whatever,” Mason muttered, shutting his eyes.

It was bad enough he had to go through finding a suitable bondmate while so young and for such dire reasons. But now he had to do it while all his fucking classmates knew. He’d been able to get away with the other aspects that had arisen when his beast had woken up and started prowling. This was apparently the end of that.

No one had seen his physical changes associated with it, at least, not the weird ones. He had grown, his already toned body lengthening and strengthening to manifest the dragon now curled within him. But no one had seen the horns, or the scales, or even the claws, fangs, and wings. Even though power buzzed inside him, no one had noticed his spells becoming more powerful and explosive.

If he craved raw red meat once in a while, no one called him on it. Nor when he started sniffing people as they passed, seeking out information and potential suitors. So he was a little more surly, a little more cutting and vicious; not really anything to write home about. Mason had never actually been nice before.

But this. This fucking article business. This was nearly everything laid out in black and white. This was mortifying, not to mention dangerous. As strong as he had become when his beast awoke, he was not invincible. Part of his existence was to empower another, not wield such power himself. His dragon craved desperately for a companion to help ensure his survival. A protector. A lover.

Very much the last one.

The beast was preposterously horny. Like, fucking on your knees, begging for dick, horny. It was embarrassing. He had a permanent spell on all his underwear just to keep from looking like a degenerate around the academy. Thankfully no one noticed his constant tang of sex scent, no other beasts in the school to respond.

Well, except for fucking Cross. Daniel had never said a word to anyone, had never even suggested that he was more than human, but the day Mason’s dragon had woken, every telltale sign of the beast was suddenly blaring loud to his senses and impossible to ignore. Daniel was something, something powerful, and he wouldn’t let it out. Which was just like stupid, noble Cross. The kid had a stick up his ass that had only lodged in deeper since he’d been named an Elite. Always going on about not abusing magic, that the dark arts were the killer of the soul, blah, fucking blah. Daniel was a moralistic bore that wouldn’t cast a dark spell to save his own fucking life.

The jackass had also outright ignored everything Mason had thrown at him. Even when he’d managed to look like he’d accidentally fallen right into the Elite’s lap yesterday. The fucker had lifted him up like he weighed nothing at all, placed him on his feet, and left the class they were sharing even though there had been a half hour left. Daniel had started ignoring him, not responding to his pranks or taunts like he used to, and it was getting really fucking annoying.

Not that he wanted Cross, with his brooding moods, and fucking wild gold eyes, and sexy mouth… His inky black hair always mussed up in a stylish, freshly fucked look, his skin a warm, golden tan with that fit, toned body that just begged to be touched and kissed and licked… Damn it.

Fuck Cross, the fucking asshole. Fuck him hard, and deep, and on his fucking knees like the fucking slut he was.

“Mason, stop drooling on my hand,” Jackson complained, wrenching his hand out from beneath his head to let the blond clunk on the table.

Mason blinked up, not certain when his thoughts had once again strayed. The fucking dragon was misery; horny, powerful, and a glowing damn target for every eligible psycho in the area. It had also fixated on Cross like the boy was catnip, trying to get Mason to do things—Really messed up things that involved stripping naked and crawling on his knees, even in rooms as busy and full as the cafeteria. Seeing as he was only just starting to get to know his dragon, Mason still wasn’t sure if this was because Cross was hiding a beast, or if it was just because it was Cross. Either way, it was too fucking embarrassing for words.

Thank god he was going home in less than a week. He would be safe in the mansion. Safe from asshole students giggling behind their hands about him looking for a bondmate. Safe from rapist, power hungry madmen wanting to force a bond to steal his power. Safe to jerk at the ridiculous level needed to finally find some peace.

He couldn’t wait to go home and never have to see Daniel fucking Cross again.

“Now look; you’ve woken him.” Bare feet padded softly on the floor. Lovely knelt on the bed to bend over Ky and gently trace his features. “Go back to sleep, sweet boy. You need to rest.”

“Lovely. Lovely, the basement,” Ky mumbled as he finally got his eyes to open. “There’s someone trapped down there.”

Lovely shook his head, his brows furrowed. “No, Ky.”

“What does the little whelp want?” Feral grumbled. He glared down from behind Lovely’s shoulder.

“He thinks there’s someone in the basement.” Lovely shrugged dismissively. He combed through Ky’s dark hair while Ky fought to keep his eyes open. “He’s muddled. He needs to rest.”

Ky was certain. He knew when Lovely and Feral were there hiding in the dark even though his rational mind told him otherwise. He knew there was someone in the basement. Under the rot, under the blood, there was someone sad and afraid. “Please. Please, help me up. I need… I need to get to them.”

Feral snarled and his ears flattened back. “Like I’d ever leave this frrrling room? He must think we’re as dumb as he is.”

“Shut up,” Lovely hissed and shoved Feral away. “Ky, no. They’re dead.”

“Thornes, leave the boy. You’re wasting…”

“Thornes?” Ky’s eyelids were heavy as he looked up into Lovely’s mismatched gaze of violet and blue. “Is that your name?”

Feral slipped up and growled down at him. His golden eyes pierced into Ky’s inches away. “Can he understand us? Can this blasted frrling understand us now?”

Lovely grabbed Feral by his thick, golden hair and pulled him away roughly. With a wary look, he bent closer to Ky and spoke slowly but steadily. “Thornes is a nickname of my given name. Where I’m from, our names have three parts to indicate our lineage.”

“Oh.” Ky licked his lips and blinked dazedly. “Where are you from?”

Feral, who was listening, made to grab Lovely, only to have the pale catboy stop him with a glare. “He understands us, Thornes! He’s some sort of… Rrrl! You just bonded to a damn, a damn abomination!”

“So help me, Redeless, you will shut your mouth or I will throw you out that bedroom door and finally be done with you for good!” Lovely promised with a low growl. Feral glared back but closed his mouth. A growl rumbled in his chest defiantly.

“Lovely, don’t fight,” Ky whispered. The darkness stole the energy he was desperately holding onto. “I need to help the other. The one in the basement.”

“He’s dead, kid. They’re all dead. Damn, the boy is frrrling annoying,” Feral snapped.

“No. No, he’s alive. Could hear him move. I’m so tired.” Ky’s eyes closed in a blink which threatened to never end. “Why so tired?”

“Hush.” With a final warning glare at Feral, Lovely leaned down and pushed Ky’s hair from his face with a soft smile. “Your magic is waking, that’s all. You’ve been bonded to a demon, a very strong one. It’s a deep bond and it will tie magic into your flesh in ways most humans don’t get to experience. It will make you tired now, but soon you will feel stronger. Powerful. I would never do anything to hurt you, Ky. I promise.”

Ky nodded. He knew all along; Lovely was wonderful and would never hurt him. “You’re very beautiful for a demon. Very nice. I didn’t know demons were nice.”

“It’s what they call us, sweet boy, the humans and the sorcerers. We can do things they can’t, so they call us demons and monsters.”

“But you’re not,” Ky insisted quietly as his eyes finally opened again.

“No, we’re not. We’re Relics,” Lovely explained with a distant gaze. “We come from a place far away from here. We used to live with our families, with our tribes and clans in our realm. We’re just people who can do things you humans can’t. Some humans figured out how to summon us from our homes. The sorcerers used a spell to tie us to them so they could live long and use magic as we do.”

“Oh.” Ky was extremely tired. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to listen to everything Lovely was saying, but it was just so hard to focus. “Don’t you… Wouldn’t you rather go back home? It’s an okay room, but… but you’ve been here for years. You eat rats. Why don’t you go home, Lovely?”

Lovely smiled wanly, leaned down and gently kissed Ky on the mouth. “You are a very sweet boy, and I’m glad I met you.” He sat back and covered his hand over Ky’s brow. “Close your eyes. I will teach you a spell, a vital one, when you wake up. You’re going to need all your strength, Ky. The new moon is approaching, and I need you strong.”

Ky nodded sleepily. “I’d do anything for you, Lovely. Anything.”

“Then rest. Let your magic grow strong.” Lovely sighed as his fingers moved over the heavy black collar secured around his neck. “I’m a very strong Relic. I was one of the jewels of Anselm’s collection. If… If I bonded with him the way I did you, perhaps he would be here now.”

Something niggled in the back of Ky’s mind and pushed through the sleep pulling him down. “The basement. There’s someone who needs help.”

Lovely shook his head. “They’re all dead. We are the only two left of Anselm’s collection. There was one who held out for the longest time. He was much older and stronger than I, maybe stronger than the demented creature who hunted us down. We were all weakened when our master fell, confused and afraid. She drained him dead last month. His life force is gone.”

“Drained.” Ky knew he was wrong. He just needed to be able to move to prove it. “Are you hungry? I need… I need to feed you so you don’t… don’t eat all the rats.”

Feral snorted behind Lovely, but didn’t comment otherwise. “We don’t need to eat, Ky. Demons feed off of energy. Food tastes fine enough, but it’s the life force of our food that strengthens us. We prefer living food; blood, saliva, semen, sweat. Every time I kiss you, I grow stronger, my sweet. Now please, you must sleep.” A thrumming purr filled the air as Lovely bent down to press lips to Ky’s forehead.

Ky nodded weakly and his body relaxed further into the mattress. “He was scared. So afraid.”

Feral huffed and grumbled under his breath. “Worry about yourself, whelp. The wards in this room have kept the bitch out for years, but there’s no blocking the wardrobe. When she returns, she’s going to kill us all, likely starting with your defenseless parents.”

The words filled the darkness of his mind. Ky was asleep before he could feel them fully, lulled by Lovely’s calming purr.

Ky, who was supposed to have only stepped into his wardrobe, was naked, lost and surrounded by absolute darkness. His nose filled with dust. He sneezed and immediately smacked his head into his hand. “Ow.” For some reason he was certain he was in the attic. He didn’t have a way to confirm it with everything dark and impossible to see, but something about the smell and dust made him think of the place and the hole where all of Anselm’s sorcery equipment was hidden.

Ky really didn’t have a moment to think. Something soft and fluffy rubbed against his bare leg in the utter darkness. He grabbed for it, careful not to yank when he recognized Lovely’s tail. The catboy gave another angry hiss, and Ky quickly reached out and found a mess of limbs, claws, hot flesh and heaving breath. Without thinking, he grasped tight and pulled.

It really wasn’t the smartest idea. With a crash, Ky fell backward. Two solid, muscular bodies toppled on top of him and they all clattered out of the wardrobe door and onto his bedroom floor with a thud. The light was blinding to Ky’s addled senses as all the air knocked out of him. Red pain throbbed where he slammed against the hardwood and where the other two then crashed into him. He groaned weakly. His face was full of silky white hair, and he was pinned by bare flesh at every angle. Aches and dull throbbing pain ran through his body as he struggled to breathe. Damn, he was seriously starting to hate his wardrobe.

Ky tried to keep the room from spinning as his head gave a stubborn flare of pain where it hit the floor. Lovely continued to struggle with his attacker. His ears were folded back on his head and he hissed loudly as he slashed claws behind him. As he fought, Lovely pushed himself off of Ky to keep from crushing his fallen form.

Ky watched in a haze and wondered just what a concussion felt like. Maybe he fell out of bed and was dreaming the entire thing. Surely it would make more sense than having the pale, beautiful Lovely fight claw to claw with a golden, punkish looking ruffian who was snarling fangs while he pushed the slender catboy down to the ground and kissed him fiercely.

Ky released a weary sigh as his bruised and battered brain clicked something together.

Crap. Lovely had a boyfriend.

A jealous boyfriend who was not happy with him, or, at least, his clothes.

Maybe Lovely had a thing for people in clothing, and the feral, nude thing couldn’t compete? Ky just couldn’t catch a break. Stupid Blackstone Falls didn’t have any goddamn options for gay and gorgeous.

Ky tried to get up only to quickly dismiss the ridiculous notion as the room spun again and pain flared everywhere. No, he needed to fix this. He somehow got in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel. Given the two of them had no problem slashing the hell out of each other, he’d feel really bad if they did something they’d regret.

Ky rolled awkwardly to his side and tried not to groan in pain as he got onto his hands and knees. He was all skinned up; an elbow raw, one of his toes mangled on the lip of the wardrobe, not to mention the bruising everywhere.

“Please, stop fighting,” he croaked out and winced at the sound of his voice. No, he wasn’t doing well at all. “I didn’t know Lovely was spoken for, and, well…”

Wait. Why the hell was he apologizing? It wasn’t like he even had a chance to see Lovely, never mind ask if he was in a committed relationship. If anything, wasn’t Lovely just a really bad boyfriend for sleeping around with people who couldn’t see in the dark?

Ky shook the thought from his head, and grabbed his skull when it throbbed painfully in retaliation. “Hey, stop fighting!” he yelled and slammed his hand down on the floor. He was ignored. Lovely kicked the bronze skinned, muscular young man off him. Ky only had a moment to sit back with a plop as the catboy jumped up and followed after his target.

On Lovely’s back fluttered a pretty set of white wings. They were small, petite and flexed when he grabbed his tall attacker by the hair. Gold glinted from sharp ears reminiscent of a coyote. Ky just caught sight of the piercings right before Lovely twisted the furry triangles vindictively. Wardrobe guy was in serious trouble, and after what Ky went through, he didn’t feel remotely bad for him. Given the punkish hairdo of his golden blond and purple colored messy locks, as well as his eyebrow rings, the long scar which ran down half his face, and permanent snarl, the jerk was probably asking for trouble.

Wardrobe guy’s wings weren’t white like Lovely’s. They were black and feathery and made Ky wonder just what the hell both of the two creatures were. As cat-like as Lovely was, and as coyote-like as this jerk was, the wings just didn’t really make much sense.

Then again, nothing made a lot of sense lately.

What Ky first thought were just growls and snarls started to form a pattern. The two were having quite the argument in their respective language. His suspicions grew when Lovely pointed in his direction, hissed heatedly and wrenched one of the wardrobe guy’s ears. Ky flinched when the other’s gaze met his; his eyes were a startling gold with pinprick pupils full of malice.

Feral. The thing was absolutely feral and totally hated him.

As if to prove his point, the muscular attacker swiftly grabbed Lovely around the waist, pushed him down to the floor and bit him on the back of his neck. Lovely gave a loud cry and tried to push back up, but the other pinned him down with his larger body.

“Leave him alone!” Ky yelped. He stumbled forward on his knees, then stopped short when Feral glared up at him and growled with his teeth still buried in Lovely’s neck. Ky gulped. He hated he was hesitating. He knew the creature could totally tear him to pieces, and given his glare, would be happy to do it.

“Ky,” Lovely gasped out. He reached a clawed hand forward. Long strands of his white hair tangled around his arm.

Ky already had his face nearly slashed off. Not only did he fall into a bottomless pit in his wardrobe, but was crushed by two fighting creatures just after getting out of bed. He’d deal with the beating the fucking wardrobe guy wanted to give him.

“Lovely, I’m right here.” With a defiant glare into Feral’s golden eyes, Ky reached for Lovely’s hand. He gasped loudly when Lovely grasped his fingers and pulled him down roughly to the floor. Ky’s chin burned as it scraped against the hardwood painfully.

“Oww,” he groaned petulantly. No, it was not a good day.

Ky’s eyes cracked open, and he came face to face with Lovely’s mismatched gaze of blue and violet. “Lovely, that totally hurt…” he trailed off when Lovely cupped him by the head to pull his face closer, and his tongue licked out to move over the wound on his chin. Ky released an unsteady breath. His body felt like a hot, melted puddle of goo as Lovely’s tongue teased up and slid over his lips, then slipped between them firmly.

Ky’s eyes fluttered shut and he pressed closer. His mouth opened eagerly as his lips sealed with Lovely’s, who curled fingers into his dark hair and kissed him deeply.

There was a fierce growl and Ky immediately snapped his eyes open. Somehow he managed to forget about Lovely’s very angry boyfriend, who was glaring down at him.

Well, he assumed his boyfriend. They fought like they damn well might be dating, and the kissing could be a sign and all. But maybe the wardrobe guy was just a jerk who thought he should be allowed to kiss Lovely, and not actually his boyfriend?

There was no way Ky could win a fight against this weird, brutish creature for Lovely’s affection. Still, if he waited until Feral went back into the wardrobe, he could get a big padlock and chain and lock the jerk in there. With that thought hot in his mind, Ky dared to meet the golden glare burning into him.

Even though he had a scar running from his eyebrow all the way down to his jaw, Feral was actually really hot. Not in an aristocratic way like Lovely, but more like a model turned street thug with his heavy eyebrows and dangerous sharp eyes. His full red lips would probably look a lot nicer if he wasn’t snarling. What the hell was the guy’s problem, seriously? Was he, like, living in the damn wardrobe?

It was difficult to concentrate no matter how mean Feral’s snarl was. Lovely’s tongue again lapped over Ky’s face and teased against his lips.

“Lovely, uh, I don’t think this is the right time for… Oh. Okay.” There was just something about Lovely and it made him really dizzy. Ky gasped softly as he was pulled closer. Claws tickled the back of his head when Lovely lapped between his lips and stroked his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Ky barely noticed the hand slam down right next to his face. Lovely did. He pulled away to grab the offending wrist, and his otherworldly eyes glowed anger directed solely at Feral.

Ky couldn’t understand the exchange of words. Even though Lovely was shorter and delicate in appearance, he looked like he was more than capable of slashing Feral into ribbons. Ky bit his lower lip as his eyes were drawn to Lovely’s razor sharp fangs and narrowed eyes. Yeah, Lovely was a badass no matter how pretty he was. It sent a flutter through Ky’s stomach; he wasn’t sure if it was a good feeling or bad.

Feral gave another low growl and turned his glare back to Ky, who tried his best not to flinch.

“Stop being so mean,” Ky muttered. His chin pointed out defiantly as he struggled to push up from the ground. “I haven’t done a damn thing to you.” Feral slammed his other hand down and Ky yelped before he could stop from cringing away. “Asshole!”

Lovely hissed again, dragged Feral down, and slammed his head tight against the floor. Ky hesitated from trying to escape, unable to take his eyes off the catboy as he effortlessly pinned Feral. Yeah, Lovely was really hot when angry. Ky bit the side of his thumb as he watched the two growl in their angry language. Lovely was really strong, his muscles long and graceful, and nude body sleek and smooth. Even his strange ears and tail were sexy; claws, fangs, wings and all. Lovely definitely wasn’t human, neither were, but wow, they were seriously sexy.

Ky wasn’t sure what changed exactly since he was unable to understand what either of them were saying. Something in the timbre of Lovely’s voice and the way Feral’s glare turned smoldering made Ky swallow hard and his face heat up. Lovely ran his tongue over Feral’s scar and purred low in his ear. With a growl, Feral twisted and pinned him again. Lovely moaned as he was pushed face first down to the floor while Feral nipped at his shoulders and neck ravenously.

He should probably go. Really. Clearly Lovely wasn’t averse to being kissed by the wardrobe creep as much as he hoped. Ky couldn’t seem to get himself to move. He bit his thumb harder as he watched Lovely gasp and arch his ass up in the air. His elegant tail wrapped around Feral’s thigh and pulled him down on top of him.

Feral had strong looking hands. They were large, rough, and when he ran them over Lovely’s pale skin, part of Ky wanted to know what they felt like. Stupid. Feral slashed his face and was an absolute menace. Just, there was something in the way he was possessive, consuming and rough in his touch that made Ky’s breath grow short and his mouth dry when he thought what it would feel like to have such attention of his own. Lovely was definitely enjoying it. He moaned lowly and kept shifting his hips to ground back against Feral’s hard dick with rocking pushes.

Ky awoke alone. He lay in bed on his side with eyes cracked open blearily to the morning light, and tried to get his bearings. He dreamed the oddest thing. It was so very strange. Strange and, well, amazing.

Very amazing. Hot and crazy good. Still, it was really strange.

Ky squinted at the curtains and sighed softly. He felt weary and tired still. There might be something wrong in his head. Seriously, it was a really messed up thing to dream about. It was probably a sign he needed to get a boyfriend or something. It was one thing to have a wet dream about a guy. It was totally another to have one about a guy who he wasn’t certain was fully human.

He took him hard, completely, then held him until he drifted to sleep. Tasted and cleaned him all while purring soothingly. He was like some strange animal, human but not. Damn, it was good.

Yeah, there was definitely something wrong with his head.

Ky forced his sluggish limbs to move and rolled out of bed. The blanket dragged behind him around his waist. He was exhausted. Maybe his days of running up and down the stairs with heavy boxes were finally catching up.

Ky frowned and his stomach twisted as something hot and wet dripped down his thigh. He untangled from the blanket to find he was completely nude. Ky swallowed hard and looked around for his boxers. He could have just kicked them off in his sleep. Just got overheated. It didn’t mean he…

He found them in the sheets torn to shreds as if a wild animal clawed them. “Oh, fuck.” Ky gnawed on his bottom lip painfully as he thought. He hesitantly touched the wetness on his thigh and followed it up. His fingers brushed over his dripping pucker, and he groaned lowly. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, it wasn’t a dream.”

It had to be a dream. It had to be. His hole was leaking cum, and Ky had not, to the best of his knowledge, put his own up there, so there really was only one explanation. “Oh, dear god.”

He refused to look at the bed. Ky walked quickly to the bathroom, shut the door tightly behind him, and locked it. It didn’t make sense. There wasn’t some sort of humanoid creature living under his bed. Fuck, there better be. Otherwise there was just a weirdo human under his bed, and somehow that would be totally creepier. Especially with the rat eating.

What the hell did he do?

Ky stepped into the large shower and scrubbed himself pink while he tried to make sense of what he could remember of last night. The dark. Whatever the creature was, it lived in the dark. Almost like it crossed a portal or something.

Ky gasped and closed his eyes with a whimper when he washed between his crack. It felt good. No matter what the creature was, he felt so damn good. Ky slowly pushed a soap covered finger inside his entrance and groaned from the sensation of his flesh opening. Lovely felt big inside him. Powerful and forceful. Ky didn’t know he wanted to be taken, but after last night…

Hell, why couldn’t it have just been a dream?

Ky whimpered a mix of agony and despair, and pressed his face against the cool tile wall. The shower streamed hot water down his body while he pushed a second finger deep inside his hole. He gasped into the water as he stretched his sore entrance and cum dripped out around his thrusting fingers. He should be horrified. Disgusted. Hell, he should be looking for a shotgun, or knife or something to protect himself. He wasn’t any of those things. He was apparently really fucked in the head, and even more than that, horny as hell.

With eyes closed, Ky listened to the sounds of his muffled cries and beneath that, his fingers moving in and out of his hole with the wet noises of slapping flesh. He wanted the creature to own him. At that moment in the dark with Lovely sliding so full and thick inside him, Ky wanted truly to be owned. He didn’t know what it meant, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it now as he pushed a third finger inside his hot flesh and moaned loudly.

He came fast, surprisingly so. He was painfully aroused from thoughts of last night, and his fingers rubbed something spongy and maddening inside him that made him cry out. Ky stared blankly down at his cum streaked over the shower wall while he kept his fingers buried deep inside. God, what was wrong with him? He got off on, on something. What was it? Who was he?

He should go see. He should go into the bedroom, grab a flashlight, and see whoever the hell it was living under his bed.

Ky finished his shower reluctantly. The water turned cold and finally convinced him to pull away. He dried off slowly. His hair was slick on his head as he wrapped up in a towel and stepped into the bedroom. He stared at the bed but indecision made him hesitate.

What if nothing was there? What if he was just a crazy person who was having really vivid hallucinations? Wouldn’t that be a better answer than thinking there was some sort of monster under his bed who had, damn, fucked him last night?

Ky turned from the bed, his head spinning. He needed coffee. This would all make sense after some coffee. He pulled open the wardrobe and stifled an annoyed growl when the strange darkness again flooded the space. He glared toward the side corner challengingly where he felt eyes peering back, and carefully reached his hand for a shirt.

Nothing. No scratch, no nothing. Fine, he was losing his mind.

He grabbed a pair of jeans and dressed in them, then ruffled his hair with the towel. He scowled when he pulled his shirt down over his head. There was a huge rip in the front. Nope, make that four rips. Ky stepped to the bureau mirror and stared at his reflection. It actually looked kind of hot. The wardrobe was eating his clothes, but at least it looked good.

Ky scooped the empty bowl of milk up and brought it with him downstairs where he switched it out for a fresh bowl and fresh milk. His mother was nowhere to be found, but he could see his dad in the yard talking to a neighbor. Ky wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to Marcus, but he felt like he needed to say something about all this craziness. With a sigh, he walked back up the stairs and pushed into his room.

When he bent down to place the milk next to the bed, he paused, and ducked lower so he could see into the darkness. He could hear breathing, faint and calming. He almost called out, almost went to say something to acknowledge he was pretty sure he was losing his mind and he really wanted whoever was there to answer. He bit his tongue and stayed quiet.

There was a creaking behind him and Ky quickly stood. He turned as the wardrobe door swung open wide. There was nothing to see, his clothes in a shroud of black inky darkness. Ky wasn’t sure what the hell was in his wardrobe, but he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t Lovely.

Right, it was time to talk to his dad.

“So, what do you think?” Livia Scion pushed the door open, waved her arms and did a slow turn. It was Ky’s new room, and with one look he knew it was beyond perfect.

“Mom, it has to be the biggest room in the house,” Ky exclaimed as he looked around with wide, silver eyes. The space was massive and felt more like a studio apartment than a room in the family manor where they just moved. There were hardwood floors stained chocolate black, floor to ceiling windows that let in dazzling sunlight, and a luxurious king sized bed that didn’t even make a dent in the space. Even with its matching wardrobe, bureau, and desk. There was a leather couch and armchair by the fireplace—because there was a fireplace in his bedroom. It was crazy; a bedroom, living room and office all in one, and through the door across the room he could see a full sized master bath. Awesome.

“Mom, it’s too much. You and dad should take this room. I’m sure I’ll be fine in something, well, normal sized.” It killed Ky to say it, but he knew in a few years he’d be done with college and out of the house anyways.

“Tut, you. This room just screams ‘Ky,’ and dad agrees with me.” With a grin, Livia pointed up to the ceiling. Ky followed her gaze and gasped when he caught sight of the four large stone gargoyles leering down from a ledge, one on each wall of the room. “Marcus could never sleep with those things in here; you know how he gets. Look at the windows. Just think how much art you can make with light like this. And the space! Ky, you could do all your painting in your room with the right ventilation. Heck, you might never leave the house again.”

His mom was very, very persuasive and Ky really wanted the room. It was perfect. He crossed to the windows and looked out into the backyard. Down below, an ancient wrought iron fence glinted dark among the overgrown shrubs; both wrapped around the manor and yard. Roses bloomed erratic red explosions among the wild green. Behind the bushes was a neglected orchard with twisted pear, apple, and peach trees tangled among vines and grass. The place truly was beautiful in a worn down way.

The dilapidated Scion Manor had been empty for years with none of their relatives willing to live there. Ky didn’t remember his grandfather, but he did recall being young when he learned he disappeared. Anselm Scion had left no specific will as to who was to inherit the manor among his five children. Ky’s Uncle Alex took ownership of the home as the eldest son, but none of Anselm’s children wanted to live there for long.

Ky’s dad, Marcus, recently decided it was time to give the huge place a shot. Coincidentally around the same time Ky found family dinners consisted of canned beans and pasta most nights. It was why he chose not to complain about being ripped out of his home of many years in the suburbs to be stuck in the small, backwater town. Apparently, his parents were trying to make it up to him with an amazing act of bribery. It was working.

“Mom, it’s too much. I love it, I do, but it’s nearly the entire floor.” It was literally half the third floor; the bedroom and bathroom took up the length of the back of the house. Still, Ky couldn’t pull away from the view of the sprawling mountains and fluffy clouds on the horizon even as he told himself he couldn’t keep the room.

Livia walked over to the wardrobe; the large oak furniture dwarfed her petite height and slim form. She threw the doors open wide, and glanced back to her son. “Too late. We already put your clothes away. Nothing can be done about it now.” She flashed him a cheeky smile. “You can store your finished art in the room across the hall, or paint there. Or you could turn it into a gallery. You’ve got a lot of options in a place like this, and Marcus wants to give you the whole third floor. And really, Ky, there’s so much room where we’re sleeping. You’re not taking anything from us. We’ll never need all this space.”

When he caught sight of his black clothing, studded belts, and silver chains hanging in the large wardrobe, Ky couldn’t help but beam. “Well, when you put it that way. Let me help you get all your stuff in.” He tore himself from the window but Livia stopped him at the door.

“Hold on. Something else comes with this room.” Livia pulled a jangle of silver from her pocket and smirked at her spiky haired son. “It’s going to be hard to get into your room without your keys.”

“Sweet!” Ky grabbed the metal key ring enthusiastically, only to blink when he saw it properly. “Three?”

“Yup. House key, garage, and bedroom.” His mother pointed each one out. “They’re pretty cool, right? They look ancient.” The manor keys were longer than normal, narrow and odd shaped, almost like skeleton keys.

“They’re beautiful. I’ve never had a lock on my door before. Not that I need it,” he added. Still, Ky loved the idea. His parents always gave him his privacy, but there was something empowering about being able to lock his door whenever he was painting.

“Well, I imagine you’ll want to bring someone home one day,” Livia said teasingly.

“Mom.” Ky blushed and turned to escape. “I seriously doubt that’s going to happen while living in Blackstone Falls. I’m probably the only gay guy in the whole damn town.”

Livia crossed her arms over her chest. Her smile turned sad as she followed Ky down the hall and to the stairs. “I’m sure you’ll meet someone at the college. I know it’s a community college, but you still get students coming in from all over the state. Your world is going to be a bit bigger than this little town.”

Ky nodded but he didn’t quite believe her. They moved to Blackstone Falls so his parents could start a landscaping company. Everyone in the town was either farmers, hippies, drunk, or the wealthy who chose to dwell there half the year with their large houses left empty during the winter months. The area was a sprawling mix of extreme poverty and wealth, including the towns around them. Most of the inhabitants were dull and hostile to what Ky was; it was something he found out quickly when he visited his uncle and cousins while they tried to live in the manor a couple of years ago.

First Ky was ostracized for being a city kid. Then it was for being a weirdo freak who believed in magic, dressed in black, and wore makeup. Once the locals figured out he was gay, it was just the icing on the shit cake for the redneck bigots his cousins hung out with. He wasn’t expecting college in the area to be much different.

It didn’t matter. Ky was going to become a skilled artist and move to the city. He didn’t need to be famous; he couldn’t really stand much attention as it was. He just wanted to make a living with his art. No one looked at his eyeliner and nail polish twice in the city. Some definitely liked how he looked in black lipstick. He knew a few farm boys had, which only made their taunts all the more ironic when they were hard over him. Ky didn’t care. There was a place out in the world where he fit, and he was willing to wait to get there.

“Hun, before you run off. Can you bring some things down to the basement? The stairs are steep, so be careful.”

“Sure, Mom.” Ky followed Livia down the main stairs to the first floor where boxes were waiting outside the closed basement door. There were more than a few, and he decided to have a glass of water before dealing with more lugging.

“Hey there, kiddo. What do you think of your new digs?” Marcus asked when Ky stepped into the kitchen. His brow was furrowed as he tore through a box in search for silverware. With gray just starting to frost his short, dark hair, Ky’s father looked more like an advertisement for outdoor living than the engineer of many years he once was. Fit and tanned, he adapted to being laid off quickly, and rose to the challenge of working with his hands like he had in his teenage years.

“I love it. Still, I think you’re going to regret giving me the biggest room in the house.” Ky went straight to the pack of water on the floor and grabbed a bottle.

Marcus shook his head and peered up with a serious look from behind his glasses. “I don’t say this to be dramatic, Ky, but this place, in particular Anselm’s old room, gives me the willies. The last place I want to sleep is up there. Even Uncle Alex didn’t sleep there.”

Ky tried not to smile. His father was very ‘sensitive,’ as Livia liked to put it. He was frightened of anything occult, to the point Ky used to fight his dad just to watch movies about magic when he was younger. Marcus may have relaxed a bit over the years, but he still got freaked out over everything from ghost stories to Ouija boards. Marcus’s extreme fear was what first sparked Ky’s interest in the occult. It also kept him only scratching the surface, respectful of the powers that could harm him if mishandled.

“Well, I’m glad you get the willies dad, if only because I get that amazing room. The view is spectacular, and I already know what I’m going to paint.”

“The gargoyles?” Marcus asked knowingly. He frowned at the idea of canvases of the ugly creatures littering the house.

“Exactly.” Ky thought they were beautiful, if not a bit grotesque, and couldn’t wait to unpack all his equipment. Even if he only found his sketchbook and did some graphite work that night, he’d be happy. “Mom asked me to drag some things down to the basement. Anything else here that needs going down while I’m at it?”

Marcus shook his head and his jaw tightened. “Ky, be careful in the basement. I don’t like it down there.”

Ky kept his smile to himself. His dad was an overgrown toddler. “You know the washer and dryer are down there, right? You’re going to start smelling if you never go in the basement,” he called cheerfully to his father while he made his way down the hall.

Ky went to open the basement door, only to find it jammed. The wood was expanded, most likely from moisture. He wrestled with the door and finally managed to pry it open with a loud wrenching noise.

A dank smell greeted him, and he wrinkled his nose and peered into the absolute blackness of the unknown space before him. The dim afternoon light of the hallway only penetrated a foot or so past the door. Ky shivered and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. It felt like something was staring back at him, level with his height. His eyes began to adjust enough to see a thin chain hanging down connected to a bare light bulb.

Ky wasn’t sure why he hesitated. When he stepped forward and reached for the chain, the floorboard creaked in warning under his sneakers. There was a sudden puff of hot air, almost as if someone or thing was breathing on his face, followed by the overwhelming scent of blood. Startled, Ky yanked the cord roughly. The light blinked on to reveal he was alone on the top step. The only thing in sight was a dizzying flight of stairs leading down to a concrete landing below. Clearly his dad’s superstitions were getting to him.

Ky stood on the top step for a moment, and tried to shake the feeling someone was just out of reach, breathing in his ear. He was being stupid. He huffed at his foolishness and turned and picked up a large box. He carefully stepped down the steep wooden stairs and looked around. Patches of darkness filled the dim space where the bare light bulb was blocked. Tall, thick columns created the perfect hiding places for murderers and nightmares. Ky muttered his idiocy under his breath, and walked the spacious, bare cement floor so he could place the box next to the table set up as a laundry station.

He went back and forth up the creaking stairs, his heart hammering in his chest the entire time. He smelled blood. Ky was once in the back room of a butcher shop to pick up an order for the restaurant he worked at. He knew the smell of blood. Currently, it was thick in the air, and with it, the underlying scent of rot. When the last box was piled high, Ky turned to make his escape. He stopped, his foot raised in mid-air when he heard the clink of chains.

There was a space behind the water heater where a small wall held the device in place in the middle of the room. The light didn’t reach behind the wall. Ky’s eyes turned to the inky darkness, certain the sound came from there. Again he thought he heard breathing, low and strained, and so close it could have been next to him. It sent strange, hot tingles shivering down to his toes. His heart beat louder in his ear.

It had to be the water heater. The old pipes and settling house. There were no chains to rattle. Even if chains were in the dark, they would only move because he left the basement and front doors open, which would create a breeze for anything very real to rattle.

“Oh, crap!” Ky slapped his hand over his mouth when the chains rattled again. This time something slithered over the concrete floor. Like a foot… Very much like a foot. Ky stepped backward, his eyes fixed on the darkness where he was certain something was staring back, and skirted toward the basement stairs. Once his heel hit the raised concrete platform, he whirled and ran up the stairs two at a time. He tripped twice and bruised his hand but refused to stop. He didn’t care if he was acting like an absolute idiot. There was something in the basement that smelled of blood, and he wasn’t going to hang around to meet it.

Ky shut the door behind him, and slammed it with his full weight until the swollen wood fit back and finally latched closed. He rested there while panting and trying to calm his racing heart. He was apparently going to smell as bad as Marcus because there was no way in hell he was going down there again.

Ky stared down at his sneakers, paused, and raised his right foot. There was blood all on the white wall of his rubber sole. “What the…? Eww.” He jumped away from the basement door where half a rat stared blankly up at him. It was dead and wedged in the gap at the bottom of the door. He killed a rat while slamming the door! “Shit… Shit!”

Marcus peeked his head out of the living room, and made a face when he saw what Ky was cursing at. “There’s a cat living around here. At least, there used to be when Dad was here; I never saw the damn thing. It should take care of any rats.”

“Didn’t Anselm die almost fifteen years ago?” Ky reminded. He scraped his bloodied shoe on the floor and tried to shake his unease now he was in the calming light of the main house. “I doubt the cat is still alive.”

Marcus shrugged, and his eyes took on a faraway look. “My father had a lot of strange creatures we never saw. He loved that cat, had it before I was born. I’m sure it’s still around. He used to feed it a feast every night. Usually of something still alive…” he trailed off with a frown and left to find something to clean up the dead rat.

Ky shook his head in disbelief. Marcus didn’t talk much about Anselm, except to remark Ky looked a lot like him with his dark hair, colorless gray eyes, and pale skin. Since there were few pictures, Ky had to take his word for it, and the insistence of his aunts and uncles who always seemed unnerved when he visited. Anselm was a very odd parent. Reclusive and stern, he left his wife to raise his five children. When she died, Anselm rarely made contact with his family. Then, one day he disappeared.

Ky sometimes wondered if his dad was expecting Anselm to just show up out of the blue, even after all this time. It was crazy when he considered the old guy had to be in his late nineties by now. They assumed Anselm grew confused in his last days, maybe even touched with dementia. The authorities were sure he went for a walk, only to be lost in the wilds surrounding the house. They suspected his unfound body was picked apart by animals. Anselm was a recluse for so long it was easy enough to imagine.

Marcus came back with a plastic bag and bent over to scoop the pieces of flesh and fur up. Ky helped wrench the door open and stared warily with his father down into the illuminated basement. The bottom half of the rat was nowhere to be found. There was a trail of blood; it streaked down the stairs and ended abruptly. With a glance at Ky, Marcus reached forward and tugged the cord to the light. He shut the door firmly after the darkness returned. Ky tried not to think of how he felt the weight of eyes on him right before the door closed.

“There’s a laundry mat in the center of town,” Marcus said quietly as he wrapped up the rat with a rustle. “Alex and his family used it all the time.”

Ky shivered, his eyes fixed on the bloodied form being entombed in plastic. No one wanted to sleep in Anselm’s old room. His new bedroom. Suddenly it seemed important since none of his relatives liked the basement either. Ky wanted to say something to his dad about how he heard the chains and smelled blood downstairs, but decided against it. Marcus had enough to worry about with getting his business to pick up and bills covered. It was probably best if he made things as pleasant as possible for his parents. Things were difficult enough already.

Sage had managed to get to school without Corey waking up, his brother having stumbled in drunk some time around dawn and promptly falling asleep. School had been difficult, impossible to concentrate with so many thoughts running through his head never mind feelings through his body. The shifter had not been in the alley. Sage had checked. He wasn’t even sure why just that he had to know that Heller was really gone. Whether he wanted the man to still be there or not, Sage still wasn’t sure. His body was aching and he couldn’t stop thinking about the night before.

Taylor was waiting for him after school, soft ash blond hair and bright blue eyes setting him apart from the others. Taylor was a really odd kid, looking very much sweet and weak and even shorter than Sage was. But the boy was vicious when he needed to be, a switch inside his friend that turned Taylor into a wild, angry thing that would defend himself and friends at any cost. That was how they had become friends to begin with.

Sage had seen the boy being picked on and gone to help, only to be as surprised as the bullies to find that Taylor was plain crazy, biting and punching back with a rock in his fist. He had burst out laughing, seeing such a sweet looking kid go nuts and win. Bullies always underestimated him too, and it just seemed right to hang with Taylor after that.

“You get home alright last night?” Taylor asked, slipping in step with Sage, hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans. “I wish you had let me go with you. You know how I worry.”

Sage nodded mutely, not sure what he wanted to tell his friend just yet. He was in trouble, he knew that much. His body was aching, each step he took making his hole throb in memory and unceasing want.

“Sage… you kinda smell, man,” Taylor said, glancing over at him. “And not a garbage smell from the Wastes. Something musky, almost.” He stopped, grabbing the brunette’s hand when the boy tried to walk by him. “What are those marks on your neck?”

Sage ducked away, covering his neck. His flesh had only gotten darker as he slept, bruises blossoming purple in the morning light. “Shit, is it really noticeable?”

“That someone’s been sucking on your neck? Yeah, it fucking is. What the hell happened last night?”

“Oh god, Corey’s going to kill me,” Sage gasped frantically, eyes wide in fear. “Literally kill me. Tayls, I need makeup or some shit. I need to hide this. You know how he gets—He’s going to slice me up so bad, I’ll never move again!”

“Calm down, Sage. Just stop and breathe.” Looking around at the students in the distance, Taylor pulled his friend down the street, heading for his neighborhood. “Start at the beginning and we’ll figure out how to fix it.”

Sage nodded weakly, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Tayls… do werewolves ever… fuck people on the full moon?” He asked quietly, staring at his sneakers.

Taylor stopped walking, scratching the back of his head. “Umm… why do you…?”

Sage ducked his head, edging closer to whisper into the blond’s ear. “When they’re transformed, do they ever… fuck people?” He asked again, blushing brightly.

“I don’t…” Taylor glanced around, speaking quietly. “Yeah, I think so. Not something I’ve seen firsthand, or anything, but they talk about it sometimes. I guess there are some people that really, er, like it.”

“What about shifters?” Sage asked, fidgeting under his friend’s stare.

“Do werewolves fuck shifters?” Taylor asked, looking confused.

“No… damn it.” Sage got right into Taylor’s ear, feeling the blond shiver from his breath. “Do transformed shifters screw a lot of people?”

“Um… maybe? There was this girl once, sister to one of the shifters. The gang had said things about her. About her letting dogs do her and stuff. Why? Did you see something last night?” Taylor stepped back, looking Sage over cautiously. His friend looked different, his already pale skin nearly translucent, lips flushed a deep red, green eyes bright and glowing.

Sage had always been kind of pretty, singled out for his delicate features and slender form. The kid was tough with a terrible brother that kept most bullies away just by existing, but Taylor had taken it on himself to protect Sage as much as he could. The boy was just so nice, stuck in a bad situation with his brother and was the most loyal friend a guy could want. Seeing the brunette now, he had to wonder if maybe Sage might have been getting a different sort of attention looking the way he did.

Glancing around nervously, Sage pulled Taylor into a blind alley, making sure no one was walking by or that any windows were open. “I… I don’t know how to say this,” he mumbled, rocking from foot to foot. “It’s really, really fucked up and… and I don’t know if…”

“Just say it,” Taylor demanded, grabbing Sage by the shoulders. “I don’t care, just tell me. Was it Corey? Did he kill one of them?”

Sage shook his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he tugged his chocolate locks in frustration. “I met a shifter.”

Eyes widening, Taylor pressed his hand over the brunette’s mouth, looking around the alley to make sure that no one was definitely there. “Are you fucking serious? Did he hurt you?”

Sage bit his lip, unable to meet his friend’s concerned gaze. “A little… I don’t think he meant to. There’s something wrong with me, Tayls. I think someone might have, have cursed me or something.”

“Why would you…? Just tell me what happened,” Taylor muttered, ducking his head so his friend could whisper in his ear. Blue eyes widening in shock, Taylor began to curse under his breath as Sage poured out the events of the last night in halting sentences. “Holy fuck, Sage. Shit… Shit! How did you even go to school after that? How are you just fucking standing there and not fucking freaking out or something? He—Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t yell.” Taylor stepped away, kicking the nearest thing he could find, a soda can clattering loudly down the pavement.

Sage continued to tug at his hair agitatedly, watching Taylor’s sneakers as the blond paced. “I gotta find a way to hide the marks, Tayls,” he whispered, flinching when the blond reeled and turned on him.

“You’ve just been fucking raped!” Taylor covered his mouth, glaring at the entrance to the alley. Ducking his head, he whispered furiously into Sage’s ear. “You should go to a doctor. Make sure he didn’t give you something. Who the fuck knows what kinds of diseases shifters have?”

Sage just shook his head, his anxiety growing. “If I go to a doctor, they’ll want to talk to Corey. The shifter is not the issue right now. If Corey finds out, I’m fucking dead!”

“He wouldn’t—Would he? Is he that fucked up that…” Taylor trailed off, eyes closing. Corey was that fucked up. He wouldn’t care how or why, just that Sage had been tainted by a shifter.

“Please, Tayls, I don’t know what to do,” Sage pleaded softly, watching the emotions swirl on his friend’s face. “There’s something wrong with me. The shifter said I had a scent that made him that way. And Corey smelled me last night and you just did now. I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay. Okay, we’re going to fix this. I just… just have to ask for help.” Taylor looked at his friend warily, again taking in the brunette’s strangely beautiful features. Whatever had changed in his friend, it wasn’t just the odd, musky scent. He looked different too, possibly magically different. “First we’re going to get you a hoodie to cover you up. I got something big at home you can wear. And then… then I’m going to call Jared,” he added under his breath.

“But Jared’s a werewolf,” Sage said fretfully.

“Yes, and werewolves know magic,” Taylor replied as evenly as possible, trying to ignore the feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. “So if you’ve really been cursed to… to make shifters want to do that… Well, he’ll be able to help.”

Fidgeting, Sage eventually nodded, letting Taylor grasp his arm and lead him towards his house. “Just… we can’t tell Corey. If he finds out that I’m talking to a werewolf… I already get in trouble because you talk to them.”

“I know, Sage, and I’m sorry about that. We’re going to disguise you so no one will know it’s you.”

Taylor’s mom had once had a fling with a werewolf, the man passing through their lives very briefly. But Taylor had been drawn to the lifestyle the werewolves had led while they were dating, never having to worry about anyone preying on his family or trying to cheat his mom out of her hard earned money and house. Taylor had figured if he were a werewolf, maybe he could protect his family the same way.

“He won’t… he won’t think I want to be one, right?” Sage whispered, Taylor unlocking the door to the small house he lived in and quickly jostling the brunette inside.

“I’ll let him know, not that it matters. They have so many damn hoops you have to jump through,” Taylor said bitterly. “Jared says they won’t even consider me until I’m twenty-five—Which is fucking bullshit because I’ve seen way younger than me. But that’s Frey for you. He’s one of the better pack leaders and has rules like that to keep from being totally terrible like the other gangs.”

Taylor left Sage drinking a glass of orange juice in the kitchen while he rustled up a large, black sweatshirt out of his closet. Grabbing a toothpick, he chewed on it mindlessly while looking around his room. His eyes fell on a pair of sunglasses on his bureau and he quickly snatched them, bringing both downstairs to his friend.

Sage dressed while Taylor used his special cellphone to contact Jared. There would be no way the werewolf would come to his house. It just wasn’t smart, even with Ms. Hunt out and working at the hospital. Taylor’s mom was not a fan of what her son had been slowly getting into, having seen firsthand the consequences of the werewolf gangs and the people that tried to cross them.

“Come on. He says he’ll meet us at The Den,” Taylor said abruptly, pocketing his phone. Sighing, he pulled the hood over Sage’s hair. “I know it’s hot out, but you have to stay covered so you won’t be recognized.” Taylor didn’t bother mentioning that he’d run across way too many fucked up werewolves that would think someone as pretty as Sage was fair game. Jared was his sponsor, protecting him from any ill attention even though he wasn’t officially in with Frey’s pack yet. Another perk with joining a proper werewolf pack and not some bunch of fucked up creeps that thought just because they could transform on the full moon they could hurt anyone they liked.

Sage let Taylor pull him out of the house, his head spinning, stomach tight with anxiety as they headed for the bus. He had made a point to avoid the werewolves; after nearly being murdered by one as a child, Sage really didn’t trust any of them. Taylor was the only reason he was even considering this, and mostly because his friend was as street smart as they came. If Taylor thought the werewolves were his only chance to fix whatever had happened to him, then Sage was willing to give it a shot.

Sage ran faster, his blood roaring in his ears. Beneath the sound of his heart frantically beating, he could hear it still; claws clicking on cement. It was dark and he had waited too long to go home after leaving his friend Taylor’s. His blond friend had offered to walk with him, but that would have just left Taylor to walk home alone at an even later, more dangerous hour. Sage’s brother would never let someone like Taylor stay at their place overnight, not when the boy hung out with the werewolves.

There was a loud huff, then a growl. Green eyes widening, Sage caught sight of an off shoot, an alleyway connecting streets together. If he could get over to Washington St. where the bars and bright lights were, he might be okay. As if reading his thoughts, there was a low howl, chilling and hungry. It made his knees weak and Sage stumbled to a halt. Dimly he realized that no other voices had raised to join the cry. The shifter was alone, stalking him down without a pack.

Oh god, what was wrong with him? He felt so hot all of a sudden. Not just from the running, but from the sound of the wolf, blue eyes glowing out of the darkness as it panted. “L-Leave me alone,” Sage said weakly, stepping back away from the intense stare. “I’m not… I’m not a werewolf. Your kind are supposed to be able to smell that. I’m just a guy… so leave me alone.”

He had reached the alley, brick rubbing his shoulder coarsely as he turned and nearly barreled backward, just catching the corner to keep from falling. His shoulder ached from how his arm had wrenched. And something else… Something else ached inside him, his legs shaking and feeling heavy. The shifter kept approaching, head low, a dark shadow stalking forward.

Sage knew it was a shifter and not a real wolf. Real wolves didn’t get as big. Something about the magic that allowed shifters to transform into animals also made them look more beautiful than the real creatures out of nature. The black wolf was otherworldly in appearance, silky looking blue-black fur and ice blue eyes. It was looking at him almost as if trying to figure out what he was, nose scenting the air.

Biting his lip, Sage hesitantly held his hand out. Once the shifter smelled him, he would know he wasn’t a werewolf. The shifters and werewolves didn’t get along. Dogtowne was the border where both packs fringed. The name was ironic given that any real dog had been killed off by the cursed werewolves years ago. The werewolves liked to kill the shifters, and the shifters liked to kill them back. Hopefully hanging around with Taylor hadn’t gotten too much werewolf smell on him. Taylor wasn’t a werewolf but he wanted to be.

“Stop!” Sage gasped, the wolf loping up to him and reaching its terrible fangs right at his hand. But the boy had held his hand out, something the shifter recognized enough to approach.

It was so much bigger close up. Sage was small even though full grown, slender and wiry-limbed from never getting a full meal. With his messy chocolate hair and bright green eyes, he was constantly being mistaken for much younger. The wolf stretched out nose to tail tip would likely be as tall as him and much heavier and stronger. Swallowing nervously, Sage raised his hand again, watching his thin fingers shake. The wolf pressed its large maw to his hand, breathing deeply, a low whine falling from its mouth.

Sage had only ever seen one other shifter up close. He had been a wolf too, bright white fur, maybe the same size of this one or even larger. A long time ago when Sage had been just a child, his parents were killed by warring werewolf packs. He had run, a transformed werewolf chasing after him, humanoid and muscular with terrible claws and slavering jaws. Everyone knew werewolves ate children during the full moon and Sage had not wished to be a meal.

He hadn’t known if the white wolf had come to save him or to just kill a werewolf. The shifter had died, the injured werewolf lurching and staggering away while the wolf bled out. Sage had cried, watching the fluffy fur stained scarlet turn into a tall, powerful looking man, blood pouring from his throat. He had been beautiful, long white-blond hair and pale eyes. His skin had nearly been as white as the wolf’s fur.

He had tried to help the shifter, but Sage’s brother had found him. Corey had screamed at him for going near such a filthy, horrible monster and pulled him away. Corey didn’t care that the shifter had saved Sage. He hated all of them, shifters and werewolves.

Staring at the icy eyes of the dark creature still sniffing his hand and wrist, Sage wondered what the man looked like. They were all males, the shifter gene stuck on the Y-chromosome. Not all men were shifters, but all shifters were male. They were also usually very handsome, or so Sage had been told. The shifters didn’t come into the city as people. The werewolves could smell what they were and would hunt them down quick enough. Moving as a wolf was much faster.

“S-See? I told you I wasn’t a werewolf,” Sage stammered, foot slipping back to creep away. The wolf growled at him, the boy freezing and biting his lip. What if the rumors were true? What if the shifters were just as terrible as the werewolves and if they got hungry enough they might just eat a person?

Sweat trickled down his neck. The wolf didn’t look particularly skinny, more compact muscle and nicely kept fur. But maybe it was just well fed on stupid humans that didn’t know better than to wait until daylight to travel?

Sage cautiously peeked over his shoulder. There was a large dumpster blocking most of his view. Only as far as two towering apartment buildings away were city lights, neon and garish. If he ran for them, he might make it. The shifter wouldn’t risk being around a huge population. The werewolves roamed at night, partying with their human crew of gangsters. Surely the shifter would avoid a bar full of both.

Decided, heart slamming in his chest, Sage turned and ran. He made it about three feet before he tripped, blind to the black plastic bag of trash that had been right by his foot. He fell heavily, the concrete jarring his bones, everything spinning for frantic, dizzy minutes. “Shit—Oh fuck, get off me,” he whimpered, the wolf growling and biting the collar of his shirt, paws and a great weight pinning him hard to the ground by his shoulders.

Sage felt so hot and dizzy. There was something wrong with him, some sort of fever. There was a musky, strange smell around him that had nothing to do with the garbage only feet away. He thought maybe it was the wolf. The creature was tearing at his shirt with its vicious teeth, pulling a long slash down the fabric, a ripping noise loud in his ears.

It was going to eat him. Peel his clothes off and eat him like a bag of dog food. As if to validate the terrifying thought, the wolf began to lick over Sage’s exposed back, its slippery pink tongue lapping down, stealing the spots of blood its claws had caused while it continued to stand on top of him. Sage should have been terrified but there was something wrong with him at the moment. His body felt so hot, so achingly tight and hard. He woke up some mornings, heated dreams fading where he felt like this. He had never felt it while awake. He could be dreaming… that would make more sense.

“Oh god… please stop,” Sage groaned, teeth nipping at his shoulder and shooting fire through him. He shouldn’t like this. It was a shifter and a male. Sage wasn’t supposed to like guys… or wolves. “Oh… oh hell…” The tongue moved lower, down his back, licking the dip of his waist and leaving trails of wet on his skin. He wondered if it would go lower—If he should help the shifter get his jeans off so it would lick even lower.

Eyes squeezed shut, Sage silently cursed himself. He shouldn’t want that. What kind of freak wanted that? God, he was so hard, though.

While he fought with his body’s confusing desires, the shifter nipped at his waistband, sinking teeth in and pulling his jeans down. They were too tight, Sage gasping with each tug of fabric that pulled snug on his erection. He was going crazy. Shifters might eat a person, but they didn’t fuck them. At least, he didn’t think they did. His brother had suggested something disgusting along the lines of it, but Corey always said gross stuff about sex. The man thought everything about sex was filthy, including wanting it. Sage was, unfortunately, feeling very filthy at the moment.

Unable to hold back any longer, he reached down, fighting with the clasp of his jeans and unbuttoning them one handed. He unzipped slowly, the wolf stilling as he heard the metal teeth unfurl. Panting, Sage raised his hips when the shifter tugged again, the heavy fabric giving way, pulling down his narrow hips and then slender thighs with each wrench and snarl, leaving his exposed flesh stinging on the rough concrete. God, what was he doing?

A hard nose pressed against his ass, his briefs the only protection from the hot snuffles and sharp teeth. The shifter was smelling him, down his crack, pushing between his cheeks, breathing in the musk of his balls. Sage bit his lip hard, trying to keep from moaning with each touch. Maybe this was all it wanted. Just to smell him and learn whatever the hell it was canines learned from sniffing each other. That Sage was getting hard, his cock dripping precum was really just something fucked up with him.

It was apparently not enough, the wolf huffing and nipping at the thin material of his underwear, stretching it from the boy’s golden skin. It got his briefs halfway down his thighs, the material snagging on the front around Sage’s embarrassingly hard dick. The nose returned with prickling whiskers and damp heat, nuzzling and wedging between his pert cheeks with clear intent. Sage could not stop from crying out loudly, his hips jolting forward.

“Why are you…? Oh god… that’s bad… really, really bad,” Sage mumbled mindlessly, the slippery tongue delving, tasting his bare ass and sac, sliding around to lap at his hard cock. Then it wiggled between his cheeks and lighted over the pucker of his hole. “It’s dirty… so dirty,” he whispered, his face and neck bright red. But it felt so good.

Corey had promised to beat him if he ever masturbated like some degenerate, freak pervert. His older brother used to beat Sage whenever he caught him getting hard. Sometimes even doing stuff to hurt him that made him hard and then punishing him for it after. Only sick freaks liked that. Corey still did that sometimes, usually after getting drunk and extra mean. Sage still couldn’t stop from getting hard, just showing how fucked up he was.

The tongue kept moving, nose pushing relentlessly against his crack, spreading his cheeks wider as it slipped over his entrance again and again. The wolf nosed lower, pushing at Sage’s thighs, forcing him up onto his knees while the boy’s slender legs trembled. Then again, slipping deep between his cheeks, tasting him more from the new angle, dripping trails of saliva down his pale inner thighs.

“D-Don’t—You shouldn’t… oh fuck—Oh fuck, you’re gonna…” Sage sobbed weakly, realizing what was coming next. He was surrounded by silky fur, black and suffocating as it rubbed on his bare back, ass and thighs. The wolf settled heavily on his sloped torso, paws clutching his narrow, heaving chest. Sage could feel hot splatters of liquid, each hump of the wolf’s hard cock adding another stream of wet to his thighs and ass.

It’s the last Valentine’s Day I’m going to have to endure at school. Somehow it seems to be mocking me, starting from the horrible amount of red and pink everyone’s wearing. Even the other guys are wearing the garish colors while I’ve resolutely dressed in my normal black.

I can’t stand the holidays, Valentine’s Day especially. It has nothing to do with the forgotten religious saint or the fertility festival the damn thing originally represented. No, it’s the way couples just disregard all decency and once again shove their happiness in my face. Like being single means I should automatically be miserable? Like a relationship is the end-all of being a satisfied human being? Fuck them. At least I’ve never had to listen to some girl tell me off for not calling her every hour.

I have no interest in being in a relationship. Seeing everyone acting like it’s the only thing a guy could want is really annoying as fuck.

Dropping my book bag on the floor, I take a seat for my first class of the day, trying to ignore the obnoxious amount of snuggling going around. When exactly did Valentine’s Day become an excuse to ignore all acceptable forms of public displays of affection? I might be running to the bathroom soon to vomit if this keeps up.

“Aiden, you look like someone pissed in your cereal this morning.” Ben, my best friend, sits down next to me, his hands smacking on his desk. He flashes me a toothy grin, clearly not actually caring that I hate today with a passion.

“What are you so happy about?” I finally ask when he insists on smiling at me.

“I got Vanessa a rose. I even wrote her a bitchin love poem.” His smile somehow manages to grow. “If that doesn’t get her to agree to go out with me, nothing will.”

Scowling at my terribly happy friend—Seriously, it’s Valentine’s Day; happiness is not welcome today—I pull out my math book and notebook. “What exactly do you mean by ‘bitchin love poem?’ Is this like some modern art thing?”

“Nope, even better. I wrote it myself.”

Nodding slowly, I duck my head so he can’t see me wince. “That sounds… um, bitchin.” Hideous. Seriously repulsive. God, I hate Valentine’s Day.

“Wanna read it?”

I bite my lip, knowing if he so much as shows me anything he’s written that’s supposed to convince anyone he’s in love with Vanessa, I’m going to laugh my ass off. “I’m good. For real.”

Ben smiles obliviously, his hair brushing into his eyes. “So?”

“So?” I repeat, folding my notebook open and wondering when the hell Mr. Jacobs is going to get here so the idiots will finally sit their asses down and stop making out around me.

“So, who did you get a rose for?” Ben asks, sounding even chipper than when he first sat down.

I glare at him sideways. He looks ridiculously young and happy and I sort of hate him right now. “No one. You know I don’t buy into this stupid holiday.”

“Pssh. You’re just mad because you haven’t found your ‘one’ yet,” Ben says with all the conviction of a hormonal eighteen-year-old that hasn’t had a relationship last more than three months. “When you fall in love, you’ll totally love Valentine’s Day.”

I debate whether I want to tear his love theory apart verbally to pass the time. I’m in a terrible mood, but I don’t know if I want to take him with me. He’s got that hopeful puppy-dog look he gets right before his heart is broken—This time by Vanessa, who has been looking at Ryan H. for the last month. Seeing as Ryan has a car, Ben is so outmatched. I settle for grunting noncommittally and scribbling doodles in my notebook.

There’s a commotion at the door and I sigh. Finally, the teacher is here and we can start. Except it’s not Mr. Jacobs, it’s a ridiculously cheerful girl carrying an armful of roses. I glare, realizing I’m going to have to go through the receiving, squealing, and all around vomit inducing lovey-dovey crap that comes along with girls getting flowers from secret and not so secret admirers. Fuck my life.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Ben says, grabbing my arm before I can get up and go hide out in the bathroom.

“What—Why the fuck should I stay around for this shit?” I mutter but sit down. Most of the girls are swarming the doorway anyways—There’s no getting by them to escape.

“Cheer the fuck up, Aiden. It’s just Valentine’s Day. It’s not like people are going out of their way to make you unhappy.”

“Aren’t they?” I snap, pointing at the group of giggling girls. “If I never have to hear that noise again, I’d be happy.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Nothing makes you happy. Not the many holes in your head, your punk music, or even those funky combat boots. You are determined to be unhappy and you shouldn’t go blaming the rest of the world for your state of being.”

Glowering, I hunch over my desk, deciding to ignore him and the class until the stupidity dies down. Having eyebrow rings and a tattoo on the back of my neck isn’t some statement in being unhappy, it’s just a statement in being me. Ben wouldn’t understand, always wasting his time and energy trying to get with the next pretty, vapid thing he sees instead of figuring out himself.

Something flashes out of the corner of my eye, a red rose landing on my notebook. Blinking, I looked up in disbelief as Callie—super smiley cheerleader—hands me a white card. “Looks like you have a secret admirer, Aiden.”

“What?” I say dumbly, glancing sideways to find nearly everyone in the classroom suddenly looking at me.

She continues as if I hadn’t said anything, the card landing on top of my desk when I refuse to take it from her hand. “You know, you’re the first boy that’s gotten a rose this year. Usually guys send them to girls,” she says with a slightly accusing look.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Am I not good enough for a rose now? Or… is she saying a guy sent me a rose?

“Hey, just because Aiden’s a guy, doesn’t mean he can’t get a rose,” Ben speaks up before I can actually ask what she’s implying. Throwing her bleach blond hair over her shoulder, Callie gives a bored huff and just steps away to the next person on her list.

“It’s the fucking twenty-first century. Geez,” Ben mutters before pasting another huge smile on and smacking me on the back. “Well, what does it say? Who sent you the rose?”

“What?” Scratching the back of my head, I look at Ben warily. My friend of forever has been acting weird ever since he spent his summer in New York with his cousins. I’m not sure exactly what he’s got in his head all of a sudden when it comes to me, but he’s been saying a lot of stupid shit like how I don’t need a girlfriend if I don’t want one, and he’d never judge me no matter what. It’s been really getting on my nerves but I don’t know if now is the time to bring it up, especially when half the class is trying to snoop over my shoulder to read the stupid card on my desk.

Shaking my head, I flip the plain white notecard open, glancing briefly at the one line before flipping it shut and pocketing it.

“Well?” Ben asks, curiosity clear in his voice.

“Well, what?” I go back to scribbling in my notebook, pointedly ignoring him.

“What did it say?”

Sighing in annoyance, I glance his way, finding two other people looking at me just as curiously. Fuck this stupid shit. “Nothing.”

“Like fuck—They wouldn’t have given you a card if it was blank.” Ben isn’t going to let it go. Actually, he looks about ready to wrestle me to the ground so he can get the thing and read it himself. That I’m only five foot ten, and slender will not stop my taller friend. That I also fight like a crazy bastard and enjoy biting will probably keep him from trying it.

“It’s just a time and place for a meetup. No name,” I finally grunt out, looking down at my desk. “I’m sure they just got me confused with someone else. There are like seven guys named Aiden in the grade below us.”

“Aiden…” Ben just sighs, something else I choose to ignore. He can tell me till he’s blue in the face and I want to beat the fuck out of him that I’m actually a likeable guy, but I know better. I barely tolerate people and people, well, they keep their distance. I might have a cute face but with the right scowl and mean enough piercings, they back the fuck off. It’s how I like it. I don’t want people in my life—My life is difficult enough.

“When is it?” Ben asks when I relax enough to think he’s dropped the subject.

“When’s what?”

“Stop fucking with me. The meetup?”

Grunting, I pull the note from my pocket and hand it to him. He reads it, his brows furrowed as he gives me the card back. “That’s a weird place to meet someone.”

I shrug. “I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are. Someone bothered to write you a card and buy you a rose. You’re fucking going—Stop being such a dick. What if they really like you?”

“Then they’re fucking dumb.” I shove the note back into my pocket, eyes falling on the rose. It’s actually kind of cool looking, the edges of the blood red petals blackened like they’ve been burnt. I reach out, letting my fingers brush over a silky smooth petal. Even the thorns are tipped in black. Do they dye roses now?

I pick it up, pressing my thumb against a thorn. It certainly feels real. Ducking my head, I give it a hesitant sniff, a small smile stealing across my lips.

Fine, it’s a cool rose. Not one of those girly pink ones or I would have tossed it already. But it’s not like you can fuck up a flower. Whoever had the nerve to send me one doesn’t automatically get a meeting with me just because the rose doesn’t suck.

The pack of girls finally leaves the doorway, the sound quieting down as the last of the class trickles in. Observing the way the black edges make a spiral pattern as they wrap around the rose, I’m pulled away by the weight of someone’s stare. It’s the new kid, the foreign transfer that showed up a month ago, currently standing halfway in the room and staring at my rose like he’s never seen one before.

Gavriil Strife is a weird one. He has golden blond hair, weird violet eyes and looks like some fucking model out of a magazine. He’s tall, built, and just has this ease about him with his stylish hair and graceful walk. Every girl in the school is chasing him hardcore, his nickname being ‘the golden prince.’ Annoying enough, but he doesn’t talk, like ever. I think I might have heard him say something once when answering a teacher, and his accent was so thick, I didn’t understand a word. No one can understand him but everyone loves him. It’s bullshit.

That he’s staring at me now, those weird eyes rimmed in black piercing into mine is unsettling as fuck and I find myself biting my lip. But I refuse to back down; he’s staring, and it doesn’t matter where he’s from, it’s still rude. Then the jackass grins at me, his expression turning mischievous like he’s got some fucking secret before he looks away and crosses to his seat. He’s seriously annoying. Weird and annoying, and I’ve caught him staring at me before. Like every class we share.

“What was that about?” Ben leans over to whisper in my ear.

“Fucking weirdo,” I mutter flatly, looking again at the rose and trying to fight the urge to glance over and see if Gavriil’s still staring. Maybe he’s pissed his didn’t get a rose, seeing as he’s a total pretty boy… Hell, maybe his ex sent me the flower? Has the kid actually taken any of the swarms of girls up on a date? He doesn’t speak a word of English yet he’s in my English class. I chance a peek, violet eyes meeting mine for a moment before I look away.

Weirdo.

The idea of Gavriil dating anyone is annoying as fuck too, like the weird boy himself, and I huff and turn to another page of my notebook so I can draw myself a maze. I take small joy in adding spikes and pits filled with vipers for any wanderer to get stuck in. It’s a shit day and only promising to get worse.

***

I’ve dodged Ben’s incessant questions throughout the day about if I’m going to the stupid meetup. The only reason I’m even considering it is just because it’s on my way home. If some idiot wants to wait out in the fucking freezing cold in the middle of February after a damn snowstorm, that’s really their problem, not mine. Throwing a $5 rose in my lap doesn’t mean I’m required to freeze my ass off.

I’m actually pretty angry about the whole thing. Seriously, what stupid idiot got me a fucking rose? Who the hell thought that I’d be into some stupid romantic rendezvous on the sappiest fucking day of the year? I was embarrassed during class, everyone keeps looking at me, and the questions will not stop. If I do go, I’m probably going to do it just to tell the person off for making my Valentine’s Day even worse than normal.

Scowling into my locker, I pull my black jacket on, hunching into the heavy material. It has a few holes but layered with my sweatshirt it does the trick for the fifteen-minute walk home. Tugging my slouchy on over my shaggy dark hair, I glare sideways at Ben who is, of course, waiting for me to tell him if I’m going to meet my ‘secret admirer.’

Fuck, even the name annoys the fuck out of me.

“Well?”

“Fuck off.” I slam my locker shut, ducking around him.

“Stop being an ass, Aiden. It’s just one little meeting. Just give the guy a shot—Shit.” Ben stops short as I whirl, his hands held up defensively.

Guy? Glaring at the cringing brunette, I stomp back. “What the fuck do you know?”

“N-Nothing, it just sort of slipped…” Ben sucks at lying, especially to me. I take a quick look around the hall, way too many of my classmates staring at me. Growling, I grab Ben by his collar and haul him into the empty science room.

“Tell me. Now.”

“Really, it’s nothing. A guess…” Ben coughs awkwardly while I stare him down. I’m not buying it and he knows it. “Fuck… Fuck, stop snarling at me.”

“Tell me, you jackass! Who is it!”

Stumbling back, he ends up sitting heavily on the teacher’s desk. I glare as he smiles at me sheepishly. “I don’t know his name. I just… I’m pretty sure it’s a guy.”

“Why?” I growl when he feels the need to stop at that fucking revelation and not explain. Why the fuck would a guy be looking at me? I’m an asshole to everyone, and I’ve never shown an interest in hooking up with anyone, especially guys.

“Well… um… Someone asked me if you’d… might be interested…”

“Oh my god—Fucking whore, Ben! Why? Why would you tell someone that I’d—Fuck.” I whirl, pacing away before I do something uncalled for, like punch the idiot. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why would he do that? Does he hate me or some shit? He’s like my only friend—Do I have to worry about him spreading fucking rumors about me liking dick or something? Fuck.

“Aiden, you have to understand. I just thought, well… Well, I just thought,” Ben finishes lamely, wincing when I turn and glare his way.

“You think I’m gay?”

Looking uncomfortable, he gives a weak shrug. “It could explain a few things.”

And what the fuck is that supposed to mean? “Like what?” I growl, my hands on my hips as I wait expectantly for whatever stupid is going to come out of his mouth. There is nothing remotely gay about me. Fuck, if I’m anything, it’s asexual, but I hate fucking labels so I wouldn’t even say that. I have no interest in being with anyone, period.

“You don’t date,” Ben points out.

“So? You know my fucking home life. You think I want to bring anyone into that shit?”

“Bullshit,” he says, standing up and glaring back at me. “Do you think I’m blind or something? Like I can’t see when you’re checking a guy out? You spent nearly half of last class staring at Chris.”

“He was cheating off of Duley,” I snap, really not liking where this is turning. I do not check out guys.

“Was his ass cheating? Cus that’s where you were staring.”

“Are you shitting me—Did you just seriously accuse me of…?” There are no words. “Ben, I’m not gay!” I yelp in frustration.

“Whatever, jackass,” he mutters, like I’m fucking lying to him or something. “I’m not the only one who thinks it, man. Ever since Gavriil transferred in, everyone has been talking about it.”

Blinking dumbly, I hold up my hand. “What? What the fuck does that weirdo have to do with anything?”

Ben growls in exasperation. “Dude, you stare at him all the time!”

“Only because he keeps staring at me!” I turn away, my hat coming off in my hands as I grab my hair and tug. Stupid Gavriil Strife—Of course that fucker is to blame for all this. The damn pretty-boy came in here acting weird, and the second I glare at him everyone just assumes I have a thing for him because he’s gorgeous. The fucking bastard.

“Who did you tell?” I ask, spinning back to Ben. “Who fucking asked?”

Huffing, he folds his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure.”

“Like fuck you’re not—”

“I never saw the guy before. It was a couple of weeks ago during that football game you left early from.” He gives me a look and I wonder if he’s going to start accusing me of staring at their asses too. “He came up and asked if you were into guys. He had long black hair, green eyes. Tall. Really good looking.”

“Why the fuck do you feel the need to tell me he’s good looking?” I hate him so much right now. “So you just told this absolute stranger that your best friend is into guys?” I say in frustration.

“No,” he snaps back, his jaw squaring defiantly. “I told him it was a possibility. That you’re not the dating type so there was really only one way to know for sure.”

God, my life sucks so much right now. My mom is probably home drinking our fucking food money away, and here I am standing, listening to my best friend explain how I could be gay.

“Did you ever once think to ask me?” I can’t stop my angry growl. He winces and I feel a mild satisfaction that he at least feels guilty. It’s extremely mild.

“Aiden, I watched you eat half a raw potato before you realized it wasn’t an apple.”

“So—What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“So, you’re fucking oblivious, man. If I was going to ask someone about you, I’d ask me first because, fuck, I know you better than you know you.”

Scoffing, I glance away. “No, you don’t.”

“Oh yeah? Favorite food—Cheeseburger with extra pickles, but on a grill because you like the burn but still pink in the middle. You’re two homework assignments away from failing Mr. Pincer’s class. You spent all of yesterday with a pink barrette in your hair because you didn’t notice I put a fucking barrette in your hair. Dude, you’re a fucking space case,” he says with a wave of his hands.

I pause at that, remembering vaguely something pulling on my hair yesterday when I took my hat off. Fuck. “Pink? You jackass.”

“Do you even know how many people check you out?” he continues sternly. “Like every fucking day? I have chicks asking all the time if you’re, like, not allowed to date or something. I see guys looking at you all the time, and hell, I’m as straight as they come, but even I can admit you’re totally sexy, man.”

I splutter, glaring at him while my tongue refuses to work. I am not sexy. I am angry and unapproachable, and that is how I want to be.

“Aiden, go meet the fucking guy. For once in your life stop wandering around aimlessly after cleaning up your parents’ mess, and just live a second for yourself. People want to get to know you, so give them a fucking chance already.”

It probably would have been more poignant if my best friend wasn’t trying to send me off because he thinks I like dick. As it is, I’m just more annoyed that there are at least two people on the planet determined to make this day as fucking miserable as possible.

“I’ll go,” I finally growl, glaring him down as he beams in reply. “But only to tell this guy that you were mistaken. Bad enough he’s so retarded he thinks I’m dating material to begin with.” Seriously, you’d have to be a fucking idiot to think I was worth hanging around for any amount of time. I’m pretty sure Ben’s an idiot, and he’s well aware of my opinion on the matter.

“Seriously, dude, if it’s the guy from the game, he’s hot. I’d never do you wrong like that.”

I shake my head. There are really no words for how dumb he is today. Fucking Valentine’s Day.

“Did Vanessa like her rose?” I grunt out, feeling spiteful. Ben gives a heartfelt, woeful sigh. Answer enough. Yeah, he’s a fucking idiot and now I have to go let some really confused gay guy down on Valentine’s Day. Fuck my life.

I’ve never really been one to talk shit about dick size. You’re born with what you got, and you make do. Being a sorcerer, you even get a little leeway, and I know there are more than a few guys that stuff an extra inch or two to make things interesting. I am not one of those guys. I really wish Randal Davis was.

Tristan’s looking at Davis’s dick like he’s internally berating it for just how fucking small it is. It’s not a sweet expression, but few of Tristan’s are. It also doesn’t help that I’m glamoured as Davis, because hell, I have never felt inadequate before, but I sure do under that withering stare. I’m not hung like a horse, but I could be compared to Davis. Fucked up thing? Tristan sucks this kid off all the time. How the hell does Davis put up with that glare every time he’s being blown?

Probably because Tristan Bryant is the hottest piece of ass the Academy of Sorcery has to offer. I might be biased, but I don’t think so. He’s brilliant, lithe, and all sexy confidence. With his shining blond hair, crystal eyes, creamy white skin and lush red lips, I don’t think there’s a sorcerer or sorceress alive that wouldn’t want Tristan. Most might prefer him dead or in a lot of pain at the time, but that’s only because on top of being gorgeous, he’s also an absolute asshole. Yeah, I’m definitely not biased. He’s sexy as fuck.

Determined to make the most of things before the potion that makes me look like his boyfriend wears off, I grab Tristan’s very silky shoulder length hair and push him down to his knees. Heh, he is not happy about that. Davis is also a fucking sappy, romantic gasbag that likes to whisper sweet nothings in the blond’s ear while he’s rubbing up against him. I know better and wrench Tristan’s hair hard, his lips parting in a surprised moan.

“That’s it.” I cup my other hand down his cheek, fingers running over his lips, touching the edge of his teeth, his trembling tongue. He’s not glaring now. No, he’s into it, eyelids heavy with want, soft puffs of air hitting my hip. “Suck me, Bryant.” I pull his hair again. “Now.”

“Fuck,” he gasps, all he can get out before I’m pushing my dick between his gorgeous lips, holding his face firm to keep him from trying to pull off.

Shit. I really shouldn’t be doing this.

He groans, opening wider as I sit as deep as I can inside the tight, scalding heat of his mouth. God, I wish it was deeper. Part of me wants to suffocate him, take his throat so hard he’ll always be raspy from what I do to him. That he’ll never know it’s me just makes me more desperate to mark him in some way. “God, that’s it, baby… Let me fuck you.”

I can’t stop staring at his face, his cheeks flushed, brows furrowed as he tries not to choke every time I pump into him. He’s tight inside, and so wet. The noises he makes are obscene, loud, and crazy desperate. It’s nearly impossible to hold back. That I’m doing this at all just shows how much I’m losing it over him. He’s so hot and sexy, and I’ve been dreaming of fucking him forever.

He grabs my hips, and I wonder if he’s finally going to push me back, put me in my place for being too rough, but it never comes. No, he just moans again, opens his lips wider, his fingers clawing at the back of my thighs and digging into the muscles of my ass as he helps me slam into his mouth.

“Fuck, Tristan.” God, he likes it. I tighten my grip in his hair, pulling him back so I can see his face. Fuck, he really likes it.

“You going to cum like this? Just from my cock bruising your tonsils?” I can’t stop myself, can’t stop from saying shit to him. His mouth is full of dick, dripping wet, and he loves it. It doesn’t help that he’s on his knees in a back hallway of the school like he does this all the time. Like he’s been looking for someone to come along and use him.

I slowly pull out of his mouth, his lips clinging tight suction to my head as he tries to keep my dick inside. He finally releases me with a wet pop, his tongue caressing over the tip of my cock for a toe curling instant. Fuck. I force his face further back, tilting him up by his wet chin until he meets my eyes. I watch, surprise jolting through me when he actually blushes.

Okay, maybe he doesn’t do this all the time. But he should. He’s really fucking good at it.

He opens his mouth to my thumb, his lips swollen and bright red. I push hard against his soft flesh, watching him gasp, knowing his teeth are biting in on the other side of his lip. His tongue is suddenly drifting out, licking at my knuckle. I take two fingers and push them into his widening mouth. “You have a really sick oral fixation.” His tongue comes up to wrap around my digits, coating me in his clear fluids, sucking me down, teeth scraping as he runs his hands up my hips and stomach, short nails digging in and pulling down.

Oh shit. My eyes close, his hands doing something crazy to me, his mouth sucking my fingers like they’re directly connected to my dick, making me dizzy and so painfully hard. I knew he’d be good—Fuck, he could stick his tongue out and tell me to fuck off, and I’d be coming for him. But that he’s into it makes it so much better. I can almost pretend it’s for me.

Fucking Davis. Fucking douchebag, Randal Davis and his bite-sized prick for dating Tristan.

Opening my eyes, I pull my fingers free of his mouth, grab him roughly by the back of the neck, and grind my too small cock up against his bottom lip. He looks up at me, cruel gray eyes intense with fire and sex, and fuck, I want to ruin him. And I’m pretty sure, seeing how his tongue is sneaking out to lick my slit, he would really enjoy it.

But although Tristan Bryant might get on his knees in a hallway, he does not, under any circumstances, spread his fucking legs in a hallway. I’m actually not even sure he bottoms. Every time I’ve seen him with his boyfriend, he has never once shown an interest in letting anything between those tight cheeks of his. Then again, when you have some sap whimpering how much they’re meant to be together while also refusing to plump his cock up with a simple spell, it really fucking kills the mood. Least, it sure did for me, watching Davis put his soggy kisses and limp wristed hands all over the wild blond. A hot piece of ass like Bryant deserves fucking better.

Too bad I’m not the one to give it to him.

My fingers bite into the back of his neck, pulling him down again. I watch his face, his lashes fluttering shut, mouth dropping open in anticipation, tongue reaching out to meet my cock when I push into him again. I cup my other hand to his cheek, fingers tangling in his hair and gripping hard as I pull him down to meet every relentless thrust I force into his tight throat. My god, he’s beautiful. His mouth is wide open, dripping wet down his chin and my dick. Whimpering, hot suction noises and choked sobs escape him as he surrenders to me. He gasps around my dick, struggling to draw air in, his hands grasping weakly to my thighs as he lets out a string of desperate, low moans. He’s sexy. Really fucking sexy.

“God… god, that’s it… want it… fucking take it…” He’s going to cum. I can see it on his face. He’s so fucking gone, he’s going to cum with my cock in his mouth. “You’re doing so good, baby… So… fucking… tight…” He makes this beautiful, wet cry when I pull him down a final time, his throat opening to me, so hot and dripping tight as I shoot stream after stream of my cum into him. And fuck, he swallows down every nasty drop, milking me for more while fighting to breathe.

Fuck. I pull out of him, my dick growing cold in the air. I don’t care. I have to touch him, or I’m going to lose my mind. I drag him up to his feet, his body swaying, arms heavy as he wraps around me and opens to my kiss. Before he can think to stop me, I shove my hand down the front of his pants, groaning when I find him slick with cum already. God—the gorgeous brat came without even touching himself. Both his hands were on my thighs the whole time, pretty fucking sure.

“Randal, fuck, that was so good. Didn’t know it could—Fuck. Fuck.” He pulls me down into another kiss, crushing me back against the wall, grinding against me so hard I think he’s trying to fuck me with his pants on. It’s hot, really hot, but him calling me his boyfriend’s name is a punch to the gut.

Fuck, I’m such an idiot. If there’s one thing certain in a world full of magic, it’s that I, Chase Hunter, will never have a shot at Tristan Bryant. Just the rule of the fucking universe.

I kiss him—I’m never going to get another chance—and reach down to tuck myself back in while he sucks on my neck. Tristan does really nice things with that mouth of his.

“I gotta go.” I push him back, watching the confusion and hurt flash in his beautiful gray eyes. God, I’m the biggest fucking asshole ever.

I yank him by the arm, his eyes widening as he crashes against my chest. “Baby, you were incredible,” I whisper against his lips, cupping his face firmly, tilting him a little closer so I can kiss him the way I’ve always wanted to kiss him. He melts into me, moaning, tongue tentatively tangling with mine. I pull him closer, unable to stop as I wrap him in my arms, kissing him so consumingly, so thoroughly, all he can do is whimper once I finally release him and leave him leaning weakly on the wall.

I walk away before I can think of a reason not to, glancing back as I round the corner, finding him staring at me, his eyes blazing as they meet mine.

Shit, I am such a fuck up.