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“They killed me for loving a man. They were going to stake both of us, but I dispatched him before they could take him. Then they called me a murderer.”
As Madis spoke, he was mentally confronted with the tear-stained eyes of his lover looking up at him, begging for release and hoping for salvation all at once. Outside their barred door, the guards were pounding with fists and shields. Soon they would bring the ram and break inside. It was too late to escape. Madis could do only one thing now — provide a merciful end for the one he loved more than anything in all the world, the man to whom he had pledged his life and love.
He held a short blade in his hand. The act of bringing it close to his lover’s neck was almost too sickening to bear, but he did it because he had to, because the man he loved was beautiful and gentle and would not withstand the pain yet to come.
“I will always love you,” he murmured against his lover’s lips. He flicked his wrist, releasing a flow of hot blood. It took the man he adored less than sixty seconds to pass. Madis was numb as the room rang with the efforts of the guards to break the door. He was certain he would never feel another thing again. Some part of him had died with his lover, some soft, tender, valuable spark had been snuffed out. He felt its absence, a great void opening up inside him, an eternal abyss yawning where his soul once was. When the door finally gave way, he no longer cared if he lived or died, and the pain they inflicted on him felt right. He had not resisted, because there was nothing left in him to resist.
“You are beautiful,” Gideon told him after he had recounted his tale. “And your passion for men is beautiful too. You may have suffered for your love, but you will never suffer again. I have given you eternal life. I have given you sup of the blood that will never die.” He pressed his lips to Maddox’s own and kissed him tenderly.
It was not the same kind of kiss he had given his lover. It was not full of human angst and yearning. It was a kiss of possession and protection. It was a kiss that made Madis anew.
“I have never lain with a man,” Madis said when Gideon broke the kiss. He did not know what to make of it, whether it was a seduction or something more innocent.
“You just told me you died for a man,” Gideon laughed.
“I was the… I did the…”
“Ah,” Gideon sighed his wisdom. “You were the one who penetrated, and now you balk at the notion of being the one who lies beneath, the one who must soften and yield. You want to be hard and dominant, my fledgling.”
“Yes.”
“Then you shall find a mate to match. You are handsome and of the oldest bloodlines. You will find no end of suitors across time. Remember, it is always best to mate with our kind. Humans and others pass before our eyes, and it is a pain that once felt, is not easily forgotten.”
7
In a modern forest…
Will was at full sprint, his lithe, furry body moving through the wooded undergrowth with a natural flow he had rarely, perhaps never experienced before. He couldn’t really think about how he felt. All he truly knew was that he did feel. He felt himself. His true self. He felt powerful, but more than that, he felt correct.
Their prey was ahead of them, only just. Henry had flushed her first, driven her toward Will’s position in a panicked dash. Then Will had taken up the chase, curving her back toward Henry. It was an elegant trap, one that exhausted their prey and left her at their mercy.
Not a word had been spoken. Not a word could be spoken. Their wolf tongues were incapable of language, but there was a silent understanding between them.
The deer faltered, tripped, and lay panting on the ground. Rays of sunlight lit her final resting place, her great round eye expressing little besides a kind of cosmic resignation as the wolves came upon her.
She gave her life up with an elegant turn of her neck, an act that surrendered her jugular and released a burst of calming hormones. The wild doe, unburdened by any of the concepts of gross humanity, passed with little pain as Henry made the killing bite, dispatching her swiftly. It was an act of mercy, and it too was correct. Will stood slightly back, panting, drinking in the scent of prey and basking in the conclusion of the hunt. They had killed, and they had provided, not only for themselves, but for innumerable wild beasts besides.
The two feasted in their animal forms, it being easier to eat the raw, freshly slain flesh of a creature like a doe than to haul her back through the woods. Already natural wolves were circling in the rear. They had gained a certain following among the local pack. The real wolves regarded them with suspicion but were happy to finish feeding from their kills once Henry and Will were sated.
Lorien looked up miserably as the two naked men came striding out of the undergrowth, laughing and talking as if they were old friends. There had been a time Will was the outcast, but now Lorien felt as though he was the third wheel. It was not a pleasant feeling.
“Nice hunt?”
“Excellent,” Henry said, coming to sit beside him.
“Wonderful,” Lorien deadpanned. “Well fed, are we?”
“I couldn’t eat another bite,” Will declared, lying down next to the fire still completely naked. He closed his eyes and proceeded to go to sleep without a care in the world. Henry was similarly exhausted after the hunt, and though he tried to stay awake for Lorien, it was not long before his eyes were closing, and he was snoring. In the depths of the forest night, Lorien was alone.
8
The argument between Maddox and his maker had yet to end. It had grown louder at times, quieter at others. It had gone silent altogether, and then flared up again.
“I am doing this for you, Maddox. You will hate me in the short term, but in the long run I am saving you much heartbreak. It is better not to become attached to these ephemeral creatures. You can keep them as pets, but you cannot entrust your heart to them. They can only break it. If you had chosen a human, you may have been able to turn him. But you have chosen a dog, one of mortal, incompatible blood. You can never spend eternity with this creature. Tragedy is built into your association by default. I have seen you suffer this way before, and I have no intention of watching you suffer the same way again.”
“I do not need to be protected from my feelings.”
“I disagree. You have forgotten how you mourn. I remember how destructive you can be.”
