His Beastly Finale

Chapter Two: "Interest"

Chapter Two: 

--Interest- 

"Daca as fi fost să spun: "Cred că vă ţineţi interesul meu" Ce-ai spune înapoi...?" 

(If I were to say: "I think you hold my interest," What would you say back...?" )

September 3rd, 1745 

(Later that same night...)

It was after what Damien was to long that he burst in the room, did Damien come face to bare chest with Zackary. "It would not hurt to knock, no?" he said, sarcastically and Damien's face turned the red of a maraschino cherry as he stuttered out replies to Zackary, all of his retorts sounding petty even in his mind. 

"I didn't think so," Zackary said, with a stoic expression on his face but a callous look in his dark eyes. Damien went silent at that look, not even his father gave him that look. No one regarded him with that look. No one had showed they weren't interested. He was Damien Moss, the desired possession of every woman and a few men of trifle importance.  

He didn't know how to react. Zackary wasn't interested. He did not even seem to pretend his distaste either. Distrust and aversion rang clear in his eyes. Damien licked his lips, a nervous habit he had gotten from one of his many nursemaids while he was but a baby.

"So...you are..." he ran his eyes over Zackary's form, trying to stop himself from making a snide comment about how despite the wulfen attack, he acted like he was only attacked by a cat. All that remained from the wulfen attack was a shiny line ranging from his collarbone to a few inches down his left arm.  

But at the moment, all he wanted to act like the swooning women he faced every day, to beg for a tie with Zackary and pretend he would come as promised when he came back around though you knew he wouldn't make the effort to learn or even ask for your name. 

That's how Zackary treated most of the women that came to fawn at his heels and this was how Zackary was treating him in turn. Like trash, he realized. He's treating me like how I treat everyone else. "I'm fine," Zackary barked, for some reason coming in a steady flow towards the auburn-haired boy at the doorway.  

He'd never felt anger towards anyone else. Maybe Loren's bite had changed me, he thought and mentally shrugged. If so, it was nothing to worry about. He had heard about the boy from town rumors. The teen in front of him had been with more women than Zackary, himself, could say he believed was even morally right.  

The teen was a whore, worse than the Clarksdale whores who slept with any men who came with the fee. He had even slept with a man on one occasion while intoxicated, the rumors had said. And Zackary, after seeing him first-hand, felt bad for the all that had gone to bed with him. They were above him, maybe not in social ranking but in plain morals.  

The teen in front of him was walking sin, he thought coldly and he raised a brow at how he licked his lips, a bit too lustfully for his comfort with his shirt off. He turned his back on him, "I'll be gone soon, and the doctor says I can leave now." Despite catching a wide-eyed look form the teen at his statement, he went to gather what little he had had on him when he had been carried in with.  

Rising to his feet, he saw the teen glaring at him. He raised a brow, anger coming in again into his veins. "What?" he snapped and Damien clenched his hands tight in a feverish attempt not to grab at the Zackary's smooth-looking skin.  

"you can't leave yet!" he started, and Zackary scoffed before standing up and starting to the door, anyways. Damien continued, "You were nearly killed by a werewulf! You shouldn't even be awake!" 

"Btu I am," Zackary said, coldly as Damien stood in defensively in front of the door. "Now move or I will make you." A slowly but sure swell of unease came when he threatened to hurt the boy but he felt he had to leave. Something wasn't right. Something about this boy wasn't right.