Virgil PoV Past
Note: Some scenes are important to the story to show how the mating bond is a biological imperative that makes Lycan and Werewolves irrational and takes away their choice.
I was sure I was dying. My clothes were soaked with sweat. I was feverish. I couldn't put two thoughts together. The tingling throughout my body had turned into sparks racing along every nerve. My cock was engorged to the point where it felt as if it had been flayed. My wolf kept trying to leap out but couldn't, instead, he tore at me in frustration. I could feel my claws extend and retract. The same with my fangs. They dropped and inverted, cutting my lips which were already dry and cracked from the fever. It was hard to concentrate but I looked up to see the source of all today's festivities coming towards me. Damien looked so angry, positively murderous. People around us were covering their faces, smirking and whispering. There was a weird general hum going around the crowd. I heard "freak" and I knew they were talking about me. I was called by that name more often than by my real one. I was so confused.
I snapped back to reality by the most terrifying and ferocious growl I'd ever heard. Not even my father at his very worst made the ground shake like that. The whispers stopped, and no one dared to move. I was suddenly pressed up against the wall. My breath slowly squeezed out of me by some force flowing from Damien. At the same time, I thought I must have been getting use to the pain because it was starting to feel good. I was completely losing the plot. All I could make out clearly through the growing haziness was Damien. I tried to focus on him. Then I realised I could smell him. I don't mean I picked up on his cologne, all Lycan shave superior olfactory skills. I mean I could smell HIM, as an individual, his whole unique being. I would know him anywhere. I would remember that scent forever because it was now imprinted in me. It burned an image of him in my very soul. Damien stood staring at me. His eyes were wide and sparkling with something more than anger. His face was flushed, his fangs were extended, and his fists curled up ready to strike.
The penny finally dropped...I wasn't sick. I was his mate and I was in heat. That wasn't anger in his eyes. At that point, I just let go...
....
I remember vaguely being carried; looking up and seeing I was in a car; and hearing someone moaning. I fell back into the darkness, my wolf and I finding solace together there.
After that, all I remember was waking up in agony. People holding me down. The fever was worse than before. I was squirming in a pool of sweat, every fiber of my body was on fire, howling and groaning until I was hoarse. Begging for Damien to come to me
....
DAMIEN PoV Past
"Our traditions, our standing in the Lycan community are the only things that matter...nothing else." My father, Damos was pacing up and down. Mother was with the boy attending to his wounds with our physician. Occasionally he would stop, open the door to the bedroom, and peer in at the boy passed out on the bed. When we got back to the house he was in a terrible state. He was covered in blood, moaning and writhing, he had bitten himself and clawed at his body in his frantic state. It was horrifying to watch. Worse still I could hear him calling out to me, over and over again. It took all my strength to keep my distance and not rush and take him in my arms and comfort him. I couldn't even call him by name...I didn't know it.
I knew nothing about him. I guessed he was perhaps 16. His young body was not prepared for going into heat. He may not even be out of puberty yet. Everything about him looked delicate.
"You have to reject him as soon as possible. Tomorrow or the day after at the absolute latest." My father demanded. "We can't keep him sedated for long." At that point, my father's PA came in with a report on the boy. We had to rush an investigation into who he was. The boy was a lowborn and completely off our radar. Even though people in the auditorium recognised him, they couldn't supply us with any information. They called him the "Freak" which didn't bode well as to what sort of person he was, what family he came from.
My father read through the few paragraphs on the sheet of paper and shook his head. "It's even worse than I thought." He handed it to me.
I read the first few words. "Virgil." Stupidly my first thought was that his name suited him. I read the next line. "Dear Lord...he's only 15. How could I possibly take him as a mate." I tipped back my head and howled loud enough to make my father jump. I left the room before I did something I'd regret. I couldn't let him see what was going through my mind at the moment. "As soon as he is well enough, we will end this." I bellowed as I slammed the door behind me.
My emotions were in turmoil, a battle between logic and mindless, unrelenting lust. It was a toss up what disgusted me more. The fact that my mate was a male and a boy at that, or worse, I still wanted him. I know in my heart of hearts if the circumstances were different and we were left to our devices. I would have taken him as soon as we were alone. I was ashamed of myself but that was the truth of it. The bond didn't abide by rules or morality. No matter what age, what sex, what rank, what history he had, I would have ravished him and marked him as mine. I howled to my core at the thought of him whimpering as I held him tight. I would drive my fangs into the soft flesh of his neck and I taste him for the first time. The bond would be set for life. Oh!!! my wolf's deep tortured growl tore at my heart.
I went straight to my room, threw off my clothes, and went straight into the shower. I was on fire and I couldn't pretend any longer. The cold water gave me a little comfort but my stomach was still tied in notes. I was so aroused that my body ached with the prolonged tension. I stroked myself trying to relieve my throbbing erection. I meant to release some tension instead I let loose a tide of pent-up lust. I pulled and squeezed myself violently, with images of him beneath me. I imagined he would reach up to touch my face spurring me to take him harder, faster. I came with such force my knees nearly buckled.
It brought some relief, at least for a short while I could think about what I had to do.
When I was under control I read the rest of the information. It had been collected, mostly from pack members at the auditorium. All of whom referred to him as the "Freak", and his school records.
"Freak" was a constant throughout. He was a loner, not popular. The other boys considered him feminine and weak. The only people who held Virgil in high regard were his teachers. They described him as a remarkable young man, very intelligent. Top in every class. His family barely registered in the pack hierarchy. From a brief interview with them, the PA suggested that they saw him as an embarrassment, no love lost there.
It was all too depressing. The poor boy was alone and defenseless and I was about to add the proverbial last straw that could break him. I could still hear his desperate voice pleading for me to go to him. I felt such intense shame at letting my mate down and knowing full well I was going to do something even worse. I was going to reject him. I had no choice. I told myself over and over I had no choice.
....
Virgil PoV Past
When I finally woke up I felt calmer but very weak. I was in a lush bed with soft smooth sheets. I looked at my hands and arms and they were carefully bandaged. I can't remember getting hurt but then again it was all a blur.
In this foggy state, I recall being spoken to softly by a lovely older woman. She had the sweetest smile and such soft eyes. She looked at me kindly which made me cry. I couldn't remember the last time anyone looked at me like that. She helped me dress in fresh clothes, all the while asking me questions about myself and my family. She looked sad and touched my cheek, wiping away my tears. Then offered me a drink to ease my suffering. The fog in my head grew deeper and every movement felt like I was in slow motion. Then she was gone.
I lay there in a half-dream state staring at the ceiling for what could have been 5 minutes or 5 hours. I'm not sure if it was a dream but I have a vague memory of Damien sitting on the side of the bed holding my hand. Slowly and with great care he brought it to his lips and kissed my open palm. He rested his cheek against it for the briefest moment. Even deep in my dull haze, I felt the spark between us. Not the burning painful kind that had tortured me all day, instead, it felt good, comforting, and warm. I saw his eyes light up, he felt it too.
We looked into each other eyes for an eternity. I drifted off into the fog, his beautiful face fading away.
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