#werewolf elorcan au

[easkyrah]

Elorcan Werewolf AU Part 3

Summary: Frankly, this is just a filler, but full of info. Elide’s gone and Lorcan’s a whipped bitch, so what can a male do?

“Everything I’ve ever let go

has claw marks on it”

Elorcan Werewolf 3

Elide hated that she loved how Lorcan fit against her chest. His entire body was a furnace, warming not just her body in this night cold, but her heart as her mate. His muscular arms and broad shoulders engulfed her small frame, wrapping around her. Never had she felt so safe and content.

She wondered how many other females he had comforted.

Lorcan noticed her abrupt stiffness. “Mate,” he growled. “Mine.”

Elide slowly inched away him as far as she could in the seat. “You damaged the car.”

He pulled her towards his chest, growling softly. “You ran away from me, little mate.”

Little, her ass. If anything, he had felt so little he had to fuck half of the she-wolf population so his cock wouldn’t feel so little.

Rather than risk capital punishment, she settled for slapping his hard arm, which did more damage to her knuckle. “Maybe because someone was going to whip me again?”

The male’s eyes turned pitch dark at again. “Who hurt you.” A command.

Her attempts to push him off her lap failed. His hulking size covered half her seat and the emergency brake. Clearly he had done more damaging in his life than healing.

He let out a low, guttural noise, a sound that resounded to her very core.

“Who touched you.”

When Elide remained silent, his claws slid out, slashing against the seats. She swallowed. Hopefully Aelin wouldn’t be too pissed. She wouldn’t mind if her Alpha set this male in front of her on fire. Her pyro tendencies earned her the pack name right from the start.

Elide started up at the male that shadowed her. She felt zero attraction other than the desire to reject him. This male had no more claim on her than any other dirty one. If he had truly treasured the mate bond, then he would have never laid a hand on any other female.

But here she was, looking straight into the dark eyes of the Lycan who had laid with half of the she-wolf population.

Disgust rippled through her.

Lorcan took it the wrong way, and let out a fearsome roar. “Who hurt you.” His actions caused the entire car to, goddess forbid, shake. Elide let out a whimper as he gripped the glove box with unnecessary force, leaving an indent.

He must have realized the Elide was shaking with fear because he immediately fell silent. Slowly, he reached out to touch her cheek. Her traitorous hands reached up and cupped his palm.

A purring noise erupted from Lorcan’s throat. Stars above, she was barely touching him. Had not one of his past lovers ever shown him affection?

Lorcan’s eyes dropped as she stroked his hand.

“Elide,” he murmured.

That was the last straw for Elide. How many other female’s names had he cooed and how many other females had he seduced that was not her, his mate?

She ripped Lorcan’s hand away from her, and yanked the gear violently on drive. She ignored Lorcan’s bark of protest as she slammed on the pedal as hard as her tiny body could manage, and jerked the wheel to the left, watching in satisfaction as Lorcan’s body flew out the hole where the door would have been.

Serves him right for tearing apart the door. From a rutting camaro.

Elide didn’t look back and she pushed the car to its limits. It was time for plan B. Flipping open the sunglasses container, she pressed her thumb against a button along the rim. After a beep, a second set of controls appeared on her right.

Without a blink, she slammed her palm on the red button. A vapor mask instantly dropped from the ceiling, and Elide quickly tied it around her face. Seconds later, smoke of wolfs-bane flooded from the car and erupted in the surrounding air.

A howl of pain and longing pierced the air as the car speed away, and a piece of Elide ripped away as she felt Lorcan losing distance on her.

She didn’t blame the horrified glances directed her way as she pulled up the to hotel. She chose the most the most run-down looking one as so much to not rouse suspicion, but humans were curious things.

The valet worker stuttered out his greetings as Elide parked the now three-door car into an empty slot. She ripped the mask off her face and dropped it into a trash bin. He quickly opened the door for her as she stalked in towards the front.

“No luggage, miss?” the clerk said, eyeing her almost suspiciously.

The only baggage I’m carrying is my mate, she thought bitterly to herself. 

Elide merely shook her head. “A room just for one night, is all.”

The clerk nervously entered the information into the computer. “I’m guessing you’re paying with cash.”

She pulled out the wad of bills she found stuffed from the glove container. The clerk’s eyes widened to saucers. 

Great, she felt like an assassin completing her assignment, rewarded with none other than hard cash. She almost felt compelled to add to the clerk that she had about two knives shoved down each boot and that Aelin’s ruined camara itself was a weapon with a nuke in the trunk. Aelin never did anything by halves, and Elide supposed it had its perks. 

The clerk eyed her grimy hands, and chipped nails. She wondered if he’d call the police for murder.

Well, you did just about reject our mate, running from him, her wolf scolded her. That’s as good as killing him.

Elide almost puked. Her wolf had long been absent ever since Vernon had chained her up.

He lost us as soon as he laid with the first female, Elide said firmly.

Her wolf had nothing to say after that.

The clerk took the bills quickly, and slid the key across the counter tops. He dismissed her with a quick glance, and before Elide headed up the stairs, she gave a quick glance back.

No one was on her tail. 

She made it out. 

A flood of relief poured through her. Lorcan couldn’t bother get her now in the human city. She belonged to no one without her permission, much less a higher force determining her chance of love.

The sound of the clerk loosing a dramatic sigh caught her attention. Elide turned around, watching with little amusement as he dabbed his head with a handkerchief.

I thought she was going to kill me!” he let out a tiny wail, fanning himself.

Good riddance, Elide thought to herself as she went up the stairs. Humans were so extra.

Elide couldn’t sleep. For once, no nightmares of her Uncle Vernon plagued her, nor the memory of pain and loneliness. No一she kept expecting the searing pain in her stomach that would occur whenever a mate cheated on his other significant other.

Surprisingly, none came.

Are you rutting alive? Manon blasted down the pack link. If Lorcan touched you in any way, I’ll chop off his tiny balls and feed it to the rats.

Aelin pitched in. Lorcan is sitting on his ass in your rutting room, waiting for you to return like a pathetic gods-damned dog.

Elide frowned. Why isn’t he going back to any of his female toys?

A pause. Then一

Maybe because you’re his mate? Aelin sighed.

Manon huffed. You don’t need a mate given by the moon goddess to determine love. If the boy loved you, he would have kept his cock in his pants and waited. I don’t care if he’s almost as old as I am by eons. If you love someone, you will wait an eternity.

Elide groaned into her pillow. What about Rowan?

Stop rutting setting the walls on fire! Manon roared, and Elide stifled laughter hearing Aelin’s protest. Rowan apparently hates Aelin as much as she does he. He thinks she’s too improper to be princess but Aelin keeps throwing into his face that he has consorts, another improper act. So they’re at a stalemate.

At least Aelin is loyal in every way, Elide said firmly. Please kick Lorcan out. I don’t want to see him when I get back.

This is what we have to talk to you about, Elide. Aelin let out a nervous sound Elide felt even through the bond. I think it’s best if you finish your medicinal studies in the human realm. If you come back, Lorcan will mark you. And then you can never escape him again.

Elide yanked the blankets off the bed. Are you kicking me out of the pack? Her heart beat faster. Stupid Lorcan for ruining her life. She wanted someone to love her without doubt, and make her feel like a queen not with materialistic things, but clear actions.

And Lorcan had already ruined that.

No, no. Aelin reassured her. Once you finish your studies, still see if you want Lorcan. Once you finish your studies, come back. Then decide if you want to reject Lorcan or accept him as your mate.

Elide looked out the window where glimpses of the sun’s rays were already rising. She had a future already planned out, one with hope and one without fear. She was no longer that naive girl that trusted and would give herself over wholeheartedly without a reason. Life in the dungeons of the Morath Pack taught her that. If that was even considered life.

Realizing that she wouldn’t be getting much sleep, she walked to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. Staring at her rugged reflection in mirror, she opened the pack link.

Relay the following message to Lorcan for me.

Lorcan had reached an all-time low. His once chance at happiness did not want to love him. He hated the Alpha bitch for feeding his precious, little mate Elide with barbed words for her to hate him even more. Then his gods-damned friend Rowan had to have his mate as none-other than the entitled bitch.

He felt the sympathy the others from the cadre shot down the bond. Gavriel had empathized with Lorcan the most.

Fenrhys, however, had been absolutely delighted. You have lost your charm! She probably finds another more manly than you! You and Rowan can chew on your own wolf dicks because now no one will want to!

Rowan had tackled Fenrhys, and Lorcan had tossed him out the window. Vaughan was wisely chosen to remain silent, merely shaking his head in distaste, and then went to the kitchen to search for food. Gavriel had mended Fenrhys’ shattered elbow.

Elide’s door banged open, and his heart soared.

And then sank.

The hybrid beta stalked him, snarling at him. “I am going to rip off your balls. And it’s not going to hurt you, because you’ve had other females touch your junior.”

“Junior?” Lorcan snarled.

The half-witch paced around the bed. “You don’t deserve her. None of you rutting Lycans do. Sticking your nasty stick wherever you can find a hole.”

It took all of Lorcan’s will to not crack Elide’s headboard. The audacity of this filth—

“Lycan’s urges are different from werewolves’, mutt. We have casual fucks because our Lycan side needs to be soothed that way if we don’t have a mate. You think we have a rutting choice? You think I like touching another female other than my little mate? Seek the moon goddess if you don’t believe me. You wouldn’t know only being half-Lycan.”

Manon cocked her head. “You better hope what you’re saying is true. Even then, you’re too late.”

He breathed in Elide’s scent permeating the room, calming down the murderous rage seeping through him. His Lycan side jerked around inside of him, demanding to cut off the half-witch’s tongue and hunt down his mate. Even if it broke down every law. “Too late for what?” he snapped.

“Elide’s gone to the mortal cities.” Lorcan’s heart stalled. He could not protect his mate within human infested cities lest he break Council laws. “So if you really want her, then you’re going to have to win her love not through the bond, but through love. And I don’t know how long she’s going to be there. It’s your move now, junior.”

Elide inspected the cottage. It was on the outskirts of the city, but close enough that no Lycan could trespass. The landlord had agreed for Elide to rent it out without a set date as soon as she accidentally spilled a pouch of money across the table.

The place was dimly lit with comfy looking furniture. She lit the fireplace, soaking in the warmth. Manon and Aelin had promised to keep her updated with any pack new from small to urgent. Sorscha had instructed her to seek out the Terrance Dome Hospital, where other immortal or supernatural creatures worked. If she managed to acquire a degree there, then she’d be ranked as a Healer without a doubt.

Sighing, Elide slid the couch along the floor. She’d focus on re-decorating tomorrow and have to buy some more knick-knacks to liven up the place.

A thud against the door had Elide palming a knife. She slowly crept to the door, and peeked through the door. Seeing no one there, she uncertainly opened the door. If Manon was playing a prank on her—

A bark had the knife sliding out of her hand.

Elide looked down.

Sitting on her front porch was a massive, midnight pelted dog wagging his enormous tail. A coo went through Elide’s throat before she could help it and the dog’s tongue lolled out. A thick collar wrapped around his neck, and Elide hesitantly reached out for it.

When she bent down, the brutish dog licked her palm eagerly, settling onto its hind legs. Elide turned the collar over, scratching the soft skin between his ears, reading the letters engraved onto the leather.

Lory.

[bookocd]

Masterlist

Big Bad Wolf (Throne of Glass, Werewolf AU)

Chapter 1

Velaris University (ACOTAR)

Chapter 1

Light As Air (Fenrys)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

A Court of Heart and Darkness (Feysand Kids)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

A Witches Strength (Elorcan)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

One shots:

Laugh Easy (Feysand)

Don’t Panic (Feysand)

[ships-and-saints]

Elorcan fic recs etc.!

if y’all don’t already know, i’m utter trash for elorcan!! i’ve decided to make a list fic recs (both complete and incomplete works), both for my own personal reference and for other elorcan trashies like myself :) i’ll probably update this as I remember fics I’ve read/find more! without further ado~

Complete Works:

It’d Been Three Weeks by @propshophannah​ (links to AO3) - if you love elorcan you’ve likely already come across this amazing fic, which has got everything - elorcan angst, elorcan development, excellent writing, excellent depictions of ToG characters (Asterin!!), healing, and smut! highly recommended :)

Words of Werewolves by @easkyrah​ (links to fanfiction.net) - an excellent werewolf AU fic, darker than most fics out there so it might not be everyone’s cup of tea! Ea’s a super talented writer and great with mental imagery!

I’m Tired by @propshophannah (links to tumblr) - ahhhh a great, angsty short fic that breaks your heart and puts it back together! Elide is friends with Nox and there is lots of angst :)

Never Again by @salvaterre (links to tumblr) - a lovely, short elorcan fic with some angst and fluff :)

Yulemas by @salvaterre (links to tumblr) - Elorcan and Yulemas celebrations! :)

Elorcan Misunderstanding by @modernbookfae​ (links to tumblr) - a short elorcan fic from a tumblr prompt! elorcan fluff

Elorcan Attention by @works-of-shyvioletcat​ (links to tumblr) - such a cute short fic with great depictions of Elide and Lorcan :) also i’m a sucker for fics with Elide borrowing Aelin’s nightgowns ;)

Works in Progress:

Renaissance Woman by accidental_optimism (links to AO3) - this is a modern AU fic that I absolutely adore~ great writing, awesome author, and some elorcan development. also Elide is a badass :)

The Woes of Having Neighbors by @scribomaniac​ (links to AO3) - this is mainly a Rowaelin-centric fic, but it has some GREAT elorcan moments that I just had to include it!! it’s a modern AU and expect some elorcan meet-cute and fluff :3

Possessive Billionaire by @easkyrah (links to tumblr) - an awesome modern AU fic with elorcan, the cadre, and Uncle Vernon!! links to part 1~

Maybe Tomorrow by @324abby​ (links to tumblr) - this fic just started, and it’s an Elorcan-centered high school AU..! I’m excited to see where the story goes!! links to part 1~

Elorcan Headcanons:

Cuddling/Injured by @modernbookfae​ (links to tumblr) - all hail the Headcanon Queen!!

Domestic Life by @modernbookfae​ (links to tumblr)

Elorcan/Cadre Interactions by @ships-and-saints​ (aka ME/links to tumblr)

Self-promo:

Pale Skin and Onyx Eyes by @ships-and-saints (aka ME/links to AO3) - if you want to read 44k+ words of me obsessing with elorcan and trying to cope with EoS heartbreak, then you might like this...! haha

[jamesscarstairs]

For elorcan fics have u tried Easkyrah? She has a great werewolf au

Yeah I have! I love it btw

[easkyrah]

Elorcan Werewolf AU Part 4

I apologize if I put you to sleep. I’m in dire need of sleep myself.

“it’s hard to wake up from a nightmare if you aren’t even asleep”

Elorcan Werewolf 4

Six months later

Having Lory around almost fulfilled the absence of her pack. The dog was a menace to anyone she invited over, and Elide learned the hard way to not invite her business interests or corporate companions over.

Today, mercifully, was her day off. She was lazily sprawled across the couch, scrolling through all the romantic puns on twitter in event of Valentine’s day.

Aelin: I want to burn my mate’s nonexistent dick off.

Manon: No amount of magic could enlarge an already dead thing.

Rowan: You don’t hear my other consorts complaining.

Aelin: Mmhmm. Why am I wasting time on you when I should be preparing for my date my boyfriend’s holding?

Rowan: Since when do you have a boyfriend?

Chaol: Since you failed your mate.

Elide rolled her eyes. Manon had informed her later on that Aelin had paid Chaol, her past ex, to keep up the facade of the fake boyfriend to see if Rowan did indeed care about her. The only response she’d gotten was Rowan leaving the Fireheart Pack and storming back to the castle where the Princess Remelle awaited.

Aelin had decided to reject Rowan tomorrow, Valentine’s day. A symbol of the utmost love at its highest failure. 

“I hate the moon goddess,” Elide moaned. “She paired me and Aelin with the worst.”

Lory lifted his head off the mattress, and scooted closer to her toes. Elide snuggled into the animal’s warmth, stroking his head.

“I mean, why do we have to be paired with unfaithful males? I want someone who will prove their love to me, but also someone who had proved their love to me.” 

The dog jumped up onto the couch, snorting as Elide popped off the couch. He was so large that Elide wanted to check if he was overweight, but Lory had adamantly refused to go to the vet’s.

Letting out a sigh, Elide stroked Lory’s soft head. It took awhile for the beast to get used to Elide constantly petting him, but a few days later, all he did was demand attention, even when she was on a phone conference. When one client even asked for a date at the end, Lorcan had knocked her couch over.

Needless to say, she didn’t get the date.

But Elide was determined to go out on a date tomorrow, Valentine’s day. She deserved a chance at love. No mate was going to stop her.

Lory let out a huff, placing a massive paw on her thigh, almost as he were urging her to continue.

“His name is Lorcan,” Elide said, looking out the window. “He’s a Lycan. And apparently my mate. It’s weird, because he’s apparently almost as old as Manon. Isn’t it cradle-robbing?”

Lory let out a low growl, his ears twitching back — as if he disagreed.

“Anyways, if he really treasured a mate, he would have waited for her — like I waited for mine — only to find out that I wasn’t going to be his first. Ridiculous, isn’t it? Why am I still hung up over this?”

Lory gave her a stink eye that might as well said you should be hung up over this.

Elide heaved a giant sigh. “He’s probably at some she-wolf’s house right now.”

Lory let out a disgruntled snort, placing his snout directly between her breasts. Elide let out a squeak as the animal licked her collarbone, and snuggled against her. Five seconds later, when Elide started scratching the fur along his neck, a giant purr erupted from his throat.

Elide let out a screech in surprise, and slid out from underneath. Lory let out a discontented growl, and jumped off the couch, pacing in circles around her.

“Sometimes you really confuse me,” Elide said. She dusted off her jeans and headed to the closet. She needed to get ready for her blind date tomorrow Aelin had set her up for.

Elide slammed her fists against her work table, and rubbed her eyes. All the types of diseases were blurring her eyes, and she couldn’t even differentiate between the two main parasite branches of the mermaid currents.

Lory lifted off of his haunches and then placed his paws onto her knees. He rubbed his maw against her, repeating the motion. She loosed a breath, and closed her eyes. Instead of choosing a dress, she’d ended up studying her notes for her aquatic parasitic exam in three days.

“I don’t even know how I’m going to get a perfect sore!” Elide rolled off the chair and onto the floor. Lory immediately pounced onto her, settling himself over her prone form. She let out a giggle as Lory started licking her face, his tail wagging vigorously. She itched his ears, a satisfied sound emerging from Lory’s throat. “It’s sad. Valentine’s day is less than three hours away and I’m studying.”

Lory let out a noise that oddly sounded like a confirmation, but remained lying on top of her.

Elide lazily glanced at her open closet, staring at the hanging dresses. She only had one dress that wasn’t business related, and it was a provocative, short, and skimpy, her breasts nearly spilling out of the thin material. Manon had sent it to her a week ago, and Elide had immediately shoved it into the back corner of her closet.

Lory followed her line of vision and let out a questioning bark. Elide smiled and scratched his head reassuringly.

“I’m going to go to the grocery store. You seem to have a penchant for raw food. Be a good boy and I’ll buy you some.”

Lory let out a yip, and bounded off of Elide, galloping to the front door. He swerved to avoid knocking down the clay vase she had bought a day ago, and she crossed her arms, smiling fondly down at the animal that had become so essential to her life.

Elide opened the door and watched the animal bound towards the forest. She knew it wasn’t healthy to keep a large dog like Lory inside all day, so she had let him run loose for hours a day, trusting him to return.

He always did.

As soon as she pulled up along the gravel, Lory shot from the trees, bounding towards her and barking merrily. She smiled, and lifted the trunk open. Lory dutifully gathered the ends of the plastic bag in his mouth and carried the groceries inside.

Elide gathered the rest and slammed the trunk close. She was lucky that Ansel’s Assortment Store was open 24/7, even though the cashier hadn’t been happy to see her at 11:30 pm.

Elide glided up the porch and pushed passed the door. Lory was already pushing the containers of food out of the bags with his jaws. She smiled at her companion. She couldn’t imagine a life without him now. Maybe she didn’t need a mate nor a male if she had Lory. She started to realize she preferred things that didn’t talk and that she didn’t mind the silence the cabin gave her.

In fact, when Manon had visited once, the only sound that had pierced the house was the wind blasting down the chimney and slamming against her windows. Lory had always demanded to go out for his runs in the woods whenever company came over, even though she’d always wanted to introduce her pet to others, and she’d come to realize that her dog was as much as a hermit as she.

She set the foodstuff in their respective positions, and took the packaged raw meat out of its syringe wrap. “Here you go, Lory,” she hummed.

Lory wagged his tail in anticipation as she lowered the container to the floor. Her canine companion merely looked up at her as she washed her hands. “What is it?”

Lory moved away from the meat and brushed his nose against the bucket full of plums. He nudged it to her, rolling the fruit out onto the floor. Elide blinked. “Do you want me to eat, too?”

Lory nodded and pawed the plum near her feet closer. Grinning, Elide plucked it off the floor and rinsed it in the sink. Lory watched her the entire time and didn’t touch his own raw meat until Elide took her second bite. She ruffled his head as he greedily finished the remains of his food within record timing.

By the time they had finished, Elide had collapsed on her bed, Lory curled up at her feet. She smiled fondly at her companion, grateful that he had come into her life. Even though she had to buy a new bed that could stand his weight, she wouldn’t replace him with anything.

Elide yawned, and flopped over the bed. Her eyes widened and she hopped off the bed, not noticing Lory anywhere. As much as he hated to admit, she loved the animal’s warmth and security he seemed to bring.

Her clock drearily blared 8:00. Her date was supposed to pick her up at 9:00, for Hellas’s sake.

She quickly showered and scrubbed her teeth and face. Slipping into her slippers, she cursed Manon as she slipped into the black dress. After a moment’s thought, she tossed on a ruby red blazer that draped past her knees and switched her stilettos with black flats.

As she moodily tromped down the stairs for single’s awareness day, she spotted Lory eagerly panting at the bottom. He cocked his head as his eyes swept past her outfit, and a growl rising from his throat. Elide patted his head, and immediately stacked his food bowl. “Didn’t you eat around midnight last night?”

When she set the plate down, Lory refused to touch it, and clawed the edges of her blazer. Elide tried to unhook his abnormally large claw away from her blazer, but instead shrugged off the material, the sound of cloth ripping as her cover fell to the floor.

Lory let out a loud howl as he stared at the dress she was wearing. Elide immediately felt self-conscious and tugged the material down. “What?” she snapped. Seriously, was her dog bullying her into what to wear?

Lory closed his eyes and stared at the ceiling for twenty long seconds. When Elide was about to move to the pantry, Lory wagged his tail and bolted down the foyer. Smiling, she chased after her dog, and nearly slammed into the door as he abruptly stopped.

There, on the middle of her carpet, Lory had ripped open her bag of candied, valentine hearts. Her canine companion had laid out the pink hearts in an own heart formation with the candied enscript of be mine in the middle. The other colors dotted around the room in mini hearts and swirls, ribbons torn from the plastic bags hanging near the windows.

Lory blinked up at her.

A sob wrecked itself out of Elide and she rushed for Lory, burying her head into his chest. Lory let out a content noise and buried his own snout into her head, his tongue licking her neck.

“I’m yours.” Elide smiled faintly. “I love you, Lory.”

Lory barked, a noise of agreement. The satisfied sound easily turned into a low growl as the doorbell rang, and Elide sashayed away to greet her date.

[easkyrah]

Elorcan AU Epilogue: Words of Werewolves

Here it is. The long awaited finale. The ending of euphoria. The fight for fluff. It’s short, but hopefully this sates you. If you enjoyed the open ending/angst in part 10 and/or you’re like me, then I don’t recommend reading this. This took so long partially because I postponed stepping out of my zone. But it’s here, after, what, two months? HERE’S MY ATTEMPT AT FLUFF!!

Previous Parts: Part 1  ·  Part 2  ·  Part 3  ·  Part 4  ·  Part 5  ·  Part 6  ·  Part 7  ·  Part 8  ·  Part 9  ·  Part 10 Headcannons  ·  Playlist

Home is where your heart is.

Elide yawned, and stretched out her limbs. Lorcan nuzzled her exposed neck, gently gathering her into his arms. She blinked sleepily up at him, and touched his cheek softly. Her mate, Lycan Lorcan Salvaterre—Death’s Right Hand, The Executioner, and the Silencer—purred into her touch, breathing in her reassuring scent of elderberries and cinnamon.

Her hands roamed over his bare torso, tanned and torn. Every inch of him equalled solid muscle, sculpted to set strides with sensation’s substance. The low, husked sounds vibrating from his chest trickled threads of thrills to her core.

They cradled in combined coziness, each touch tethering her to tranquility. Her limbs laid limp and loose, a refreshing relaxation from the previous panic and pressure. Dark, distorted clouds no longer poured black rain sliding over her skin.

“We will have our time together,” her mate rumbled, kissing her forehead, brushing away stray strands of unruly hair.

She pecked his other cheek. “Together.”

He reached to the side, and hooked his fingers around their messily strewn clothing, scattered and torn. Elide blushed, and reached for her pants, but Lorcan deftly snatched the piece out of her way.

“Bathe first,” he ordered, and hefted her over his shoulder. She smacked his back, staring at the broad expanse of corded muscles, and ran a finger over the detailed scars marring bronze skin.

“Naked?” she squeaked, as he stalked to the mouth of the cave.

Elide felt his lips curve into a mischievous grin against her stomach, her abdomen tightening in response. Such elation, and easy euphoria… the mate bond had been a gift for the both of them, a prickled rose shedding sharp thorns after a tsunami of cold watering.

“Yes,” came his reply, and large arms gently set her down, toes curling at the softness of the earth—and as he continued to pepper her body with kisses from waist up. .

Lorcan cracked his neck, and rolled his shoulders back. Elide smiled up at him, and in a blink, watched her mate smoothly transform into his other half. His wolf, in all its broad, brazen glory, reached her breasts, dark fur ruffling in the slight wind.

Once, that massive frame would have laid siege to broker battlefields barren, roaring ruination, a signal to sound all sorrows. That dark monster, a nightmare that sewed seeds of savagery, would have demolished all daunting defense, leaving instead still silence.

But now he had found his other match—

His snout reached up and licked her neck, and Elide scratched the back of ears. The wolf stepped back and jerked its massive head up and down, communicating his silent order.

Always the commander, Elide smiled to herself, and let the peace of loosing the reins within herself. Her body echoed the silent roar that raged within her, freeing any restraints to elicit freedom, loosening liberty.

Her mate’s wolf undoubtedly towered over her, his sheer size enveloping her in solid heat. Rather than claiming her then and there, he brushed against her side—an acknowledgement and affectionate sign.

Elide wanted more than his singular respect, and bounded next to him, pressing her whole body against him. Slipping under his chest, she rubbed her scent all along him, only pausing when his body rumbled in satisfaction.

He carefully arranged himself over her, his scent washed over her, claiming her as his. When he found himself content, he nudged her forward, and burst off into the woods. He weaved through a cluster of thick trees, rays of sun pouring into the twinkling greenery, the dreaded dark a nightmare’s fading whisper.  

She followed his easy gait, occasionally nipping at his tail. In the distance, her ears picked up the sound of birds chirping and the rustling of ground creatures starting about the morning routine. The soil became richer and damper until droplets of crystal water lapped at her paws.

Elide shuffled in the shallow depths of the water, wetting her paws. Lorcan had other ideas, however, as he burst through the clear waters. When he arose in all his naked glory, shoulder muscles rippling as he moved towards her, he eyed with her pure, predatory intent that made her wolf bark sharply.

He easily lifted her in his arms, holding out to the sun—as acknowledging her present to the gods above as a gift. Slowly sliding her down until she lay cradled in his arms, his eyes twinkled down at her, his thumb stroking the warm furs around her neck. Each touch sent thrills of pleasure down the mating bond, a nourishment’s nuzzle, glowing warmly, dazzling through her day, had her parting her lips—

—then cold water encased her exposed skin.

Her wolf paddled upwards, and resurfaced, ears flicking away droplets. Elide shifted back into her human form, scowling. Turning around to snap at her mate, planning to have him grovel at his knees for a while, or kiss her senseless like last night’s session, she placed her hands on her hips.

“Lorcan Sal—” She froze, hands dropping to her sides.

There in all his naked glory stood her mate, waist-deep in the clear water, twisting his dripping hair into a bun.

Elide swallowed harshly.

He raised a brow at her.

“Hi,” she said, voice cracking at the single syllable. Her gaze roamed shamelessly over his tanned torso, well-defined lines painting his toned expanse of skin. A lower look had her blushing, warm tingling over her cheeks.

A low chuckle emerged from his throat, and he waded through the water towards her, his face clear from the drowning dissent and lines of looming loss.

“Continue your words, mate,” he purred. “Lorcan Sal—what? Am I making you salivate for me this early in the morning?”

Elide bit her lip, and a rumble resounded from his chest.

“Is your mate to your satisfaction?” His teeth pulled at the top of her earlobe, breath cascading down to the curve of her collarbone, following the slope of her breasts. Suddenly, the water didn’t seem so cold anymore, and every pore burned, flames of pleasure licking through every part. Elide whimpered her response, cheeks reddening as she mewled her appreciation.

His hands rested around her waist, and rubbed her skin slowly, smudging away grime and dust, dead pieces of skin floating to the top of the drifting waves. By the time he’d lavished her body, worshipping her with slow and sensual kisses, peppering her with love’s longing, Elide floated along the waters, completely content and refreshed.

She looped a curl of Lorcan’s hair around her finger, staring at the rough-hewn face. He stared into her eyes, both bodies cooled and sated. The sun could have come crashing down and burned their bones from the inside , skin peeled off into clean strips, mouths fleshed apart into liquid lava, but their beating unity would never dissipate into the after swirling smoke.

“How can I serve you?” her mate rumbled, wiping away beads of sweat from her forehead. The pads of his fingers lightly ran over her face, and across the pale column of her neck. Each touch sent her into a heaven of pleasure that left her breathless.

She could drown in passion, Elide realized. Burning sensation swept as a fever, too quickly, a prompt passing permeating her pores. But the slow loss into emotion where she found herself heat to heat in silent sanctuary, where even time throbbed to their matching pulsations…

The waters gently lapped at her skin as her mate devoured her. Hands roamed over skin, trails of hot flame echoing the warmth in her stomach, heat shared between the two bodies burning them both. The sensation pooled around her, and even the waters seemed to steam around them.

Curls of contentment stroked within the bond. Elide’s ankles locked around his waist, and Lorcan’s arms wrapped around her, chests against each other. His nose brushed hers, head dipping down to nuzzle her neck.

The crisp air around them prickled in anticipation. She reached up to tug his hair, bringing his head lower. Lorcan watched those honey-dripping lips that had taunted him for the past days and nights near him, and he cradled her closer—to devour those lips.

A hungry kiss burned against her collarbone, sweeping her into a frenzy lost in oblivion. Lorcan worked his way up, until they met in a clash of tongue and teeth. Fingers lovingly traced around her chest , and she gasped into his mouth. Her own fingers roamed over the expanse of his abdomen, skipping over to the back of his spine, nails digging in, leaving her mark.

When they broke apart for air, foreheads pressed against each other, she smiled up at him, watching the broad expanse of his chest heave heavily. Each rise and fall had her heart racing faster, and her mate could only contribute to that crescendo or outright steal her breath away.

Elide brought her hand to his chin, tracing lines over his jawline. When dark, onyx eyes blinked down at her, she pressed a quick, soft kiss of a hummingbird’s touch along his cheek. Those steel eyes darkened and dilated, the arms around her waist tightening.

Instinct flooded her, and she grinded her hips against him. Elide could feel all of him, and could lose herself in his massive body, every inch of him raw power, full of unbridled strength. The bond pulsed clearly within them, sheer emotions wrecking through them like a conflagration.

A growl erupted from his chest, and Elide couldn’t stop her own wolf from echoing the howl. Lorcan stared at her in surprise, the curve of his mouth tilting up. A blush flamed across her cheeks, spreading like wildfire, and her mate pressed a chaste kiss to her rosy skin.

His head dipped back to her neck, lapping at the expanse of skin. She shuddered in his arms, and her eyes rolled up in ecstasy. Muscles shifted against each other, hearts stuttering like wings fluttering.

“May I, Lorcan Salvaterre, claim you as mine?”

Elide laid flushed against him, insides curling at the mere deep husk of her mate’s voice. What he was asking her—to affirm their futures together as one unbreakable connection from a shattered collision.

She arched her back, and bared her neck in response. Lorcan’s eyes traced the delicate curve of her collarbone, and he swallowed harshly. The mere presence of him oozed unfiltered power and hypermasculinity, but for her—for his mate, he might as well have been reduced to utter mortality.

She saw the dark passion written in his eyes that even spilled ink would have encaptured. Lorcan had seen her—had seen every inch of her skin in both the blazing daylight and the silent night—had seen her locked and chained, free and flying—drowning in envy’s bitterness and righteous glory— harboring vicious vices and love’s loyalty.

“I am your mate, Lorcan,” she whispered, and smiled as he tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear. “I am yours. Forever. For that time we will have.”

Her mate rumbled his response, and leaned forward. She felt pinpricks at the juncture of her neck, and Lorcan’s eyes locked on her, one last confirmation.

Elide stilled against him, their bodies no longer an inferno of blazing teasing and tugging. Her head leaned down, and she said in his ear, “I am sure.”

She could have sworn that Lorcan’s heart skipped a beat, and his fangs retracted. Elide cocked her head in confusion, and froze when her mate rose to her ear. His breath send goosebumps flaring over her skin, and she squirmed in his grasp.

“I love you, Elide Lochan,” he husked. Fingers trailed over her scars, cradling her closely, and he stared at her as if her were the most precious thing in the world—something she didn’t think was possible.

Then his fangs bit down where her neck met her shoulder, and a feeling akin to a volcanic eruption exploded within her. Pain lashed through her first, a running river of lava that seared every pore, sinking into every crevice. Then the pleasure had her body floating in that blissful river, every inch of her skin calling her mate’s name—

“Lorcan,” she breathed, and stared at the purebred predator that was hers. Hers. A rush of instinct flooded her, and she felt her wolf take the reigns. “Mine,” she couldn’t help but snarl, both her and her wolf admiring the male in front of them.

Lorcan’s tongue sealed the wound, the bond bursting within them in pulsations that reverberated within her heart. Obsidian eyes granted her silent command, and Elide sunk her fangs into his neck. The hands on her waist squeezed, and a grunt slipped from his mouth. She could feel the edge of his Lycan panting and praising her, strokes fluttering down the mate bond.  

When her own wolf handed her back control, she licked away the blood, and shivered as her mate’s arousal pierced the air, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth. She yelped when he nipped her ear, and hefted her higher in his arms. Elide instinctively wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, and looped her hands through his hair as Lorcan carried them out of the waters.

As soon as the water no longer cascaded around them, droplets dripping down their skin in rivulets, their wolves took control, and Elide felt true peace transforming into her white wolf for the very first time. The massive black Lycan next to her ran his snout along the furs of her body, nuzzling her neck.

Then he took a step back and unleashed a mighty howl that nearly sent her wolf into a frenzy. The Lycan in front of her had lived eons in the darkness, and now here he sat in the morning’s daylight. It didn’t matter that the black fur juxtaposed her own white fur, not when they were one in soul. Mates.

She pressed herself against him, tail curling around their paws, and released her own howl. Lorcan’s wolf looked down at her, and their eyes locked. There was a promise written there, and it put her wolf on edge. The look spoke of love and vengeance, for their story was not at the end.

Before her wolf could move, her fur prickled as the sound of other howls filled the crystal morning, each sound beautifully unique and a reflection of all the triumph revelling from all previous horrors. Lorcan’s Lycan licked her ear in affection, and bolted off into the forest that no longer hung in morbid dread, but shone with the sunrays and dew.

As Elide’s legs pushed her through the forest, she realized her strides could easily keep up with her mate’s. No longer did each bound of her hind legs require huge bursts of energy filled with concentrated determination.

No, not when she was a Lycan. Not when she was his and he was hers.

Elide flew through the forest, and without a second’s thought, she passed the commander Lycan in front of her, her own legs carrying her to a momentum long denied. The chain in the cell—forced to reserve herself into the recesses of her shattered mind—never before had her Lycan ran free.

All parts of her locked up. Her identity washed away.

A growl erupted from her throat, and in a heartbeat, her mate was at her side, strides matching hers. Elide could feel the anger emanating from her, the raw hatred digging into her sides and fleshing out through her claws, but—

A hum through the mating bond simmered her rage, but it was a kiss to the new mark in the juncture of her shoulder that had her quivering in simple

That was the promise Lorcan promised her.

To end Alpha Vernon.

Together.

And together they shifted in the sanctuary of the cave. Lorcan’s arms immediately engulfed her against his chest, hands running down across the expanse of her collarbone and down her back. The pads of his fingers easily skimmed over her damp skin, dripping with water and the heat from his kisses their wolves had weaved.

His nose burrowed into her head of hair, hands continuing the delicate dance across her back, tracing the indents of scars lining her spine and flesh. The whip lashes had haunted her, a ghost, throbbing in the dawn of darkness, courtesy of Uncle Vernon.

Lorcan spun her around, and locked his arms around her waist, the sheer scent of him flaring a male on edge of primal protectiveness. His head bent down, and Elide gasped as his lips kissed  the markings on her back, hands gripping her hip bones.

Elide realized with a start that Lorcan was…fretting.

The male that was her mate set her on his lap, a cluster of medicines and herbs shoved in corner next to them. On her left, his hatchet lay haphazardly placed. Strong hands moved up and down her back, incense filling her nostrils, her eyelids slowly drooping. She lost count of the seconds, and dozed off in the final comfort of gentle touches and fleeting caresses.

She finally stirred when the rumble of satisfaction sent a spear to her core. Elide attempted to shift, but then froze, realizing Lorcan had wrapped her entire body in salve and wrap.

Elide poked at the gauze, slightly wincing at the trail of pain slithering down her leg.

“Don’t do that,” Lorcan snapped, snatching her arms away. “Why would you do that?”

She could only murmur in drowsiness as he kissed the palms of her hands, working his slow sensation of slow massaging to her shoulders.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she whispered in the dimly lit cave, where the sneaky rays of sunshine slowly crept deeper in.

“I’ll always be your knight in shining armor,” Lorcan growled.

“It’s not a knight I’ve been looking for,” Elide hummed. “I’ve never wanted that, not when I could have a sword for myself.”

Lorcan huffed, the breath sending her skin into a spiral sheet of goosebumps.

“I always dreamed of a knight in shining armor,” Elide continued. “When I was in that cell, clouded in darkness, surrounded by the misery that breeded equal hatred, I had dreamed that someone would save me. Someone would shatter the silence and right my pain, and I would no longer be chained. My mornings would be beautiful, and instead of hearing someone else’s leg being sawed off, I could stand on my own legs and hear what the sunlight could offer.” She swallowed. “But that wasn’t my fate. I didn’t need a knight. I never did. I needed myself, and perhaps—the knight’s sword.”

Elide allowed Lorcan to wrap his arms around her waist, but her eyes trailed down to the object aside him. Her fingers trailed down the weapon. “This,” she whispered. “Is my knight’s sword. And this—” she stepped out of her mate’s embrace, the wrap falling loose around her, pooling at her feet. “—this is what I will use to end my misery so  that my mornings will not be dampened.”

Lorcan leaned to the left and nudged it to her.

Elide Lochan picked up Lorcan Salvaterre’s hatchet. “May I?” she asked.

Her mate smiled. “I’ll wash it after you’re done.”

And so then her Uncle’s reign would fall.

In her hands.

With his end.

With her mate—Lorcan Salvaterre, Death’s Right Hand, the Executioner, and the Silencer. Together.

Once again, thank you to everyone who accompanied me on this journey (aka my tag list) :

@miss-phengophobia, @jumpercables-1, @daeniran, @samaykay912, @latinafangurl, @sparkleywonderful, @katgirl05, @wpbianca99, @wiselemonpie, @elidexlorcan, @macomafastraash, @muddymoo, @this-book-girl, @ocean-universe, @bats-and-hawks, @sskoob, @erwin5253 , @bookswillruletheworld, @highladyofidris, @nicoletapink, @maachan-is-hungry, @the-little-dragon-faery. Special thanks to @highladykatiemcgrath for reassuring me and checking for grammatical errors.  

This required most of my writing focus, so if you’d like me to do prompts or spin-offs, I’ll be able to take them! Let me know your thoughts.

[easkyrah]

Lorcan Salvaterre, Lupus and Lycan, listens to no litany. He’s the Silencer, the Executioner, and most notorious of all—Death’s Right Hand. A reckoning for raw rage, symbol for seeded sorrows, and monster of all mediums, he conquers without contemplation.  A pure-bred predator that leaves no prey without sanity intact, name a whisper in the wind, forbidden and not forgotten, he reigns as a creature not even death can cull.

But even monsters have myths, a deep underlying fear long locked up from liberty, crushed and severed from thought. And now this little key has become unburied, leaving Lorcan Salvaterre with one fragment that can leave him unhinged, exposed:

His mate—Elide Lochan.

And what can he do when a piece of his soul does not remember him?—when the world around him seeks vengeance, a life he once thrived in, amock with vices and the vile? When he cannot turn to himself any longer, it’s now when Lorcan Salvaterre learns that in order to remain atop from challenges contending him, that fate will guarantee he atone for his sins—whether it’s him or his mate.

A legend against life itself. A self-created god against his own shadow. A conqueror against his curse. The king of kings, the alphas of alphas, the rulers of rulers. He shall not be named. His time has come, and it shall be reaped.

[easkyrah]

I just read your Elorcan werewolf au and bawled for three minutes straight and my heart just broke. You're the motherfucking queen of angst no amount of heartbreak for Elorcan was so captured ugh. Now here I am opening another box of tissues. Wowzers

This makes me happy and sad at the same time?! I’m so glad you read and went on that roller-coaster, for it was one hell of a ride. I’ll have you know that I’m attempting to writing an epilogue that will finalize the series, which should not call for any tissues :)

[piastrams]

I couldn't resist after seeing your tags soo.. Werewolf Au + Elorcan.

This is pure fluff, and I loved writing it so THANK YOU <3

STRAWBERRY MOON

Elide had always loved the moon. She’d always feel drawned to it, had always felt like it was watching over her somehow. But since meeting Lorcan, the moon had taken one more signification in her life.

See, her boyfriend was a werewolf. Meaning that each time the moon was full, he’d usually spend the night wandering the woods behind their home. And each of those nights, except in winter, it was way too cold, Elide would stay up, reading on the porch. She loved it, loved seeing Lorcan running around in his animal form.

Smiling, Elide remembered the first full moon they’d spent together, when he had rescued her from her uncle. It wasn’t a happy memory per say, her uncle almost managing to kill her would never be fun, but it was the first time she felt that bond between her and the wolf. When he’d appeared out of nowhere to save her, instincts roaring, flashing his fangs.

Elide and Lorcan hadn’t left each other since. That was two years ago.

A nudge on her thigh made Elide come back to the present, and she giggled at seeing her boyfriend in his wolf form resting his head on her leg. She lightly scratched him between his eyes, and he closed them, enjoying the feeling. Elide let out a yawn, and Lorcan looked at her disapprovingly.

“Yeah yeah, I’m going to bed.” The woman reluctantly got up, kissing the wolf on top of his head.

The moment she opened the door, Lorcan was running inside, not stopping until he was standing on their bed.

“Babe I’ll be fine sleeping alone, don’t worry about it.”

The wolf didn’t seem to care, only getting off the bed to nudge Elide until she lay on it. Once the brunette was under the cover, he laid next to her, resting his head on her stomach. Even on full moon nights, Lorcan would rather be with her than howling at the moon.

Smiling, Elide stopped fighting the sleep slowly overtaking her, murmuring an “I love you” to her lover. She was barely awake to hear the small whine he let out, meaning “I love you too”.

[easkyrah]

Elorcan Werewolf Part 10

Are you ready? I’m not. [Unedited]

All my wolves, begin to howl Wake me up, the time is now Oh, can you hear the drumming? Oh, there's a revolution coming Elorcan Werewolf 10

She soared on wings of misery and ruin, every feather slicing slivers of sores and wrecking welts through her. Ripping pain rippled through her, muscles burning and tightening. Her skin had shed, her nails stretched, the very roots of her hair screaming in agony. A rattling vigorously shook within her, bones bending and lungs lifting. Her spine arched, with her nostrils flaring. Hair prickled across her skin, acidic akin feelings coursing through every inch of her screaming pores. Saliva bubbled in her throat and a dryness coated across her tongue. After the flame came the ashes, where the the mind slaved down memory lane: roaming and raging with flashes of sickened smiles and the whistling whip raining over her, pale skin blemished with purple and red hues, salty and thin liquid warming the stones. Afar she watched the strippings and the beatings, the ghost of the red and the pain a figment of reality that no longer her drilling appeals of feebleness. The phantom face of the predator in victory and ruined triumph leered down on her. It was neither hot nor cold. It was all nothing. And dark, and more dark. It was another cell, a transformation from a weak, ruined flesh to hardened, strengthened possessions. She distantly was aware of the shivering wracking her skin, but the cold cell had been far worse, a numbing to the perspective of an outsider welcoming the pain, and relishing in the wrongs of the singular and surroundings. A part of her swayed to an unsung melody, trapped within the bleeding ears and scarred tongue, scratches and screaming echoing through her head and bouncing around her walls. Her head throbbed and swabs of cotton smothered her vast space and thoughts of process. It was cold. The loneliness had left her for the embrace in pain’s open arms. The itch at the back of her mind eased as the darkness swept in, consuming every crevice and corner, calming the chaotic condensations once crammed down her throat. A bubbling sensation rose up, smothering down her body, lying still in a seemingly blackened alley where the crickets no longer chirped and the roaches had long deceased. Pacifism arose with those lying words of calm and soothings, for she was not alright, and had not been. Distorted images and mangled bone rose within her vision, and she could see the image of a trembling girl huddling in a damp corner, tears coating a grime-caked face with equally dirtied and bloodied skin, crimson liquid bathing her skin, sticking to her tongue, and filling her nose. Scars decorated her, blood crowning her black burnt strands. Smoke and ashes filled her insides, slithering into her veins.   There had been the warm, tepid hands of longing and hope, shattered by the epiphany of what came after pain, numbness. A string of stress snapped within her,  a balloon of remembrance sleazing a decrement of undulated joy and innocence. Her lungs opened and filled with a vast broad suck of air, and Elide Lochan exhaled, breaking from her cell.

Lorcan laid his mate in the center of the dark cave, running a hand over her burning forehead, leaving traces of red welts over his palm. He hadn’t expected the circumstances to trigger whatever hidden Lycan gene within her to detonate, especially within the bounds of being able to finally hold her within his arms safely and securely. He would never let go. He was sure of it. A sob escaped Elide’s mouth, and her body lurched forward from her previously prone position. Lorcan immediately pressed wet towels against her burning body, and hissed when her temperature plunged into dangerous, icy textures, mist escaping her breath. A damned old Lycan, and through his entire life span, he hadn’t seen a transformation like this. He could not fathom why fate or the moon goddess would pair him with a beautifully and tragically broken creature who would suit another male of purity and trueness, but he supposed that Elide had enough with attempting to be molded into a higher figure as a priestess with inked and poison insides. He murmured his mate’s name soothingly as he rocked her in his arms, and whispered his assurances into her ear, her skin already hardened and smooth from the beginning stages. In certain intervals of seizures, her eyelids would flare open, dark, onyx pupils glistening in true, speckled darkness even the cave could not swallow. The final stages of the process had come, the coldness shattering into the shedding of wrinkled, outgrown exteriors to sleek skin, and muscular limbs. Lorcan studied his mate’s even breathing, and gently wrapped himself around her, stroking her hair. All the troubles for her to live immortal along him, to see the world through a deeper, more powerful eye’s of restrained responsibility and flying faults, would mean tethers to the true. To have another soul to care for didn’t seem the burden’s weight when the very fabric of mates meant equality and sharing, a bond of the better. Elide’s eyes darkened into pure obsidian, and her spine snapped straight, a sharp gasp of breath wrenching itself from her mouth. A rasp of sound crackled through the dampened darkness, and Lorcan gently poured a little stream of water into her mouth, allowing her to swallow. His body lit afire, his mate’s perfectly situated with him, both tragically broken. A rumble of possessiveness shook his body. Her wet hair, curling into thin curls and loops, slicked back against her forehead and plastered against her pale skin. Cold hands wrapped around the nape of his neck, and erratic breaths burst from her, chest heaving deeply. A roaring sensation fired from some hidden depths within, matching the turmoil colliding within his own mate’s eyes, filled with a blankness that sends him reeling over. “Elide,” he whispered, and leaned his nose against her forehead. The hands slid down his neck and across his chest and right over his beating heart, thrumming just for her. A phantom of a breath ghosted over his skin, and a tremble ran through him, in forever peace and contentment within the splits of a second. Fingers reached up to cup his chin, and dark lashes blinked up at him. “Lorcan,” Elide Lochan answered, and the edges of her lips curled up, revealing white, canine teeth. A dark, questioning look flickered across her features, a spell of quick agony. By the dilation of those hardened eyes from the once-softness, and the tang of fear and anger spiraling through the air, Lorcan knew that his mate craved a revenge full of vengeance so deep that the ocean itself would be envious. He could not rightly offer he what she wanted now so he endowed her with what she needed; not of the bloodshed to beckon her away from the abyss of numbness but another stolen piece from her scratched and strung tapestry of life. The pads of his thumbs brushed over her cheekbones down under the curve of her jaw, cupping her neck and smoothing one shoulder; pulling his mate in, Lorcan kissed her deeply. Elide responded instantly, her teeth nipping over his parted lips, and wrapping her own hands behind his neck, viciously pouncing on top of him, his back kissing the cold, hard ground. Her body was warm, and suddenly the cave seemed full of the hidden potential that had coasted over his own ground, soiled and covered with dirt. His Lycan within him responded to the roaring in his female’s, and his nerves set afire with each stroke of her hand that set him into a frenzy of no return past deep despair. Her skin touched his, her full breasts pressing against his chest, pale and porcelain legs wrapped sinfully around his waist. She gasped as he sucked on her neck, the sound full of rich forbiddenness, sending him close to free ferality. “My mate,” she whispered, and leaned her head back, exposing her neck to him. “Mine,” he growled, and stared into those onyx eyes, waiting for that permission to confirm past the disaster that had dented their destiny, waiting for that spark of what should have been theirs since the beginning, waiting for step towards surety and security. She merely cupped his chin, forcing him to stare at her, not quite consenting. “Do you love me for who I am or for what I do to you?” “You are referring to the mating bond?” “What else?” she said, almost bitterly. Dark eyes narrowed. “I do not need the mating bond to fall in love with you, Elide Lochan.” He could see the doubt in her darkened eyes, and the slight chill coursing through her. Lorcan held her tighter, and buried his nose within her damp hair, cradling her stiff and new body, one with unbridled potential and higher capacity. His Lycan side growled, needing to assuage his mate’s concerns and fears, and Lorcan abided. “I do not need the mating bond to see how the light catches against your hair,” he murmured, brushing her hair from her forehead. “Nor how you twist the strands when you’re nervous or thinking, a quiet foreboding. How you lick those fingers before turning a page or to remember the taste of what you last ate. How you believe yourself inferior when you have surpassed the limitations of your expectations. How you cross my mind, as if I can see the magic in the world, as if “I’d been searching for you all my life, a lost soul without an anchor. I have made a plethora of mistakes in the entirety of my life, but if each of this missteps would have let me to you in the end, I would commit each single atrocity again. If every inch of darkness and insanity was so that I could have you, then I forgive the cursed fates. I had never planned on falling love, much less with another person, didn’t think it was possible, much less it possible to love someone so much with all of me. I barely held control and focus, but with you, it’s not about these things. It’s about honor and cherishment, about you, Elide Lochan. “The darkness lived and lives through me; it simply does not live around me. So when you cannot see the light, I will sit with you through the darkness. I look at you and the twisted things that have come between us, and I know that I will choose you in the next life, in the next realm, in this life, through death, through whatever shape or form, to whatever face of shadow will appear. I broke and will break my rules, my mind, myself, just for you, just to see you hum to yourself as you continue in your beautiful, complex symphony, a passerby such as myself forever granted the pleasure of hearing. “I do not care if we are not soul mates because I had never believed in the concept of love, nor bothered to listen to its proof of existence, not when fear would win out in the end. But I fear for my love of you, and I fear for myself for what ends I would do for you. At your beck and call, I do not know what bounds or limits what I could do and destroy for you. In the middle of the chaos and lunacy, you were there, with my heart, and I’d let you keep it for the eternity. With you, I can breathe a little bit more, and fill the dead skin and smothering ashes sweep away, filled with a sound melody, one that will reverberate for as long as your heart beats. “If I could turn back the clock to be the male you deserve, I would do so in a heartbeat. For you deserve every twinkle in the stars that lights up the night and the rays of the sun in coldness. No longer do I think I deserve nothing but stark bareness for my brokenness, but one who craves so deeply for more and seen too much that perfect shards would not be enough. You need to paint, Elide, and need to unleash your emotions jailed, and I will be your palette should the need arise. I have conquered and silenced but never have I loved, and now, I think that I can finally do such a thing. Everything I have not done, I want to do with you. With you, and only you. It’s always you, Elide Lochan.” Elide stilled, pressing her cheek against the top of his chest. “You—” Lorcan brushed a knuckle under her chin. “—I could not learn about my mate as a human, so I chose my weakened wolf form to present to you.” “Lory,” Elide murmured, her lashes fluttering, inevitably floored. His inner Lycan twitched, and he pressed himself harder against her, needing more than their touches, needing to fulfill that animalistic need driving him for completion. For awhile, simple silence filled the cavern, a blanket of the inked dark providing solemn, sincere need of time as a sponge to soak in the words and occurrences of the chaotic, distorted past. But the present was a gift for aknew. A laugh slipped past Elide’s lips, and his mate smiled knowingly at that tent in his pants, screaming for her, ready for her, slaving to her. Elide bared her neck wider. “You are mine, Lorcan Salvaterre, and I will fight for you.” Trust and certainty bound between those eyes. Lorcan brushed his nose over hers, and a deep rumbling resounded from within his chest, a noise that had been locked and swept along with the ashes of unspent time and burning emotions. Baring his fangs and revealing the aura of his true other side, unhinged, Elide leaned forward, waves of longing from what time and distance had built between them. Lorcan bit down, and watched Elide’s eyes flutter open and close, a murmur of content escaping her mouth and her skin shuddering with pleasure. Her lidded eyes gazed into his, a smile smoothing across her features. When his fangs retracted, his tongue licked the blood pooling across her collarbone, his mate’s breathing uneven and ragged, her body ready for what followed next. The scent of need and hormones permeated the air thickly. But Lorcan could not give that to her, not when they needed to seek cements of closure from the cowardly confronted. So he pulled his mate into for another kiss, one which their their inner wolves howled together in synchrony, a stimulation ceases his current worries and fears, save for the warm body in his arms. When they pulled apart, both mouths dripped with blood and sores, Elide ran a tongue over her ripped lips, and gave him a wicked smile. The scent of mixed arousal pierced through the cave, flowering in the darkness, matching their smoldered songs of suppression and satisfaction. Lorcan’s hands ran over her thighs and skin, not to claim, but to heal, kneading those tight, new muscles that would need to be broken in. Tomorrow they would face the new freshness of the world together, hand in hand. So he said, “Sleep,” and curled her body against his own, molding their flesh together and against one another. Elide reached out to grasp Lorcan’s hand through the darkness, resting her head along his torso. “Goodnight,” she whispered, voice muffled. Elide could almost feel the other Lycan male’s smile warming her skin, a rarity at odds against all. “Goodnight,” Lorcan rasped back. “Elide Lochan.” “My mate,” Elide whispered, and allowed the dark oblivion to wash over her, carrying her further with an anchor into the abyss. No longer was she only human, a simple, disposable gem in this dim world, but a larger player, one with cards to hold and discard, with a lover at her side, one to fit her perfectly, one she’d love forever, through everything.

Elide awoke to warmth, her body tucked within another’s. As soon as she stirred, the male holding her gripped her hips, and a satisfied growl rumbled deep from his chest. She traced her hands across his chest, and closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead, stealing another one from her lips. Tracing her fingers along his lips as they parted, she could feel them curving up into a feral grin. “A run?” her mate proposed, and her body surged with power at the request. She didn’t respond, and instead channeled in the raw depths of power and dominance within her. Elide closed her eyes and focused on her inner Lycan, the unknown beast within her that had slumbered for years in silence. Feeling her bones crack and rattle, her teeth shifted and hands grew, paws hitting the floor, her tail wagging. By the time her nose sniffed the air, the scent of humanity had no longer reeked within the cave, the other in front of her radiating the typical-Lycan authority. Her mate took off and out from the cave, Elide surging forward behind him. The hints of light peeking through the demented trees drooping over with hanging branches and sickly yellow leaves dripping thick, orange meshes. Their bodies wove through the firm trunks with white claw marks and deep indents, stale, brown blood caking the curves. Stalks of yellowish grains spurted from the left fields, the tips dotted with crimsons colors. Their wolves streaked by, and Elide pushed her legs faster and faster, feeling the wind tearing at her face and her lungs opening and expanding, the infinity of forever within unleashed within the trapped seconds of a limited body. This was freedom. She hadn’t been a believer in hope, that sliver of beautiful shreds ripped within her and howling to another wolf. She didn’t need hope when her true passions blazed from the wrongs and flaws hampering her true state. She couldn’t be restrained, not in this body, nor in the next. She had been scared of her future from her past, but she swore to herself no more. As they raced through the forest, the trees grew straighter and taller, the air crisper and fresher, no longer stale stenches of the rotted filling her nostrils. Rich green flashed across her vision, an array of colorful, vibrant hues rising from the soiled Earth, full of the minerals and sprinkles of waters. The sunlight glared down harsher, and no longer did the shadows loom over in hulking forms, cowering the damp dirt. The first willing surrender came with chasing her mate, allowing him to hold her heart. She lost track of time, allowing the figment of that necessity to slip from her mind. She followed her mate, with her giving trust, the last piece of what remained from her fractured heart. She nipped at his paws when he slowed down, and eventually took the lead, leaping over fallen logs. They raced further and further in the morning until her tongue lolled out, and Lorcan slowed down to a trot, leading her to a crystalline river. He nudged her to the edge of water, licking the tip of her ear. Pushing her forward from her behind, her mate eagerly walked them down the bank. Elide’s snout reached down to lap up the water, but stopped at her reflection. No longer did white-fur coat her, but midnight dark streaks to match her mate’s fur. Darkness. Elide’s ears twitched, and Lorcan stalked next to her, rubbing his snout affectionately against hers. Elide can only stare at her reflection, at the darkness, and the pitch-black coat that she now owned. A tiny part of her shivered, and wondered what her once-jailed would have thought, at the winning inklings that he’d left in memory, perhaps even a victory. Her uncle had molded her so that staring at any reflection had her turning away, scared of her own ruined image full of tears and washed dreams. He’d seen her heart as a piece of plastic, his own mind a red-hot brand, hands his hammer to pound with pain. The salted liquid brimming on her eyes had held no value, full of empty emotion, a natural response from her body, damaged and depressed. The cold cell had been a war with herself, a pity for her own weakness and feebleness, for her foolishness in believing for much more. It had been a cry for wonder, her own pity party in the trapped and isolation. The only beginnings had been the flames in the night of broken memories and crooked laughters. And now, this river, with the sun beating down on her, filling her with unwanted need that a past shape of her would have needed awhile ago. Pure, undulated light. Light that could not outshine the dark hole inside of her. She could feel a calling to fulfill the need in wrecking pain against her uncle, and having bloodshed run along with her bloodlust. It was an animalistic, acute sense that had her almost on her knees, but her mate was next to her, holding her, a pillar of solidity. The fact that her pelt had transformed into rich tufts of dark fur to match the midnight quality of her mate’s had her mate often licking her coat, and content rumblings emerging from his throat. Their wolves had gotten to acquainted with one another too well, and too much. Most hunts ended up in playful banter between the them, rolling on top of another, the male allowing his female to yip her victorious by pawing him on the ground. After drinking their fill of water, two dark, ethereal shapes raced through slanted and crooked trees, the onyx eyes the predator and feared as creatures of the night and strays of the moon, bent on their own love and no other facets wedged between or among them. No longer did she have to hide the things she hadn’t like about herself, flaws or facts in the hands of vices clamping hard around her. She had freedom and fullness, no longer a mangled ankle, where she could howl and push her legs faster and further as one with the wind, the whispers of might and glory at her heels, her mate racing right next to her, sheer power and strength exuding from him. The first kill had been a bear, to which they’d taken down easily that Elide gained a grasp of her own power. The male bear had not withstood a chance against the two hungry Lycans, Elide ripping chunks of his hide, her maw drenched with the warm blood oozing out. Lorcan had scratched the bear’s face, and easily clawed an ear off, slamming his body into the bear’s side, sending their prey into a tree, which promptly collapsed. Lorcan had dipped his head at her, allowing her to take the first bite. After digging past the ribcage and licking the bone clean, she’d allowed her mate to finish devouring the other meat from the liver and stomach. Leaving the carcass in the burning sun, they’d returned to the lake afterwards to clean the blood off their faces. She lapped from a lake greedily, ignoring the sense to reach out to her past Alpha and Beta, and nudged her mate’s proud head towards the water. Lorcan had taken in the habit of standing guard whenever she ate or drank, but all she wanted was her mate to eat with her, two forces of nature sharing a meal together. She slowly lost herself with her mate, to the wildness and its call, while the itching for revenge grew at the back of her mind. By the time the sun set, and the shadows loomed, preaching the misfit and the outcast, Elide had nudged her mate’s head. Lorcan responded by licking her mated mark, sending sensual thrills over her body, tail wagging furiously. The floating feelings of ecstasy ended as the loneliness diminished, the rage filling her, claws digging into the soil. Lorcan brushed himself over her, intertwining their scents, a question in his eyes. She swallowed, and twitched her eyes, pawing the ground. Reality would sink in one way or another, and it seemed it would always harbor anguish. Tugging on that firm thread between them, Elide allowed her mind to coast and seep over the sanctuary between them, shattering them with her syllables. Where is Vernon? Lorcan’s tail stopped wagging, and his snout touched her nose. After silence reigned over them for awhile, Elide reared back and shot off into the distance. If her mate would not give her the answer, then she knew someone else who would willing. Following that thin thread of connection to former warmth, she touched the link between her old pack, feeling the storm of voices and waves of shouting. She could feel Lorcan at the back of her mind, growling, but the itch grew more pronounced. Focusing on that past link, she channeled into the Fireheart Pack, feeling the soothing remembrance of belonging on some interval. Aelin’s link soared over her first, sending her a set of coordinates that Elide followed easily, weaving through the trees and jumping over rivers, knowing that her mate would be on her tail despite all odds. Manon’s voice easily boomed over the little murmuring in her mind, demanding how she’d survived the shift, if she’d been marked and mated, if she was fine. Elide didn’t know what fine was, but merely repeated her previous question. She’d be fine once the scratch within her went away. Aelin hadn’t responded, and Elide could imagine her musing over the consequences of telling her, while she sprinted towards them, pushing her new body faster and harder. Manon didn’t wait. Locked in the middle of a human city Las Vegas in human form so no wolf can get to him. Council banned any werewolf in any form from entering. Elide nearly tripped over a dip in the ground, but continued to leap forward and run and run and run. Then I cannot get to him? He’d gotten to her, wormed his way into her, darkened her, hurt her, broke her. Not without breaking Council rules, Aelin piped in. There is a death penalty, Elide. Come home. Elide abruptly swerved to the side, and shut down the link of her past, before leaving her farewell. A death penalty would not serve when there were worse things than death, a figment of this reality she no longer feared. Home was no longer with the Fireheart Pack when she was destined to rule to Perranth Pack, buried under the disgust and falsities of the Morath Pack. She deserved her empire and her people, one where her Alpha blood reigned, now mixed with Lycan genes. Her home was herself. She owned herself to her mate, another creature of the night and wind and darkness, and her broken mind and shattered heart. Closure seemed a distant concept with seeping ailments howling within her. She would no longer be feared. How could she settle for less when she’d been given none in return, given a body as more? Lorcan had feared for the depths for her, his love for her, and now Elide only feared what she would do when she saw her uncle. She left her scent through the forest as she broke out into the clearing, allowing whispers of her to trail behind for her mate. Pushing her legs faster, her paws pounding against the Earth, Elide ran, her lungs capable of more, her muscles able to absorb more, and her heart ready to devour. She crossed borders after borders, a set destination carving in her mind, to quell that urge for more.

Elide’s scent had ended past a run-down railroad, his own wolf growling and snarling in frustration. She’d blocked her own link to him, shutting down a window on her mental side, leaving traces of bitterness. Shifting and showering his own dark residency in the castle, Lorcan headed towards the Fireheart Pack. Rowan, to his credit, didn’t speak a word as his hooded face stalked into the Pack House and slammed the door shut. An arm was wrapped around his mate, Aelin, and across the table sat an empty chair where the half-Lycan should have been. The lack of activity when he had passed border lands sent him on edge more than usual, and by the blank faces staring at him, numbness had settled in. Lorcan slammed a fist on the table, staring at the thick wad of papers sent from the Council. Across in bold were the consequences if any wolf in any form dared to set foot or paw into Las Vegas without authority. Rowan nodded, hearing his linked question. “It’s where Elide went.” He let out a growl, anger rushing through him. “Do you know what you’ve done?” Sometimes secrets were for the better good, for the sake of sanity, one lesson he’d learned over time. Information was too gold, too heavy, and too greedy for those whether unwilling or drowning. Aelin sat higher in her seat, and pressed her palms against the table. “Manon told Elide, and is tracking her down currently. You can’t cage someone again when she’s been locked up for too long.” “And if your Beta fails?” Lorcan hissed, and Rowan leaned forward, his natural instincts to protect his mate. But at least the Lycan Prince had his mate near him, while his own was a shattered mosaic of wear and tear. Rowan ran a thumb over Aelin’s arm. “Then the Council will issue a death warrant.” Lorcan stared at them dully. “Everyone has their secrets, some more deadly than the rest. But my mate held the most dangerous. She harbored her Lycan side in.” The monster had thrashed within her, claiming divine retribution. Lorcan allowed himself a brief second to close his eyes, at the wrenching and snaring tugs at his heart. Without his last shred of fulfillment, he had lived without honor, but to live without experiencing the brighter spectrum to only listlessly carry on with the dulled cowardly and bloodied halves had already ingrained into his mind. His duty had shifted from the killing fields to defend and cherish another soul, a match for his. “She’ll be fine,” Aelin whispered, flatly staring at the stack of papers with vivid contempt. “She lived in Morath all her childhood.” “So Elide’s been through worse,” Rowan clarified. “You have a strong mate, Lorcan.” But even the strongest fell, and Lorcan feared that for once, this concept of more, of hope and love, would not be enough. He tore off into the fading sunlight, his clothes tearing and body shifting into solid muscle and full wolf, a deep howl full of pain and sorrow erupting from his throat, a sound that no other echo would capture, and no other wolf could vocalize in the forbidden night. For Lorcan would reclaim what owned his heart and keep hers beating. He promised her as much. He flew across borders and pushed his body to the limits, all for her, all to have her, all to live for her. 

Aelin cradled the picture frame, tracing a finger over the young dark-haired female in the middle, Rowan’s arms wrapped around her waist. Three women had stood proudly in the picture as the sun’s rays had casted over their tanned bodies, their toes curled from the wet sand and waves lapping at their ankles. Aelin had taken Elide’s right, her hair seemingly catching on fire at the angle, Manon the pillar of ice and height on Elide’s left; Elide had smiled gently into the camera without Aelin’s own signature smirk of wildness or Manon’s sneer of ferocity. She had been their rock, their gentle tide, their voice of calm reason against all raging reasons. It seemed the fates were bent on disorder and chaos from false notions of tranquility. “She’ll be alright,” her mate murmured, staring at her instead, offering his warmth. Rowan slid the frame from her hands and guided her to the bedroom. “I’m afraid,” Aelin murmured. “That in the dark she chose herself because we all fully refused to give to her. Her pack, her freedom, her strength. She’s been so cooped up for so long, I’m afraid what the oppression has molded into Elide’s heart.” Rowan leaned down into her. “Elide is not evil, Aelin. She will come home.” “The problem is, Rowan, where exactly her home?” Elide was heir to the Perranth Pack, an Alpha in her own rights. She’d been a second Pack Doctor within the Fireheart, and could now have a place in the Lycan’s royal palace as a mate to one. Aelin didn’t even know where her future laid with the Prince of Lycans, one where she was a simple female Alpha, one with a dirty past no clean palace could harbor. She’d killed many, had many blood and lines on her hands, and played dirty. By no means was she ready to take up the Princess title. “You do not think she will return to your pack,” Rowan mused, brushing a hand over her neck where her mated mark would have shown. He’d been surprisingly patient with his feral dominance to take things slow. He hadn’t displayed the typical possessive behavior in vying to mark his mate that every male inherently held. “I do not think Lorcan will return to your Pack.” Aelin shrugged off her leather gears, noting the scorching gaze Rowan shamelessly directed towards her. He shucked off his own clothes, pulling off his boots, and headed to the washroom. She could imagine two Lycans on solid, ivory thrones, heading the Perranth Pack. A new type of signal in a new world with darkness and lightness colliding like never before. A force Elide and Lorcan would hold as two blooded Lycans, mated to one another. A new empire forged from the darkness into the light, one with scores to settle. Lest her own Pack fall apart, her Beta was missing, Manon radiating another ancient power of her own, her authority matching that of an Alpha and strength comparable to the Lycans. Their functionality seemed to end as time poured over. Sense evaded her. Rowan tucked her under his chin, his naked torso slightly wet, steam escaping from the washroom door. “Elide and Lorcan have each other.” Aelin blew out a breath. “They will reinstate the Perranth Pack. If the Council does not demand their deaths first.” If not— She felt rather than saw Rowan’s wolf rear at the thought of the blood and deaths that would be shed, and Aelin’s own skin matched his shiver. A dark dawn was emerging, one that time had cultivated, and it seemed like the fire would not be able to out shine the shadows. Ashes had scattered too far. Sleep did not find her, a restless itch at the back of her mind. Even her mate’s presence was not enough. Even the chocolate gifts he’d bestowed on her no longer tasted sweet in her mouth, sourness gathering at her teeth. When the clock strummed twelve midnight, a beeping emission rose from her office computer. Aelin blandly arose from her mate’s embrace, and sleepily headed towards her device, scanning an email from an unknown address. Frowning, she dragged her tongue over her bottom lip, doubling clicking the link. Her eyes skimmed over the package, and her cursor hit start, she listlessly stood up, and cast one look at her mate, the Prince of the Lycans. Her focus returned back to the video. A gown had swished around the Princess of Lycan’s hips, her cunning eyes taking in the male in front of her. Minutes later, the beautiful fabric had been ripped and discarded, skin on skin. Rowan and Remelle had been more than acquaintances, and it seemed like the Lycan princess’s claims of lovers had been more fact that false. Aelin didn’t bother to mute the moans from the video and the flashes of naked skin that sent her inner wolf reeling. From shock and disgust. What we did meant nothing, her mate had said. But by the mated mark on Remelle’s neck, his words had meant otherwise. And would explain why he felt less of a tug and shift towards to her, not matter fate’s plans in destiny. You are mine, Prince, Remelle had smiled, moments before Aelin had once upon a time entered the castle for Elide to confront Lorcan, before all pain and chaos had broken, before she had allowed Rowan to court her. I am yours, her mate had said, holding Remelle in his large arms, embracing the Princess. For she had come too late. For timing had been everything, a facet of life destiny had not granted her. She was as good as rejected, and without her mate, her pack would not fully function. And her pack came first. Aelin stormed out of the Pack House, masking her scent, and shifted, damning the Council, and shifted into her blood-red wolf, sprinting off into the night. She had enough of games, and without her rock here, bloodlust was calling.

Manon tore through the forest and past the streets, a blur from the cars and trunks, the buzzing and honking, the shiny lights and cursed mumbles streaming past her ears. Once the sights of the looming, towering structures came in sight, she quickly shifted, and stalked through the night, cracking camera screens before glimpsing the dangerous, seething woman. Sliding through thin doors, she picked a set of clothes from the racks, flipping a black hood over her white-hair. Filling the pockets with the familiar curve of blades, Manon strode into the human-filled streets. It was a filthy, ugly disgrace here, where innocence bled and corruption ruled. The disgusting cards littering the cracked streets and whistling catcalls had her gripping her blade at her waist. Walking up the steps to the Caesar's Palace, Manon could feel the eyes boring into the back of her head, and the thumping of other foreign heartbeats. She could not stop Elide from her mandate, but she could complete it for her, lest she suffer from death, live without experiencing the joy of having a mate and belonging in unity. Manon moved behind a pillar before an arrow drove through her spine and out her heart. She barely had time to dart away before the pillar collapsed and the human screams erupted. “You are not welcome here,” a voice hissed, a slight rasp and undercurrent lying beneath the syllables. Manon drew out Wind Cleaver, her eyes adjusting to the smoke billowing in the hallway. She swore as the marbled statues glowed and shuddered to life, moving towards her. The water from the fountains rose to the air and slammed against the ground, rushing towards her. Magic. Her lips thinned, and she rolled underneath the first lash of a fist aimed at her head. She hauled herself onto the higher beams, and dodged the first strike of the Poseidon statue, slicing off the trident. When the chariot flew through the air, the water flooding the entire floor, Manon dove, and swam deeper into the hotel. Rivulets of stream wrapped around her ankles and tossed her back to the entrance, the back of her head hitting the wall. Gritting her teeth, Manon ducked as a wheel from the chariot flew right above her head. Her nails dragged along an outlet, and with a wince, she clawed at the walls, climbing higher. When the next stature flew towards her, Manon loosed a dagger at one of the columns, the marble collapsing on top of the magiced solid. Panting, she hauled herself into an alcove, and grasped blindly at the stones embedded in the walls. She jerked her body to the side as a hammer grazed the edge of sweatshirt. Finding the Lycan stone, she twisted hard on it, and when it didn’t budge, she drove Wind Cleaver through the middle, and the entire building shook in response. Turning around, she flashed her blade in front of her, watching the statues crumble into dust, and the water drain beneath the tiles. Dropping onto the ground, she continued deeper into the hotel, scenting the darkness and wretched scent of twist distorment. The next hall shuddered, and the ground shifted within her, tossing her body to the side. Darting up the middle stairs, Manon slashed Wind Cleaver through the incoming volley of arrows. One arrow exploded in front of her, and while Manon had seen many explosions in her life, she didn’t think she’d seen one where the flumes aimed straight up her nose and mouth. Snarling, she pressed her blades against her face, and muttered an archaic Crochan command, spoken from eons ago. Wind Cleaver flashed out, forming a mask around her face, thinning out to a veil around her eyes. Then she darted behind a curtain, ready to jump out the window if the attack continued. It did. A large spear shot above the curtain, crumbling the entire mainframe of gems and sparkling hues. Manon swung herself back into the staircase, her exit now blocked. She palmed two daggers, and then dashed down the main hall. Two knights standing against the wall shuddered to life and groaned, their helmets turning into her direction. The Council must have hired experienced witches to fortify the entire hotel with magic. It was too bad she was half-witch. Manon ducked and danced between the two knights, dodging each blow. When the last sword embedded itself into the wall and the other knight dug his lance out of his foot, she launched herself in between, and stabbed both her daggers through the would-be hearts, disconnecting the magical chain. The armor clattered to the floor, and she dusted off one metal hand clinging to her elbow. Sheathing her daggers, Wind Cleaver peeled off her face, and landed comfortably back into her palm. Manon slashed the blade through the cracks of the grand hall door, and then yanked the doors open with a crash, tasting the blood slipping out her scratched lip. Wind Cleaver nearly dropped out her hand as she leapt forward with a no, her face straining. For she had been simply too late.

“Well, well,” the face of her nightmares chuckled in front of her. “Have you come to finish me off at last, my dear niece?” Elide smiled at him, a curl of lip full with ice. “I don’t need to kill you when you’ve been dead for some time.” She stalked in front of the silver-chained monster. “But I suppose death would be a nice touch.” Especially if she were to break Council laws. “You touch me, you cannot touch your Alpha title as Perranth.” Dark shadows had blossomed under his eyes, and his body had thinned considerably, skin faded into gray, feeble meshes. His teeth cracked at the edges from grinding his jaws harshly together, and his nails were shredded. All the lies and tells in her life...maybe one day she’d have all the pieces. But maybe it was better she be reckoned as shattered and broken. Elide hefted a chain in her hands, her heart thrumming. “Look familiar?” she cooed, and swam in the despair and fear in her uncle’s eyes. She had drowned in those emotions a long, long time ago. The chain jerked around his neck, the shackles at Vernon’s wrists and ankles and waist screaming against his scarred flesh, burning from the metal. His neck snapped to the side, his eyes unfocused but glazed over in determination. She’d burned for so long that the sight did not an ounce of satisfaction to her. Elide stepped forward, and the balcony window shattered. A sigh of relief bubbled from the Vernon’s rasped throat, but quickly dissipated into a squelch of agony as a hatchet whistled through the air and pierced across his ankle, destroyed the chain and the flesh underneath. A howl of anguish shook the Alpha’s body, but he continued smiling. For he had believed crafted the perfect monster and carved a hole into society, a shard in the masterpiece of society. His legacy, his faults, his nightmares. A reality. Little did he know that he hadn’t destroyed her. She had destroyed herself. He had willingly retreated into the abyss of dark and ink. Elide tightened the chain, and waited for the newcomer to reach her. Warm hands wrapped around Elide’s waist, and her mate kissed the base of her throat. The ground beneath them shook. “Together,” Lorcan rumbled, and wrapped a hand around her wrist. Elide knew what her mate was offering. To end Vernon himself, to take the burden off of her. But this was what something that she needed to carry by herself. Shrugging off Lorcan’s hand, Elide offered her own smile at her Uncle, who shivered violently, teeth bared weakly. “I’ll see you in hell,” she said sweetly, and jerked the chain violently down, watching the neck snap completely. The doors burst open, and Lorcan arranged himself in a protective stance around her. Manon, looking as if she’d been dragged across the grave and back, hissed, her eyes purged into utter block. A single no hissed out of her mouth, and Elide felt the thin thread bound to the Council snap, and a fallen order blanket across her mind. A death sentence. Issued and ordered. The hotel floor shook again, and Elide braced herself for the consequence. Manon slammed the door shut, and stalked towards her, not sparing Lorcan a second glance. Blood dripped from her sides, black sweatshirt torn and ragged. Her past Beta dipped her head and gripped Wind Cleaver solemnly. “I stand with you.” She bared her teeth, and nodded towards Elide’s mate, just as the balcony drapes flung apart, and the white uniforms of the Council guards flew in, wolves of order leaping from behind. The South wall shuddered and collapsed, fire ringing out and bursting into flames around them. Lorcan pinned her to the floor as a burst of flame brought it down. An Enforcer flung a sword towards them, aim at Lorcan’s exposed back, but a wolf leapt through the fallen wall, a red pelt slicked with flames flying through the air, and taking the weapon. Aelin Galathynius slammed into the floor, the sword sticking from her back, blood swirling with the flames around her. Her wolf shuddered and stilled. Elide roared and tossed Lorcan’s weight of tons off of her and ran towards her fallen friend, the echoing howl of Manon’s having the tiles shake. The tide of Enforcer did not stop, but Lorcan flung his dark magic forward, sending the first wave of wolves out the window. Darkness swept across Elide’s eyes as she nosed her previous Alpha’s body. She watched the flames surrounding them wink out. She felt the Alpha of the Fireheart’s pack fur turn to ice. Decaying. Elide howled, and Lorcan roared his own, Manon’s screeching nails tearing across bodies after the next. The doors from the upper floor cracked open, and Elide’s heart soared as she saw members of the Fireheart stream in, wolves of all colors with snapping teeth. The floor became a battleground for unseen justice and stringent consequences. The Fireheart Pack had openly issued their statement in disloyalty as rebels and resisted the Council’s orders by heeding their Alpha’s call. As Elide launched herself against the nearest guard, she knew the deaths would come. But she welcomed it. For once.

Lorcan ripped off the pelt of the nearest enforcer, and kept an eye on his mate, whose claws had dug into a guard’s eye. After the wolf laid dead as his feet, he raced towards her, hauling the bleeding enemy off her back, and tossing him into the rubble. His mate rubbed her maw against him, and together they leapt into the mess of hissing and tearing and howling. They killed every beating heart of human or animal in their way. She became the silencer and the executioner. He was death. She was desire. They slaughtered the Council guards and the Enforcers. Without a blink or thought. And together—together they could bring down kingdoms if they wanted to. In another realm or world. For their limits came as the Council themselves stormed in, and the floor levelled off, the ground shaking and infrastructure collapsing around them.

Rowan awoke to a cold bed, and felt frosted agony worm through his body. He tore through the Pack House in search for his mate, and found not one trace of another Pack member. Aelin had to have more logic than to dare step foot or paw into Las Vegas, but by the true absence, it only seemed plausible. He swore, and opened his mind link with Lorcan. Blocked out. Of course. Snarling, he shifted into his silver wolf and followed the Council orders to the edge of Nevada where the desert ran for miles. Uneasiness ran through him as he picked up speed. The sun baked his fur, but he continued to push. Riddled and bristling trepidation coasted over him, driving him over an edge. When his paws no longer hit grass and soil, churning over sand, his pace slowed down considerably, a sharp searing pain digging into his side. The Prince of Lycans howled as he felt wedge drive within him, pain flowering within him to unknown depths. From his peripheral vision, dread building within him, he mustered up his well and stalked to the camp where the flying white flags of the Council shone. The guards parted, and his wolf strode through the line, noting the scent and stench of metal and wolfsbane. As the line of guards ended, a white elder with wrinkly face came into sight, and Rowan halted. The King of the Wolves. Rowan dipped his wolf’s head, not meeting the golden-ringed eyes of the other Lycan. The final authority and the highest honor, King Erawan, wolf of the order. The full-blooded Lycan merely handed his scepter to a helper next to him, and maintained his posture. “As the Prince of Lycans, you are authorized to uphold the law,” the King droned, and parted to the left. Rowan’s heart broke at the sight. A red-ash wolf laid bloodied and broken along the sand, face caked with tears and grime. His mate. “Aelin Galathynius.” A pained look crossed over Rowan Whitethorn’s face. The King nodded, a sneer on his face. “She has broken Council law and is sentenced to die. As Prince, you will set an example.” An example. That law was first. Over love, over morality, over need. The King beckoned a finger, and Rowan shifted, clothed in his royal garb. His Lycan within him howled in anger and fury, a turbulent storm raging within him. But the duty called. The first bond he had swore. His tongue filled with ash as the solemn words washed over him. One his animal side could not yet overcome. “Through my Lycan blood in me and through orders through the Council, you are condemned to execution for slaughtering and violence, death and destruction. Your disloyalty holds charges with the end.” Rowan felt his legs lurch forward, his wolf howling within him, a sound his mate did not echo. Betrayal ran in his mate’s eyes, deeper than the execution. Disappointment and sorrow. He knew the sight would haunt him for the rest of eternity. Another Hell on Earth. The King snapped his fingers, and the helper handed Rowan a dark blade, crested with obsidian gems on the hilt. He could feel the order pressing down in his mind, caging him. He lifted the blade. 

Aelin merely grinned at Rowan Whitethorn, still finding the strength within her failing lungs. He wasn’t on his knees grovelling, serving her, honoring her, cherishing her, protecting her. He wasn’t. Not when his mark laid on another’s neck. Not when a silver blade inked with darkness was directly over her. Not when the Council themselves had swarmed the hotel, and Remelle had triumphantly dragged her bleeding body across the city and into the desert where her veins had been ripped and displayed. Her Pack was in ruins, more than demolished. Only thirteen of her pack members had survived, and had fled with Manon—Aelin’s last order as Alpha. To survive and to remember. Aelin watched her mate take the dark blade from the King’s hands, and felt hatred boil up within her. Felt her inner wolf agree and hiss out, “I, Aelin Galathynius, reject you as my mate.” It would be easier this way, for the pain to fuel her, and for the pain for him to end her without rational thought. So that he could live with the burden that he had no control over his animalistic side, and lost his other half by priorities. That it wasn’t the sword of the King that ended the chance of more, but the emotions of the rage and embittered. She supposed this was her fate. To be stuck within that scale. And she did not stop her once-mate as the feral growl rippled through him and his bones shifted, a silver wolf leaping towards her, fury in those eyes. Aelin supposed she knew how Elide felt, how the physical pain of her skin being ripped apart and blood gushing out, pooling around her—it compared to nothing in the slightest to her heart breaking, not from the sheer force, but from her mind collapsing down on her and giving up, diving into that black abyss, and over the edge and into the what waited in the next life. “I hope Remelle is everything you wanted,” Aelin managed to whisper out as her spine cracked and her neck snapped. And she saw the darkness.

Lorcan stared at his mate, his love, his fate. “Elide,” he whispered. Elide blankly stared at him, a little trickle of blood running down her face. “Elide,” he repeated, his voice cracking between the syllables. Elide part her mouth. “Lorcan,” she murmured, and her hands fell limply to her side. “What have I done?” He swallowed harshly. Rid the threat before the threat rids us, as ordered by the King Erawan. Kill the girl. Pure ferality and unbridled bloodlust. His mate, his fate. The Council members closed within them, blank faces. Another cage, another cell. Lorcan felt his paws holding blood and sand, reeking of gore and flesh. Holding his and his mate’s defeat. It had not been enough. “I am sorry,” Lorcan whispered, despairingly. “Moon goddess forgive me.” For his first oath had drilled into his mind and wormed its way. The silver blade lurched forward, driving within his Elide Lochan’s ribcage, piercing through her hardened flesh and out her other end. The onyx eyes widened before her lids fluttered shut, and she croaked out his name thickly, her upper body collapsing on top of the blade. “Forgive me,” Lorcan said, and embraced her. Darkness and madness swept through him, a cord of sanity pulling into a reach beyond him. Her nest of hair fell across her face, and the salted stench of blood filled his nostrils again. He wrenched the blade out, and a silent scream stamped onto her face, pale features turning into whitened ash. “Forgiven,” Elide rasped out, and went limp, her eyes closing. For they had both sinned beautifully in the tragic world. Lorcan held his mate in his arms, and blankly stared at the silver sword tainted with crimson, staining the ground. He had promised to not let her go. Promises, his oaths, his only living shred of morality in this world. He would not let it slip from his fingers as further dishonored. Lorcan slowly reached down and wrapped the warm hilt around his roughened hand, his other wrapped around the drooped body, a sack of emptiness. Inhaling the fast fading scent of his source of elation one last time, Lorcan drove the blade inwards without a figment of restraint. The Council wolves stared blandly, empty holes drilled into their eyes. Two bodies collapsed onto the soiled ground, blood intertwining between them, tying them closer than ever before than in life, through the decay, and to death. Even his Lycan genes could not regenerate him fast enough, as the fast fading mated mark disappearing from Elide’s neck snapped his own tether to this world. For when his mate had been sentenced to die, so had he. She hadn’t needed a ring on her finger when he had claimed her, a claim that went into the next life and realm, a long, long dream of what could have once been and whispers of fantasy of might and true love, an easy conquerment to whistle through his heavens only to plunge into the depths of hell. For death had been their wedding with eternity.

Manon tossed away the flowers that littered the three graves she had built near the entrance of soom gloomy and haunted cave in the middle of a darkened forest.  Elide Lochan. Aelin Galanthysius. Lorcan Salvaterre. It would have been suicide to return back to Las Vegas where the Council awaited, with too much dark enhanced power and foreign allies. The Fireheart Pack remained in spirit, but the name was filled with too much raw memories. Settling her heart in steel, Manon headed into the wild, Alpha blood coursing through her veins. She’d rebuild up this pack, and forge them into their own masters, not weapons. And the dawn of the Crochan Pack arose, filled with thirteen beautifully broken members. Thirteen survivors with the blood bathing over their bodies and minds, sculpting their souls. She had revenge burning within her. In memory of her fellow wolves, the fallen who had fought against the stringent orders. And so the Crochan Pack sprinted into the distance, where they’d forge the next era.

Elide jerked up, panting, and stared at the darkness within the cave. Lorcan immediately sat up, and wrapped his arms around her, offering his warmth.

She yawned, and her mate yawned back. 

A run? Her mate proposed.

She didn’t respond, and instead channeled in the raw depths of power and dominance within her. Elide closed her eyes and focused on her inner Lycan, the unknown beast within her that had slumbered for years in silence. Feeling her bones crack and rattle, her teeth shifted and hands grew, paws hitting the floor, her tail wagging.

Elide waited for her mate to shift, watching the powerful muscles ripple through currents in the dark cave. When Lorcan finished shifting, her nudged her in concern. She moved against his pelt, shaking off the vivid images that had flashed across her head. Elide licked her mate’s ear affectionately, and wiggled her tail in anticipation.

Her mate took off and out of the cave, Elide surging forward behind him, into the breaking light of slanted rays, ignoring the murky and hidden feeling of deja vu running underneath her. 

FIN

[easkyrah]

Elorcan Werewolf AU part 9

“even a white rose 

has a black shadow”     

Elorcan Werewolf 9

Elide Lochan was locked in a cell, a chain latched firmly onto her ankles. Her shadow would bend and stretch to a dance of melancholy and insanity, dark dreams drenching her sleep. The cold would seep into her bones, every movement emitting a crack and the occasional snap. Purple crescents shaped under her eyes, her throat a rasp of what she once was.

Elide covered her ears as screeches filled the air—the rusted food tray sliding under the opposite side of the wall through a thin slat and grating against the splintered stones. Her spine remained curled as she slowly rocked into herself, the flurry of scratches scraping against her ears.

Elide slowly leaned forward, fingers reaching for the edge of the tray. Her hand wrapped around the cup of water, stale and murky. A noise of determination escaped her cracked throat as she pulled the cup to herself, her hands wobbling.

The cup spilled.

The fluid slithered through the cracks in the floor, weaving through the ground.

Elide pressed her cheek against the floor, the droplets caressing her face and nails caked with grime. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, allowing the water streaks to trickle into her mouth.

Elide laid there, loneliness wrapping around her like a blanket, laying there on the cold stones, chained, and waiting for time to drag on.

And on and on.

Her cell opened, the jarring sound rattling her into clearer conscience, and Vernon’s face peered down. Fear whipped through her.

Not again, she silently begged. A couple more seconds.

Her prayers went unanswered.

“Ready to try again?” he smirked, and jerked the chain out.

Her body dragged along the stones, and slumped against the base of the rocky stairs. She felt every crack along the ground cutting her spine and shredding her ears. The chain clattered to the floor, and a sharp kick to her side sent her to the first step at the base of the cave.

“You know what happens if you can’t make it,” he hissed, the stench of alcohol oozing from his breath.

Elide knew.

And Vernon knew too, a belt snugly fit into his hands, his black-collared shirt already unbuttoned.

“Climb,” he ordered.

And she did.

Up and up and up.

To the unreachable light. 

Elide could not breathe.

She could not think.

She could not focus.

She could only move — every whisper of movement laced with a burning sensation over her hands, knees, and feet to her very lungs.

Her eyes failed her long ago, the tiny slivers of sunlight a shrapnel scraping into her irises. Even with her lids closed, fractures of brightness invaded, too much light for a too long stay stay in the darkness — in hell.

Her hands scraped over stones, scars scratching open. So much blood had spilled and bathed over her body that she could taste the crimson, salted liquid in her tongue.

She didn’t have the energy to spit it out.

Not when her body would seize her with huge wracking spells; her throat closed up and she coughed on her own blood. Her lungs burned, her throat wheezing to a cacophony.

The climb reduced her to submit fully to her knees and hands, a wounded and shattered animal in human form with nothing but the raw emotions of enmity — except no longer did her instincts sing to live, but to relinquish in death’s calling.

Every crack in the ground furthered the descent into madness and rage. The echoing sounds in remembrance of the lash of the whip and the tearing of her clothes set her forward, almost as she’d been duly programmed to climb and climb — tortuously slowly and painfully — skimming the cracked ground with numb hands bearing running lines of red soaking her skin all the way from her ribs down to her toes.

Swabs of cotton blossomed underneath her forehead, her throat thick with saliva from panting and scratches from rasping out her mantra over and over again.

Lorcan, Lorcan, Lorcan.

Lorcan Salvaterre.

Commander of the Lycan Pack.

Her mate.

Hers.

Was.

Blood spilled out her mouth. Her hand caught inside a wedge of slab, her wrist splintering as she pitifully tried — memories slamming and wedging into every corner — tried to stop remembering, old wounds reopening.

Elide gurgled in the blood rinsing her mouth as her bone snapped.

Her cheek rested against cold stone as she heaved, greedily inhaling the musty air that no longer fuller reeked of the rotten, decaying stench of poisoned flesh.

Lorcan Salvaterre.

Her hand clawed along another stone when she heard the lash of the belt at her toes.

“I loved you.”

She saw red beneath her lids as she hauled her body up, her legs shaking and arms shuddering. There was no more youthful joy with dazzling hopes of love. Reality proved the coldness severing any warmth.

“You did not give me a chance, Elide. So I will not give you a second one.”

She collapsed along the stones, a seizure wracking her body, blood spilling out of her cracked lips. Everything swam underneath her, a buzzing sound cutting across her forehead and through her ears. Her only chances were this torture of trying and failing.

Give up, a part of her said. Give up, the walls and shadows and blood and flesh and bone whispered.

So she gave up.

Gave up to heartbreak.

Almost.

A part of her wanted to consent.

To submit to the darkness.

But that tiny, shredded sliver of hope still shone within her. A tiny thread of sanctuary

A dry laugh sounded behind her, a rasping voice that sent shivers across her skin.

She’d been still too long.

The whip lashed across her back.

Her body didn’t have enough energy to arch off the ground—instead she laid limp and broken and shattered. Salt wove through her mouth, grime caking her tastebuds, and salt oozing in thick waves out.

She could feel a hand working up her thigh, and the familiar, rotten stench overcoming her. She could not conjure up the scent of her once-mate anymore, emptiness and bitterness plaguing her.

Not again.  

“Looks like another failure,” the dark voice tsked, darkness overcoming her, shadows leaping over the dark walls collapsing over her and squeezing the last remains of breath from her lungs.

It burned.

Aelin’s door banged open again, the smell of fried noodles and apple juice filling her nostrils. She pressed down the uncomfortable feeling of distaste squirming in her stomach, and noted Manon’s similar look of uneasiness. Elide’s absence had affected them both, nourishment no longer appealing; it had been the Elide, the Pack Doctor apprentice, who had made sure they afforded time to eat rather than completely dive into Pack duties.

The palace door closed, and the scent of familiarity washed over her.

“Rowan,” Aelin greeted, turning her face away, and then paused. “Or should I say personal chef now?”

A snort. “Emrys cooked.”

“So you’re the messenger boy?”

Pine-green eyes flashed. “A boy wouldn’t have had you moaning yesterday.”

Her cheeks flushed at the whisper of memory while Manon sneered at the male, pointing a warning claw at the male. Rowan stilled at the challenge emanating from the half-Lycan.

Gods, not again.

The Prince of Lycans set the plates at the foot of Aelin’s bed with a clatter, and strode to her Beta, coldness and fury radiating from the testosterone-filled body.

“Stand down,” Aelin ordered quietly, watching Manon silently tense. The last thing they all needed was an internal conflict, especially when her own pack member and the Lycan commander were missing.

Rage flickered through those pine-green eyes from his mate’s command. Rowan let out a growl building from the base of his throat, but otherwise stalked back to her bed, breathing in the scent from her blankets and pillows. The muscles at his back and shoulders rippled.

How delicate these males were, exercising self-control daily, each strand chipping away with each passing day.

Aelin reverted back to pacing around her room, ignoring her mate’s constant fussy looks and worrying tactics—and the occasional careful and well-guarded look towards Manon.

Too many plates of untouched fruits, meats, and vegetables piled up in her room, nectar tea and water lining against her walls. The amount of food Rowan had brought her started to resemble a banquet, and if the Prince of Lycans didn’t stop soon, she wouldn’t be able to walk through her own damned temporary room without swimming through a sea of plates and bowls. Walking around this room in the castle consumed her from the normalcy of living within her own controlling borders. Not to mention the other female residents in the Lycan castle lived just a hall down, driving her senses to the edge.

Manon stabbed a nail through a blood-red apple, peeling the skin off into perfectly thin curls. Each strip, no doubt, tasted bland and dry, a reflection of the past couple months turned into emptiness and dread, living in a proliferation of well-kept fear.

“How could anyone obtain Yellowleg’s poison?” Aelin stared out the window where she could only imagine the nightmare Elide was living in daylight. The rays no longer held warmth she could soak in like a security blanket, but rather held a mockery of what she could not protect even in broad daylight. Her skin felt cold, but one look from her mate had a different type of heat racing through her.

She looked away.

Manon’s teeth latched around the peel. “I don’t understand how the poison still could have affected Lorcan after he killed Essar.”

Aelin paused, a myriad of dark scenarios crossing over her mind. She rubbed her temples, a slight draft breezing in and skimming over her skin. Abruptly slamming the window shut, tension rolled over her, not even her mate’s presence able to soothe her. “It doesn’t add up in the first place. If Essar is dead, then who controlled Lorcan while he was at the castle?”

Manon let out a low hiss, one that demanded bloodshed. A calm, killer look crested her face, and her claws slid out. Her eyes cut towards Aelin. “Now that is the real question.”

Rowan cleared his throat. “I doubt it would have been Essar. She did have give her heart to Lorcan, but she knew her boundaries. By the atrocities of her actions, the whole scenario seems absurd, almost as if she’d also been on the poison to act such.”

A pause.

Manon cocked her head, a predator accessing the situation and how to pin down the prey who’d slipped from their grasp one-too many times.

Rowan crossed his legs from Aelin’s bed, the gesture too simple—through the complications—for her eyes to handle. Growling, she chucked the plate of steamed broccoli and peppered carrots at her mate’s head.

The bastard merely flicked his hand, his magic neatly setting the trays on her bed.

Lunging forward, Aelin made way to tackle him, but Rowan hastily stood up, holding both palms up in the air.

Not in defeat, but in contemplation.

He frowned. “The day you came to the castle, pretending you were sick—” Rowan cast a hard look towards Aelin, who merely raised a brow “—you—” He turned towards Manon who had reduced the apple to the very core “—You said you saw Remelle in the palace. In the halls.”

Manon tossed the core in the air, and caught it within her hands without breaking the stare with the Prince of Lycans. “Yes.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “That’s...odd.”

It was Aelin’s turn to shoot her mate a glare. “Why’s that exactly?”

“Because she should have been in my room.”

The Alpha of the Fireheart Pack cocked a hand on her hip. “Oh?” Aelin put her mate’s words far out of her mind. When Elide was safe within her pack, then she could think about Rowan’s endeavors with other females. She told herself she didn’t care anyways, not when she had a line of unmated males, and even Alphas, desiring her—but still, the comment stung deep within her.

She’d make the Prince of Lycans think twice in who he was dealing with.

She’d started to think that the whatever deity out there was not some benevolent goddess anymore.

Rowan stalked closer towards her—daring her to interrupt and shut him out. “She’s been deigning to carry out her diplomatic meetings in my room, otherwise choosing to withhold information. That day, she was supposed to fill me in about the Morath Pack. Any details we could use to legally shut them down and use to show the Council.”

Manon let out a low hiss, ignoring Rowan’s hesitance and Aelin’s vehemence. “Morath,” The Beta gutturally gutted out so viciously Rowan’s teeth bared. “Remelle asked Elide how was Morath.”

Morath—Gods, Elide. Lorcan was right—it was that breeding place after all this time.

Vernon wasn’t trying to lie low.

“Even if Elide lived in Morath—” Rowan started, but Aelin’s face paled, realization pouring through her, a vast broken dam.

“It wasn’t Essar who poisoned Lorcan.”

Manon stiffened. “It was the one who is vying for your mate.”

Aelin’s heart stuttered. “Remelle.”

Manon clicked her teeth together, and turned towards Rowan, baring her teeth. “The first time I met Remelle, I was given the orders to not harm a hair on her head. Now?”

The Prince of Lycan’s eyes matched the half-Lycan’s dark glint full of malice and ill intent. “Those orders have reversed.”

Aelin watched Manon and Rowan stride out of the door, purpose filling each of their veins. She supposed it would be fun to have a little chat with the Lycan princess—find out her exact her role with Elide’s kidnapping and her intentions with her own mate—killing two birds with one stone.

The familiar scent of fresh air, pine, and snow filled her nostrils. Rowan pushed her door open again and stood footsteps away from her, a hard look on his face.

“I know what this may seem like, but if you trust me, believe me when I said nothing transpired.”

The Alpha of the Fireheart pack stared at the rotten core Manon had tossed on her floor. Dead and putrid—what state would she find Elide in? Even worse, she dreaded the state Lorcan would find Elide in. The retribution unleashed...

Mate or mateless, both had been tied together by the ineffable feelings of hope and life, a choice both had accepted.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Aelin said slowly, meeting her mate’s gaze. “I’m more worried about Remelle.”

She could feel the strings to her link with Manon and the waves of delight rolling through her Beta, just as a high-pitched, feminine scream pierced the air. A grin played over Aelin’s lips and she stalked to the door, sparing one last glance back.

“You coming?” she asked.

Rowan gave a slow shake of his head, and strode next to her, leaning slightly down. “When things settle down,” he said quietly. “I hope you will consider a future with me.”

The hairs at the nape of her neck prickled, and she opened her mouth, tongue tied with too many thoughts. She refused to give up her Alpha position, especially to live among royalty where she’d be nothing more than a trophy wife. “We—”

A body flew towards past their door, and crashed into the wall at the end of the hallway. Manon stalked down the hall, bloodlust written in her eyes, and crimson red dripping off her nails and onto the expensive sapphire carpets.

Remelle’s back was bent—snapped. A hand was pressed against her mouth, brimming with saliva and blood.

“A deal with Rogue Baba Yellowlegs,” Manon hissed, the rims of her dark gold eyes glazed with phantom ghosts. “Two drops of Yellowleg’s poison for the princess here for the promise of winning the queen’s crown in return to revoke Baba’s Rogue status.”

“And?” Aelin pushed.

“One drop in Essar’s breakfast tea. Under the spell, she’d been commanded to poison Lorcan’s goblet.”

Remelle’s shudder was confirmation enough.

Aelin pursed her lips. “Is Baba Yellowlegs still alive?”

Manon swung Wind Cleaver in a wide arc, and Remelle screamed, covering her eyes. “Yes! Yes she is!” When Manon’s claws slid out, the Lycan princess quickly added, “Morath,” her body trembling and convulsing.

Rowan frowned. “That’s most likely one of the quickest, successful interrogations I’ve ever seen.”

The Alpha of the Fireheart Pack smirked. “It’s why she’s my Beta.” Because the half-Lycan bred more unsatiasted ills inside of her, cultivated over the years, never receiving the closure comfort in her past. The wrath of a woman never worshipped.

Remelle screamed as the half-Lycan stalked towards her, swinging Wind Cleaver easily in one hand. The Lycan princess glanced desperately at Rowan, who merely nodded his head at Manon in expectation.

“Wait,” Aelin said, cracking her neck.

Manon looked at her impatiently, the black in her eyes dilating in anticipation.

“You get Sorscha and reinforcements to Morath as soon as possible.”

A nod from Manon, albeit unwillingly. The half-Lycan spared one last glance at the Lycan princess, who slumped against the wall in relief. And then her Beta was gone, a menace’s shadow.

To Elide, to restoration.

Aelin, Alpha of the Fireheart Pack and mate to the Prince of Lycans, stepped forward from under the doorway, and locked eyes with the Princess of Lycans.

“Remelle,” she purred. “You and I are going to have a nice, long civil chat.”

She drew Damaris from her sheath, the blade glinting against the overarching golden beams.

To the unanswered dreams and whisper of hope within them all.

Vernon rebuckled his pants, licking his lips in satisfaction. The experiments on captured wolves turned them into Ilken now guarded Morath so that not one soul would dare not survive a trip past his borders.

He’d gotten his empire, and built a kingdom out of skulls and death. He’d done the impossible without the interference of the Lycans blooded with Royalty. He’d beaten the heir to his Pack into submission.

He’d gotten it all. And so much more.

Nightmares turned into realities.

He had his secrets, his dark deeds, his gory graves, burning in his brain, a living hell, his own to hole up under lock and key.

His boots shoved the limp figure away from him, a nest of black hair lying dead against the slope of stones. Blood pooled around her, her stomach caved in, mouth open in a silent scream of terror. A perfect doll stuffed with poisoned needles and sewed with barbed words.

He had broken the Perranth spirit and heir, and carved out Morath, a devil’s realm of hell to rule absolutely.

A mirthless chuckle shuddered through him, seizing every pore. He’d brought down a Pack of light and hope, tore through every crack, and filled the gap with his own gushing red rivers of twisted wickedness.

The truth was out. That heinous acts could thrive and withhold a place in this too gray world.

He’d nudge the canvas towards the ink, and devour the white. Completely.

Vernon felt, rather than saw, a shift in the darkness—a different blackness with more volumes.

A hatchet whistled through the cave, and flew through a wide arc, nearly slicing the limp figure’s fingers, rottened and rottled.

A heavy, dark presence shattered the shapes of phantom and shadow.

Pure, undiluted rage and unfiltered feralness.

And barrenly broken.

The Alpha of the Morath Pack slowly turned around, revealing yellow-red teeth, caked with the crimson liquid of the broken body’s mortality. A nasty soul for the invading one in his land, his territory, his sanctuary.

“You missed,” he hissed in delight.

A warrior of moon’s darkness, not of the sun’s glory descended into the cave.

Deeper, deeper into hell. His hell and no one else’s. His, his, his and his own lovely-pieced heaven.

Welcome, he almost breathed, soaking in the other demon’s face.  Look at this little lush.

The darkness flared out, every vein within him throbbing as if pins and needles had stitched through him.

A hysterical laughter shot through him.

A consequence that had not foreseen.

A broken girl with a broken mate.

Put together, they healed.

He should have known. Wedged them further, despite the inevitable. His own secret darkness failed, to tell to another larger and loose dark, a spawn of wretched misery.

A wild, maniacal grin—a monster he had unknowingly forged. A living sin.

“Did I?” the twisted darkness rasped.

Vernon’s ankle collapsed, a chunk of flesh ripped and torn, blood seeping through the floor, dark ink swirling with the fading scarlet. A slice reeking of revenge felt to the depths of his marrow.

The hatchet yanked out of his ankle, and the Alpha’s knees kissed the stones. A pale hand, too twisted for true comprehension, gripped the hatchet.

The little girl who had hung onto that little thread twisted with hope.

A fading will focused on retribution, a face meaner than his own demons.

He hadn’t won.

The warrior slipped through his peripheral, the slickness of the liquids sliding over his hands too tangible.

“Tell me how you did it,” he insisted, not feebly—anything but. Foam bubbled at his lips. “Slipped through my defenses unharmed.”

His utopia. Meeting an end to greater darkness. There was no perfection, truer silencer than this. The Ilken had failed him, his fantasy had not been fulfilled, the girl had not crossed over the line. Into insanity.

The warrior stepped over his mangled ankle. A true devil in a lower hide.

More pain, but numb.

Onyx eyes peered into him, a smile promising more things than the sweet release of decaying. Hardened and unconquered. Eternal seconds of breathings for this very moment.

He repeated his words. Slurred.

Grasped at the syllables in response.

Knew the warrior opened his mouth.

Did not know the warrior had been broken and remade. Would remake the broken, shattered figure next to him, gripping the hatchet with a ferocity only the desperate could hold before fading away into dust.

The warrior knelt down next to him, and leaned close to his ear.

Opened his mouth. Said the words again—

—Death cannot conquer love.

The sickened rose within him, swirling and spiraling savagely. Vernon howled at the sounds of answer, the clipped crunching cracks chipping away. Heard them over and over again, slithering down his ear and wrapping around him, a vice like grip. Choking him from the inside.

Again and again.

The Alpha of the Morath Pack heard the beating drums of madness crescending louder and louder and louder matching the beating within his own ribcage until all fell into silence and solemness.

She knew she was blinded.

Suffering in the darkness did not mean alleviation in the light.

Too bright, too sunny—she could not see the same way again.

The male warrior had stripped his shirt into thin slices and wrapped the fabric around her eyes, shielding them from the blinding sensations of radiant rays that ripped through her orbs.

But—

—she knew she was safe.

Secure, and sound.

Warm, and protected.

There was no words needed to fill the silence, not when a reunion of simple touching kissed away every troubled crack.

It was as if the past had washed away with the present.

A hand wove through her knotted hair and stroked her scalp, rubbing away the grime and dirt coating her roots.

“Elide,” he murmured, and Elide felt the vibrations rumbling through his chest.

Hers.

His.

Elide opened her eyes, the thread expanding and pouring through her. The warmth from that sliver span flashed through her, and she felt her insides match the other string’s song, the warrior whose arms she was in. Then—in that moment, she realized paradise was not a place, but a feeling.

Mates.

How could she forget that rough-hewn face and those onyx eyes—once haunted—now glimmering with that resounding hope pulsating through her.

Lorcan Salvaterre.

“I am an immortal, seen it all, met it all. But you—” The Commander of the Lycans looked at her with something akin to almost wonder in his eyes. “—You, Elide, are entirely different. You taught me ascension.” His fingers cupped her face, a gentle caress. “You taught me that life is finite and fragile.” His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Elide Lochan cried.

And her mate cried with her.

Elide felt the threads of connections flowing through her, more safety nets, more familiarities. More lives.

She could hear the sharp and feminine voice ringing through the air, and taste the death of Rogues on her tongue.

A blade whistled through the air, and she smiled.

Wind Cleaver.

Which only meant—the white-haired wolf stalked through the clearing, black blood and dust showering her leathers. Claws and teeth and all, she was still radiating the dominance of the powerful and unconquered, the unhinged lethalness of past and present.  

A fierce, feral grin. “If you call one werewolf, you invite the pack.”

Lycans and Fireheart Pack members filtered through the clearing, some scratched, some bleeding, some scarred. Blistered hands and broken joints.

But alive.

Seeing the Lycan carrying her in his arms, Manon gave him a warning glare, but a sharp nod. The white-haired warrior disappeared through the trees, the sound of wind and death weaving through the trees as more of the Ilken summoned, only to receive the hand of death.

This was not some pity party, but art—in death.

In the deserved.

“No,” she whispered, and her mate carried her to the edge of the thick, crooked trees where she could see glimpses of Sorscha and other medical care. Her chest rattled, and her throat cracked. But— “I want to be the one.”

She stared into those onyx eyes that carried her physically and mentally through the darkness, and willed them to understand.

“You want to be the one to bring Morath down,” her mate said, stroking her cheek.

Yes.

Her eyes fluttered close, tiredness overwhelming her. Every part of her still hurt and throbbed, but once these passings passed—

The once Alpha of the Perranth Pack would reclaim her throne.

“Elide,” Lorcan said, solemnly. “I need to know one thing before you pass out.”

Elide Lochan blurrily stared at the shape carrying her, stroking her. Loving her.

She could feel the presence of Sorscha pressing a damp cloth against her forehead, and her mate hooking her trembling fingers through his. Flesh thoroughly marked and matched.

“Do you—” A pause “—love—”

Elide Lochan screamed, a new flare of flame flashing through her. She saw red and felt raw, as if her insides were on fire. Her bones rattled and spine seemed to contract.

More pain.

To think it would end, she almost cackled.

“What the hell is going on?” Lorcan roared, gripping her hands, which had started to tremble uncontrollably.

Sorscha—sweet Sorscha—swore, a rattle of a gasp emerging from the pale column of her throat. “She’s Settling.”

Elide Lochan nestled into the darkness, submitting to this other facet of pain and fracture.

Lorcan looked down at the trembling figure in his arms, twisting and turning. Her skin sweated in large rivulets, stinging even his hands.

His mate.

Suffering once again. They were dirty and dirt, but they could blossom from their own embittered seeds. Together.

He swore it. To her, to his mate, to his future.

Sorscha took a hesitant step forward. “By her conditions, I cannot guarantee that she’ll live through the process in becoming Lycan.”

He felt his darkness flare out, angry, bent on madness. Rage. “If you cannot guarantee,” he said lowly. “Then I will.”

He ignored Manon’s demands to halt and Sorscha’s protest. He sent one demand to Rowan Whitethorn, one if carried out, would pay off all of the Prince’s debts to him.

Lorcan Salvaterre whisked his mate away from the screams and tucked her thrashing body under his chin. Elide Lochan was his mate, so damned poison nor words nor ills could deprive him of.

And he would be damned if even Death could snatch that away from him.

Because death could could not conquer love. And love bled in war.  

Rowan Whitethorn tossed the Alpha of the Morath Pack into a cold cell.

Dark and damp.

Aelin and Manon and the entire Fireheart Pack had clawed at the dungeon entrance, demanding justice and retribution to end the pitiful existence of the monster of a man, Vernon.

But he had a deal and a command.

And he would make sure it would be upheld.

The Prince of the Lycans locked the door and watched the gears spur shut. Click after click after click.

No escape.

Confinement.

While Morath was in flames, the true dark core rested within the beating heart of the man who had raised an army of rogues into turned Ilken and experiment on the souls of once-purity.

It was only a matter of time before the pulsing faded away into ashes and dust.

The man clawed at the walls and howled and screamed and scratched and laughed.

Insanity and lunacy. His liar.

His bones started to rattle, blood burn, his teeth chatter, his eyes widen, his jaw unhinge, his insides boil, and his body twitch over and over into a dark and forbidden dance of nightmares and little secrets. 

A swooning flame swished through him, and the little specks flecked across his head. The chunk of missing flesh at his ankle seared and sparked. The demons within him caved him, a forbidden forgiveness. 

Shadow and phantom. Dark and dangerous.

Ill and inquiry.

Hueless and hellish.

And his Settling began. And a new reign dawned. 

[easkyrah]

pleaaseee can i have some elorcan werewolf canons please please also cant wait for your next update!!!

Elide sees Lorcan’s wolf for the first time at midnight as she stargazes in her backyard. Spotting the large midnight dark wolf, she whispers fluffy. Fluffy goes onto his hind legs and holds his paws out, a whine escaping his maw, demanding to be pet. Elide indulges him, and Lorcan’s wolf licks Elide’s leg while she scratches him behind his ears. Later, Elide buys Lorcan a collar for his birthday that’s pink and says “fluffy” on it. On certain days when he’s feeling it, Lorcan prances around in his wolf form to show who owns him, proudly. Only Elide’s allowed to see it, though. He’s still got an reputation to maintain. 

Elide tames the big bad wolf. He’s a ruthless predator, and can take down bears and mountain lions at the same time. Cunning, sly, and powerful, he’s the ideal epitome of the Alpha. The first time he sees Elide, he rolls into the river, trying to wash the blood off his coat, not wanting a monster to be her first impression. He doesn’t expect the water to be cold, so he jumps out, and his mate’s first words to him are you drowned rat. He bows his head and shamelessly and fruitlessly tries to clean his coat, and eventually Elide strokes him to help, and he loses it right then and there, his tongue lolling out and he pants so hard Elide thinks he’s having a seizure.

After Lorcan’s been courting Elide, trying to swoon her over into the final stage of the mating process, she catches Essar and Lorcan chatting in her own backyard where she met Lorcan. Essar’s hand touches Lorcan’s cheek, telling him goodbye, but Elide doesn’t hear that, and stalks out of her own house, and into a bar. After Essar leaves, Lorcan searches wildly for his mate, tearing the house apart, and tracks her scent to the bar. Seeing the other unmates males pawing at his mate, he roars and carries Elide back to their house bridal style. Elide’s pouting and has other males’ scents on her, so Lorcan, quite shamefully, turns to drinking. While Elide’s moving her stuff out of Lorcan’s room, she finds Lorcan clutching the pink collar to his chest. His eyes flutter open and he slurs out, asking if they’re dating, and if she’s single, if she’ll have him. Elide merely gives him water.

Lorcan doesn’t have hangovers, much to everyone’s dismay. He takes Elide to the woods for a picnic and asks her to be his girlfriend again from the start, and after he shifts into his midnight wolf, licking her and rubbing his fur against her body, she finally says yes. His wolf yips out and flops himself next to her, and Elide shifts into her white wolf. Two animals lying next to each other in the Sun, and Lorcan’s wolf lightly bites Elide’s tail, eyes holding raw playfulness. Next thing you know they’re shooting through the woods, Elide a bullet, Lorcan attempting to nip Elide’s paws. Elide races forward, stumbling into a river, cold water causing her body to shake. Lorcan’s wolf licks her pelt dry and covers her shivering body with his, licking behind her own ears, just as she used to scratch him behind his own ears. He’s so absorb with his mate’s scent that his cock twitches, especially awkward as he’s on top of Elide, who freezes. Lorcan jumps into the river for his own douse of cold water. 

They’re stargazing in the backyard, Elide pissing in the spot where Essar last sat. Lorcan merely nips Elide’s tail, and they sit at the fringes, blanketed in the darkness. Lorcan thinks he’s never seen anything so beautiful under the moon, and staring at the white wolf, he knows that he belongs to her. Elide feels her mate’s gaze, and turns her head, seeing his doting looks. Her wolf quickly looks away, while Lorcan’s wolf yips, and the next thing she knows, her wolf’s belly is exposed and Lorcan’s rubbing his maw across from her. Elide relaxes into her mate’s affections, and listen to his beast rumble of all the adventures of successfully killing bears and mountain lions, knowing its his male behavior trying to impress the female. 

It takes nearly a year for Elide to convince Lorcan for her to join him on a hunt. When she kills her first bear, wearing out her prey for what seemed an eternity, her mate cries, and licks away her wounds, howling to the wind that this female is his and how he’s underestimated her. Elide merely shakes her head, and asks a favor from Lorcan, who agrees on the spot. The next day, Lorcan proudly hands Elide a skinned bear blanket with leather on the other side, a sign that she’s not the damsel in distress and not unworthy of the predator. Her wolf rolls around in the blanket and cocoons in it so her head pokes out, and Lorcan’s wolf strides over, and licks her face affectionately, showering her with kisses. 

When Elide goes in heat, Lorcan pleads for someone, anyone, to cut off his cock, which literally screams for Elide. He ends of locking himself with silver chains in the basement for prisoners so he won’t unwillingly take his mate. Elide finds him and frees him, much to his protest, saying he doesn’t want him to chain herself up like she was chained, all because of her, and Lorcan’s too immobilized to move, his cock straining for her. The pain’s so unbearable he shifts into wolf form, and growls lowly at his mate to leave, but Elide sits stubbornly on the cell floor, also in pain from the heat, and shifts, and both relinquish control to their wolves, who tackle one another, teeth snapping. With the last shred of his control, Lorcan licks the scruff of Elide’s neck and carries her to the backyard’s fringes, where they shift under the fading moon, where Lorcan claims Elide and they complete the mating process, tearing at each other as their inner animals howl in synchrony. 

Bonus: Elide and Lorcan have just finished their hunt and shift into their human forms. Elide screams, seeing a large spider on Lorcan’s ass. Lorcan just cheekily grins while Elide demands Lorcan smack it. Being the total muscle master, Lorcan flexes his ass cheeks and the spider falls off, because yes, he does have an ass, while Elide simultaneously swallows and reaches forward to smack the spide, but misses, ending up spanking Lorcan harshly, who’s wearing the pink fluffy collar. 

Hope that suffices ~ may add more later.

[easkyrah]

Elorcan Werewolf AU part 8

If you haven’t read the previous 7 installments, I highly recommend you read those first in order as this series is chronological based. My masterlist is here. Also, I have no idea if this part makes any sense at all, so please give me your thoughts. It’s also quite long. I think there may be only two or three parts left, actually! On the bright side, the angst is over. Or at least I think so.

Yuputka — the phantom sensation of something crawling on one’s skin

Elorcan Werwolf 8

Now

Elide drank from the heavy cup of bitterness and spat out the viscous liquid of forgiveness. She lost track of time and sense in the sodden cell, and found paths of bruises and sores lining her body. She gave up on hope towards the light and retained resentment towards what laid on the other side of her prison.

All was dark. Dark was all.

Her hair hung matted as a rat’s nest, perspiration running down her skin, cracked and peeling. Her lips bled frequently, her ankle more mangled than she could remember.

Pain replaced her loneliness. Regret was a mere notion she entertained of what could have been. Suffering served her reality.

Sleep was simultaneous torture. Nightmares of the day’s assault and night’s cold swept through every crevice. The first stay in the cell, Vernon had tore her clothes into tatters, fangs tearing at her skin. Elide had screamed and thrashed until those teeth had bit down on her throat, threatening to tear out her neck.

“I conquer,” was all her Uncle had said before she’d screamed out in pain, blackness slashing across her vision. Aches had throbbed in parts of her body where she had waited for her mate, waited to be respected, waited to be worshipped.

At first, tears had persisted, the tang of salt cracking her lips. Now she cried no more, for the seconds she knew were filled with the consistency of raw anguish. It was just her own shaking, shredded skin and devastating poor excuse of family that haunted her.

The chains became her tether, lest she slip away into the next life or what awaited. Her ankle became a figment of a reminder in her story, of living with a disability, to a euphoric type of enmity in true healing, to a shattered piece of her inked soul.

For all she knew, the seconds had passed to minutes to pass to hours to pass to days and perhaps months. For all she knew, her presence was a forgotten whisper of dust between the burning and burnt stars. For all she knew, her life was declared deceased, her mate with another, her legacy into ashes, her pack free of an invalid.

And perhaps it was better that way.

She could not fathom how the Lycans could have fought for eons, loosing themselves in the raging battlefield, in the horrid torture chambers, in the unescapable sea of blood.

But perhaps they had never been caged, for this was a different war.

This was a battle to live, persist, endure. This was torture in every sense. This was an ocean of loneliness, pain, and belittlement.

She did not want this to be another facet written within her pages.

For Aelin she would not dwell in darkness, but in light.

For Manon she would not toil in coldness, but in warmth.

For Lorcan she would not waver in passiveness, but in aggression.

Her story was not of loneliness and sorrow, but of hope and affinity.

The cell doors rattled open, and the shadow of the Morath Alpha lurked in.

Predatory eyes met her own bleary ones.

“Hello, Elide,” Uncle Vernon said. “Sleeping well?”

When she didn’t answer, he slapped her cheek, the sound richotechting across the walls. When she didn’t bat an eye, he kicked her in the stomach, her teeth grating across one another. When she didn’t flinch, he jerked the chain on her ankle, the scraping scratching the barren floor.

She supposed she should thank her uncle for teaching her to befriend pain.

“I have special news,” Vernon sneered. “Regarding your friends.”

A momentary thread of anticipation tore through her. She kept her face blank under Vernon’s scrutinizing gaze. Her heart did not beat faster, for she had learned that any component of hope was an offering from the devil.

And any dance with the devil ended in the purest sense of hopelessness.

Finally, he said, “I’m moving you to a more secure location.”

Moving.

Hands gripped the chains against the wall, and a key clicked several times. The pull of the metal and steel slammed against the floor, Elide’s knees following suit. She hissed as Vernon wrapped the chains around her, and dragged her about by her hair, her roots harshly yanked and protesting in pain.

The cell was a ghost, surrounding and haunting and cursing her. As soon as her body passed through the doors, elation poured over her, the flickers of pain seeming to subside.

Moving.

“What do they see in a frail, worthless invalid?” Vernon said as her body was limply hauled across stones, the dripping of droplets digging into her cuts and scrapes.

The damp hallways seemed an eternity’s walk, Vernon’s nails digging into her scalp. Little lines of blood ran down her neck and face, her heart twisting and turning.

He tossed her onto the curve pathway of stones, and kicked her ankle. She curled into herself, her withered and emaciated body already tired from movement, her muscles faded away into complete atrophy. Her bones seemed to rattle as coldness prickled at her skin.

“Look up,” Vernon commanded.

Elide looked up.

“Look left,” Vernon ordered.

Elide looked left.

“Move,” Vernon sneered.

Elide looked down—and then looked up at the first step of the many stones that spiraled up into an ascension of a new fatigue. All hope dissipated as a lit candle in a storm. The cuts on her knees and shins flared. Her ankle collapsed and twisted and flared with pain.

This was beyond her limits, and her Uncle knew it.

Vernon yanked the chain around her neck. One harsh tug forward, tossing her against the fragmented stones, leaving her gasping for breath, cutting off her circulation.

Dry coughs filled the air as she blinked away the dizziness and clouds fogging her vision. Manon would have fought back with that sheer strength of hers. Aelin had have snapped back with that vicious tongue of hers. Lorcan would not have been in this situation in the first place with his clear brutality.

She was the weak link. The disabled. The handicapped. The misfit.

She struggled to lift herself onto her knees. Her palms hit the damp stones, the crescending slope a mockery of how far she’d descended.  

“If you have all the time in the world, Elide, then perhaps I should entertain myself.”

Her nails dug into the cracks as she forced her head to slowly turn around, her neck aching, the ghost of fingers choking her.

Her heart sunk.

Vernon slowly unbuttoned his collared shirt, and slid the belt off his pants. With expert grace only mastered by practice, he brought the whip down in a single strike across her back. Her body splintered against the base, and her hands desperately reached up to scrabble for purchase.

“You little slut,” Vernon grinned, a maniacal hint tinging the smirk. His fingers went to the hem of his pants. “You want another round, don’t you?”

His eyes raked over her body, her exposed skin, her brokenness.

She turned her head back towards the slope of the slanted stones, cold determination fixing within her.

Biting harshly down on her peeled lip enough to draw slivers of blood, Elide Lochan, true heir to the Morath Pack, slowly began the rise of a climb up.

Three Weeks Ago

“What do you mean you don’t know where she is?” the dark-haired male snarled.

Trend carefully, her mate had warned, when Lorcan had first arrived, beaten and battered and the borders of her pack.

Standing in front of the Alpha of the Fireheart Pack was a Lycan coated from head-to-toe in blood. Standing in front of the Alpha Lycan’s mate was the commander, oozing a stench of something darker and wild.

Standing in front of Aelin Galanthysius was Lorcan Salvaterre, the one who broke Elide Lochan and was broken by Elide Lochan.

Aelin swallowed. As Alpha, she felt each string of connection to her pack members. But a week ago, after her trip to the royal castle, Elide’s familiar and warm presence had disappeared.

Vanished.

Without a trace.

“You’re a shit excuse of an Alpha,” Lorcan swallowed, but she held her stance, finding a soothing in the blades pressed against her skin.

An hour ago, this male had held too-many deaths within his palm. An hour ago, this male had realized that Elide was fully missing. An hour ago, this male had not sensed his mate anywhere within the safe parameters of all the packs.

Yesterday, the onyx-eyed male had snapped her elbow. Yesterday, the male had executed a flawless punch towards her eye. Yesterday, the commander had her ears ringing with his infuriated roaring.

She had merely pointed out that he had been temporarily suspended from his own pack until he resolved the issue with his missing mate.

A week ago, Aelin had lost connection to Elide. A week ago, she had scoured through every book in search of reestablishing the link. A week ago, her pack had been victim to rogue attacks.

A week since Elide’s disappearance, Lorcan had gained full control back of his body, demanding to see his mate.

Only to find that his mate had dissipated if she were nothing but a faded passing.

His rage had destroyed fundamental tenements many omegas depended on. His fury had ceased the fields of crops and plants many werewolves depended on. His enmity had caused the execution of many females connected to the Shadow Market.

She had watched the after-effects of losing scent and connection to his mate drive Lorcan to his knees.  

She had watched the dark-haired male wreck up his guts into the bucket for the thousandth time today. She had lost count as her Pack Doctor, Yrene Towers, had replaced each bin with another, dutifully monitoring the impossible male that would have given her own mate, Alpha of the Lycans, a run.

Lorcan gazed at her with a dark look in his eyes.

Aelin braced herself for another attack, but the male merely painfully closed his eyes, and croaked out, “I miss her.”

Longing.

Aelin let the dagger fall back into her sleeve, and looked over the commander of the Lycan’s armies.

Sweat and grime painted the heaving male’s skin, those ghastly eyes cracked and shattered. He was shivering, fists clenched against the rim of the bucket. His had lost his voice frequently, only to have the sound rasp out into a guttural scraping.

Aelin loosed a breath. “What did Sorscha say?”

Flinging open the heavy, steel door with all her might from that fateful day in visiting the castle, walking down the damp and dark hallway, Aelin had seen Lorcan convulsing on a bed of spikes and bones.

No Elide.

No connection.

Only a feral Lycan bringing down the castle from its very roots, shattering the entire southern complex.

It had taken three hours and the rest of the cadre in order to restrain Lorcan against the heaviest chains of silver, surrounded by circles of wolfsbane.

But Lorcan’s feral side still remained, roaring and hissing and screaming for his mate. Sweat and a thick, glowing green liquid had oozed out of his skin for hours until the commander had gained clear consciousness.

“Yellowleg’s Death,” Lorcan said so softly Aelin almost missed it.

Her heart skipped a beat. The manipulative, slow-working concoction created by the blessing of a witch’s spell, only found within the depths of the Shadow Market.

Manon stood next to them, and watched without emotion as Lorcan leaned against the wall, rubbing his forehead. The half-Lycan, half-witch had spent her evenings and mornings looking for their pack’s apprentice healer, her afternoons honing her already skilled abilities with the blade.

A hole had emerged within her pack. A wide, gaping emptiness.

The Fireheart beta let out a dry laugh. “The poison worked.”

Aelin coughed, and muttered out, “Obviously.”

Lorcan didn’t budge from his spot against the wall, a look of concentration and fatigue holding his focus.

“Yellowleg’s Death grants the creator full access over the victim’s body for an hour. It can usurp power from the victim whenever and wherever. It can take years or months to occur.” Manon tapped a nail against the sheath of her blade. “All it took was an hour to break Elide from Lorcan, to spur a rejection, to foster a wound to deep to be mended.”

To seize Elide Lochan, true heir to the Morath Pack and second-Pack Doctor to the Fireheart Pack, away from them all.

Aelin looked at Lorcan. “That’s why you destroyed the Shadow Market, and executed all those connected to the drug.”

A curt nod, and the female Alpha could see the acceptance of the drug settling between the granite-hewn face.

Temporarily expelled from his pack, Lorcan Salvaterre had taken refuge in her pack, where Yrene coaxed the final remains of the poison out.

Where Lorcan had wallowed in self-pity, disappointment and regret drowned him.

Aelin had watched the beta to the Alpha Lycan fade away into a shell, and realized that Rowan Whitethorn had been right: A Lycan would rather die than hurt his mate.

And Lorcan Salvaterre, although slowly being freed of Yellowleg’s poison, would die if he did not have his mate near him.

One Month Ago

Lorcan watched as the spines of the guards snapped with a surety to rival death’s inevitable appearance himself. The darkness wrecked havoc, de-rooting trees around the castle grounds and slamming into entrances. An ominous wind screeched along the fading sunlight, those managing to near him collapsing to the ground, thick rivers of blood pouring out of their ears.

A massacre of those in his bloodlust.

A divine retribution for daring to cast him out.

A welcome for Hellas’s realm.

With a glance towards the newly installed barricaded, Lorcan pushed his will of shadowed obscurity into the silver force. Large dents imprinted onto the wall, and seconds later, the ground shuddered as the barrier collapsed against the marbled floor.

Lorcan stepped through the rubble, stalking towards the center meeting room. Here, the Lycans hung back, heads bowed and eyes cast down. A warning had been issued, and they would obey.

His hand violently jerked the golden knob to the side and pushed the hardened door forward. Silence sagged across the immaculate room as soon as he stepped in.

Five pairs of eyes landed on him, the Alpha Lycan rigidly sitting at the head of the chair. Fenrhys sprawled lazily at the left side, goblets of wine surrounding him. A flicker of something deeper with wronged remembrance flickered through Lorcan’s head, but he dismissed the amiss feeling and flexed his aching back muscles.

“I’m leaving for Morath,” Lorcan said abruptly, striding to the right, empty seat—his spot—at the head of the table. He did not sit down, but calmly gazed at the Prince Rowan Whitethorn with a menace that would have cowed a lesser man.

Fenrhys choked on his wine, Gavriel crossing his arms. Vaughan merely arched a brow, Connal’s face pinching slightly.

“Your ban does not end until you can prove to my mate that you are in control.” Rowan’s words echoed across the room. His hands clenched, and Lorcan knew he was restraining the order to further his banishment.

“Having half of her pack members end up in the infirmary and killing our guards probably isn’t the best way to do it,” Fenrhys chimed in.

“Wrecking Sollomere into a ground of ashes hardly demonstrates control,” Vaughan added.

“You also broke the covenant searching for Elide Lochan,” Gavriel observed.

Rowan’s eyes twitched, his resolve slowly chipping away. Lorcan warily threw up his shields, ignoring the tension wading through the air.

“That’s why you’re travelling to Morath,” Connal mused. “To find your mate.”

Lorcan didn’t bother to object to his pack members. Today marked a month in which Elide Lochan, his mate, had disappeared. A month of futile, ceaseless searching, of unending longing and loneliness. A month of wandering through a parallel trail of sorrows and agony, restless wishes never answered.

The Alpha Lycan shook his head. “You destroyed the Shadow Market. Our connections there have ceased.”

“And what if the chance that Yellowlegs poison harmed your mate?” Lorcan growled. “In which you had no control over?”

No control.

The Lycan’s worst fear.

Whether losing control to their feral wolf side or having dark magic posses them, Lycans eluded any poison, liquid, or scenario that would test their control.

Because absolute control meant absolute power.

To control others, Lycans had to control themselves.

And Lorcan had not been in control one month ago.

Rowan Whitethorn released a burdensome sigh and exhaled quickly. “I revoke your suspension. I grant you full privileges and rights to travel to Morath and do what business you need to do.”

Full control.

His friend, the Alpha, the King—Rowan Whitethorn was giving him full control and access to his actions and the extent of the consequences.

For his mate, for the other half of his soul, for Elide Lochan.

Lorcan bowed his head in acknowledgement, the only recognition and expression of gratitude the Lycan Alpha would receive. When Rowan held out his hand, Lorcan clasped it.

Gavriel cautiously looked between the Prince and the Commander. Finally, he said, “I suppose you need a few nuclear arms, silver covers, and a shit ton of wolfsbane?”

Fenrhys gave them a wolfish grin. “Imagine the terror on Morath’s face when they see the cadre united.”

Connal slowly smiled. “Morath’s time has come to an end.”

Avoidance of the Pack that had violently sucked the former ruling off the throne, had notoriously experimented on the supernatural, had utilized brutal tactics to remain their power didn’t reach for from the Lycans.

Ultimatum after ultimatum, the Morath Pack had ignored the cadre’s warnings.

Now that a direct threat to one of their own had been issued, Morath could burn. Legally within the borders of the covenant, annihilating the pack appealed to the Lycan on another level.

Yet—before more plans could stipulate, Lorcan slammed his shield into the iron table, the hollowing sound causing the five pairs of eyes to once again land on him.

“I go alone,” he firmly stated.

Silence. Then—

“Absolutely absurd,” Vaughun snarled. “You’ll die. Morath broke Maeve’s legions. What do you stand a chance?”

Cold froze through the air at the mention of the former Lycan queen’s name. A curse, an abomination, an infamy. The stinging of lashes whispered in haunting strokes across his back, the silver cell of insanity unfolding within Lorcan’s mind.

The true savagery—

Connal snarled, a thunderous growl building leaking out. “Say the bitch’s name one more time, and I’ll tear out your throat.”

Fenrhys teleported next to his brother, and laid a hand against Vaughun’s chest.

Rowan loosed a bark, and Connal slouched against his seat in submission. The Alpha turned towards his commander, an unfathomable look sketched across his face.

“We have every reason to be concerned. Especially when it concerns another’s welfare. We do not know what lurks in Morath, save for death.”

Lorcan stared at his pack with eyes of the soulless. He had already wasted too much valuable time loitering. The darkness summoned an abstraction into reality, Hellas’s raw power pulsing around him. Lorcan swung the convened hatchet in his hand, the craving for his mate ushering senseless violence through his veins.

Rowan raised a brow at the burst of power emanating from Lorcan.

Before the Prince of Lycans could speak, Lorcan answered the call of darkness webbing through him, his onyx eyes perceiving more than he’d ever before.

“What—” Gavriel started.

“When your gift is Death, you no longer fear him.” Hellas’ might flowed to him.

Lorcan welcomed the sheer control pulsating through every inch and cell.

His voice sounded far away as he spoke with an ancient, long-feared and worshipped guttural tone. “Death is my ally. Mine to control.”

His.

Death had always belong to him.

It was life instead that slipped through his fingers, the facets and faces of true existence evading him.

An integral part of living would not escape him one more time: his mate.

Elide Lochan.

Lorcan stalked out of the castle, the darkness cascading through him and around him in large streams and flares.

Two Months Ago

Lorcan laid in his bed, breathing heavily.

Pain lanced through every pore. Grogginess laced his vision. Lead settled in every muscle.

His wolf roared at him to visit his mate—that he would be content and pliant if he could just settle his eyes on her lithe form or soak in her scent even from afar. Her presence, if utilized correctly, would be the worst type of military tactic used against him. She would be his downfall, and she would not know.

His fingers brushed against papyrus scrawled with loops of elegant curls and spirals, a golden and flaming embroider filling the edges. In another realm, perhaps he could have been the prince charming, showing up to the ball completely unannounced with his finest clothes, locking eyes with Elide, and asking her for the first dance.

He would have kissed the top of her hand and charmed his way into her heart; she would return his affections, and they would have their lives carried out by fate as perfect mates.

But he was Death’s Right Hand.

And she was a living Angel.

This was not a fairytale in which the maiden lived happily ever.

This was reality in which the maiden either was massacred from the vices through violence or was forged into the sculpture created by the monsters.

This lie was that if the maiden followed her mind, then she would not follow love.

The truth was that if the maiden followed her heart, then she would lose her mind.

He lived with forgotten violence and remembered cruelty brimming from every surface. She lived with colored perceptions and warm neutrals on a floating canvas.

His thoughts were polluted with fabrications that belonged to the Devil’s Mind, hers a beautiful universe waiting to be seen.

A creak broke his melancholy.

The doorknob slowly twisted in a torturously slow manner, and Lorcan grimaced in pain as he glanced towards the entrance. If Fenrhys was about to mock the misery of a state he was in just one more time—

A soft, ever-familiar voice filled the room, the sound almost hesitant.

“Lorcan?”

Lorcan hissed in response. The scent that did not belong to his mate seeped into the room. It was an unwelcomed scent, one he constantly regretted and condoned, one he believed better off in the grave, even if royalty. It was a persistent scent that lingered in front of his doors and followed him through the hallways, one that drove his wolf into insanity.

A doe-eyed female leaned in the doorway, eyes sweeping through the darkness. Those gentle orbs locked in his direction when he loosed a grunt, his chest heaving with pain.

“Get out,” he rasped. “You are unwelcome here.”

Lorcan winced in the cover of darkness and and snarled lowly as the quiet padding of footsteps filled his room.

She did not listen.

A soft glow lit his room, the burning wax chasing away the deep shadows. He closed his eyes with the sweeping light, his nose twitching from the candle’s aroma.

The female trespassing into his room stirred the bloodthirsty side of him. She either him as his canines slide out or wished to die as growl thundered in the base of his throat.

A hand caressed his forehead, and Lorcan flinched.

“I said. Get. Out.” Warnings after warnings, and she still paid no heed.

The tips of her fingers touched his lips, and she clucked her tongue once. “That’s no way to treat an old friend.”

He had once thought she knew the line between his animalistic needs and her loose fantasies. She had been nothing more than a body to satiate the Lycan’s feral side, nothing less than a body to use and manipulate. Not a friend, not a lover, not his mate. Nothing more than a passing acquaintance.

The intruding female brushed back her hair, revealing the pale column of her throat, and gracefully settled herself onto his duvet sheets. “You need to relax, Lorcan Salvaterre. You’ve been through so much. I can help you.”

“You know nothing.” He knew the way she said his name was meant to entice him. He knew the purr in her lilt was meant to arouse him. She knew that he was in a vulnerable state.

His eyes managed to catch the flash of a quick smile she flashed.

“I know you have a mate.” She stroked his chest, coaxing his shirt’s buttons apart. His arms were full of inflexible lead to stop her. His mind seemed to seep into an abyss of murkiness no stroke or kick could save. “And that she does not want you. But I do.”

All the dates Elide had accepted. All the males that had pawed at her. All the stares lusting after her. The flowers and smiles endowed towards her. The invisible blood on his hands—is that what she saw? What his history to full of gruesome atrocities that she would not consider the future?

Lorcan’s body laid rigid and paralyzed as the other female’s nails raked across his hardened skin, each strike a burning sensation. He didn’t know if it was because his wolf side was rejecting her touch or because his body was still coping with his mate’s loss.

He wanted Elide Lochan. He wanted her without her cold eyes that chipped him away slowly, with her inviting ones that made him feel worth more than destruction. He wanted her with warm smiles that drove away the darkness, without her frowns that made him fall to his knees. He wanted her with open arms, without her closed walls.

He did not want this woman in his room and her unwarranted advances. Eons later from when they had first met within the forest, and he still did not want her. The one female he wanted and needed, desired to cherish and protect, hold and soothe—did not want him. The path in waging wars had kept him forbid him from entertaining any facet of the elation life had to offer. Yet when he had laid eyes upon Elide, even through the dark night as she had raced through the trees, expertly wielded the car, saw the fierce determination of hope and compassion in those reflections, Lorcan had known that Elide Lochan was the most beautiful, untouched piece of art his eyes had ever laid upon. There would be expensive, lavish masterpieces, but there would not be the kind-hearted, impossible Elide Lochan, a beacon to him.

His mate.

So he managed to stare at the doe-eyed female with coldness centuries had crafted, a glance full of censure.

“You forget that I do not want you.” He struggled to keep his eyes open, the phantom hand of sleep lulling him into another realm.

“So you’ve said,” the royal female said. Lorcan could make out the form of a goblet in her hand, her lips pressed against the edge. “And I respect that.”

“Do you now?” He did not have the energy to raise a brow or move an arm to break her neck.

A sharp, curt nod. “So I propose one last toast. To what we had. To what past we shared. To us.”

Lorcan warily eyed the goblet, and then the princess Lycan that had pursued him for an eternity. He could have said that they had nothing, their past worthless, that there was no ‘us’. But his tongue was ash in his mouth and his bones were tired. Of fighting physically and sparring verbally.

“Is that all?” he managed to scrape out.

The princess twirled a strand of her hair, and sat on his lap. “Yes.”

They had toasted often, during galas and balls and masquerades. She had always plucked flutes of champagne for him, saying he needed to work on his image. The royal had always clinked her glass against his in a possessive way, Lorcan always brushing her off.

Drinking was nothing new. But the glint in her eyes—that was something new.

“Do you swear to cease your advancements towards me and my mate? To allow us to find peace between us? To raise no harm against Elide Lochan?”

The she-wolf raised a dainty brow, and pressed the ruby-studded goblet into his clammy hand. “I, Essar, in the name of the Bright Lady, swear to fulfill the promise.”

The princess Lycan held her back straight and watched as Lorcan gripped the base of the goblet. Essar slowly brought his hand to his lips as his arm remained unwilling, his wolf snarling in protest.

Before he could leash in his feral side or question his wolf’s sudden thrashing, Essar tipped the goblet into his slightly parted mouth, shoving the steaming liquid down his throat. Lorcan gagged, and felt the marks of where she had scratched him respond with searing pain. His body convulsed as the princess Lycan shoved a hand around his throat, forcing every drop down.

His wolf quieted, and his body flared with pain for several seconds until a blurred daze fell across him. He could consciously hear purring, and feel a warm body pressed against his. There was an itching at the back of his mind, something holding him back. An irking of sorts scratched at him, but nonsensical thoughts like cotton clogged his brain.

There was something wrong, something forcing him still and compliant. His mind struggled to cut down every barrier, but there was a hint of dark magic that had his will recoil.

Something tepid pressed against his lips, a hand fingering the hair at the nape of his neck. There was a sound of creaking, and then a scent appeared that had the cotton in his head blowing away.

His eyes snapped open. He turned his head towards the door.

Lorcan knew then by the figure in his lap and the figure at the door he had irrevocably fucked up.

And that by the flash of betrayal and hurt contorting across his mate’s face, he had broken the maiden. And that by the whisper of her scent that fled from the room and the familiar sound of bones cracking and howling, he had sculpted the maiden into a monster.

And from there, the poison of Yellowleg’s Death, bewitched with dark magic and control remained stagnant within his veins, swirling through every notch and crevice, an invasion of his mind and will and muscle.

[easkyrah]

Elorcan Werewolf AU part 7

Sometimes following your heart means losing your mind 

Elorcan Werewolf 7

Lorcan saw red.

He felt his body tear from him as he lost all control. He felt raw power course through his veins as his wolf’s side raged and snapped the reins. He felt pure wrath and hatred, violence roaring through every cell and pore.

His bones and muscles shifted, the female on top of him screaming. Lorcan had been called a great many things in his life, many of them along the lines of the Executioner, Death’s Right Hand, or the Devil’s Mind. But the most known moniker of them all was the Great Silencer.

And that was exactly what he did to Essar. His wolf’s claws tore through the female’s neck without a second thought, blood spraying over his black sheets. Her shrieks of protests died at her lips, and Lorcan watched in satisfaction as her body collapsed, limp and cold. His wolf nudged the woman off the bed, and snarled in content as the remains of her skin hit the floor with a thud.

She had tested him, and Lorcan had given her his answer.

If years of turning down her offers was to be ignored, then she had every right to expect this foreseeable action in which her blood no longer circulated. It didn’t matter if the female was a Lycan with royalty spinning in her veins, a kind blush always smoothed over those pale features for him.

It didn’t matter as long as Essar wasn’t his mate, the enchanting creature that was Elide Lochan.

Essar had tried to encourage the notion of love when he had desired nothing more than meaningless sex to satisfy his wolf. Essar had been the one female the royal courts had chosen to pair him with in case all went wrong with his mate. Essar had tried to tame him, a beast who breathed in death and destruction.

Yet, now that Lorcan had found his mate, Essar had approached him, weeping tears of sadness his heart had not flinched at. The doe-eyed female had attempted to part with goodbyes that involved physical intimacy, snapping his wolf into action. At this point, his wolf and him could only agree on one thing: only their mate could touch Lorcan. Only their mate could love him. Only their mate could accept him.

It was only Elide. It was all Elide. Elide, Elide, Elide.

His Lycan thrashed, eyes narrowing and nose twitching. The scent of Elide was right under his nose, and a hint of pink fabric hung loosely around his neck. Lorcan vigorously shook his head and watched the collar fly across the room. He would not rest until his mate was in his arms. A piece of her was not enough. He needed all of her, whether as a wolf or human.

His Lycan burst through the door, and loosed a howl as a half-Lycan mutt and an Alpha bitch stood in the halfway, swords drawn. The mutt’s sword cleaved through the air at a vertical arc, and his wolf easily slipped through the blow with years, centuries, and eons of experience. His teeth tore through the other female’s arm, clamping down on the hard flesh. He easily tossed the Alpha’s body against her Beta’s, not bothering to watch as they slammed against the wall, weapons clanging noisily to the floor.

His wolf picked up speed as he raced down the hallways, Elide’s scent still hanging in the air. Lest he claim his mate, his own Alpha that was Rowan Whitethorn emerged from another hallway, gripping a handful of wolfsbane, magical gloves protecting his hand.

Did rutting-Rowan-Whitethorn think a few stalks of wolfsbane could keep him from his mate?

“Lorcan,” Rowan warned, his voice cut with hardened wind. “Control. Elide would not want to see you like this.”

Lorcan’s wolf did not like Rowan’s tone, and leapt towards him. Only Elide could decide what she wanted him to do and see after centuries of waging bloodied, pointless wars that would have blinded a lesser man.

Rowan swore and agility dodged his first swipe.

“Don’t make me do this,” his Alpha growled, holding up a strand of wolfsbane in front of him, thinking it would be enough.

Lorcan summoned the darkness, and before his ages-old friend could blink, he slammed his power that was old as time itself onto the Prince of Lycans.

His wolf loosed another howl, demanding that his mate return the call.

Only silence persisted in the hallways as Lorcan chased the scent of his mate out into the gardens. The moon taunted him as he wove through the trees, into the woods, his darkness ebbing out, demanding the presence of his sweet Elide Lochan.

His mate.

His.

A whimper that did not belong among the dropping trees that casted demented shadows and creeping insects that swarmed the woods had his pace slowing down drastically. Lorcan crept through the branches, his eyes narrowing into a small, white figure in a grassy clearing, bordering the little river than ran through Lycan property.

The scent of his mate empowered his nose, and his wolf barreled through the trees to his mate. The white wolf lifted her head in response, her almond-shaped eyes widening in surprise. Her own ankle was bent at an odd ankle, and Lorcan bounded around his mate, encircling her small frame.

Elide’s wolf peeled back her lips and gave him a snarl that had his own wolf snapping in response. Rejection spun in those beautiful eyes, and his wolf pawed at the grass, bending its head in silent submission. His mate curled into a smaller ball, tail flicking over her paws in defense. Never before had shame flooded Lorcan as he watched the white wolf turn her head away from him, those ears flicking back as a means to dismiss.

Lorcan was having none of it. He slowly crept forward, and when he was directly in front of his mate, he huffed. Elide turned her head to stare at him, her nose twitching in disdain. His midnight wolf bent his snout down to the nape of his mate’s neck, and took a gentle lick of her soft fur. The white wolf let out a strangled noise as he continued licking around her neck and down her back, smoothing the ruffles in her fur.

As soon as his mate let out a hiss, telling him to back off, Lorcan sat on top of Elide, covering her small, quivering body with his large, muscular one. A small part of him revelled in their differences, of yin and yang. He could stay like this forever, his mate in his embrace. However unwilling.

He rested his snout along the top of her head, a deep growl etching itself from his throat. Mine.

Elide shook her head, attempting to move his head, but Lorcan did not budge. He gently stroked the mating bond that shone clear between them at their close proximity. His mate bristled in response, shoving away the bond from her. Lorcan snarled in response, gently nipping her ear. Centuries and eons of waiting for a chance to prove that he had a heart—to prove the regret at each body that laid at his feet because of him—to prove that he was not Death’s right hand, but a creature of life and listener to the Moon Goddess.

Elide let out a little noise and he rubbed his head against her cheek. This creature was his and he was not going to let go of her, no matter how far she ran nor how well she hid.

His wolf rearranged himself into a more comfortable position to make sure he wasn’t completely squashing his mate. Elide immediately tried to bolt off, but Lorcan merely caught her tail between his teeth. His little mate immediately twisted around, snapping her canines at his head. Her stance was purely aggressive, and she was even leaning on that ruined ankle of hers. Lorcan immediately loosed her tail, and leaned down, licking her ankle. The darkness enveloped around the marred skin, bracing and fixing. To mend.

Elide promptly collapsed against the Earth, her beautiful face contorted into a pained expression. Lorcan immediately knew what he was going to do as he started to wriggle himself under her body. He carefully slid himself fully under his mate, a noise of distress slipping from her throat. When her body was completely shouldered over him, Lorcan lifted himself onto his hind legs. His own veins buzzed with fire and flame at contact with his mate, and he could feel Elide’s own body strumming with heat. The darkness has no longer clouded mind, and Lorcan felt calm, content—for once.

No longer did his magic probe and demolish the surroundings where sections of grass lay yellow and dead, trees de-rooted, branches bent and protruding against other figments of nature. No longer did his magic spin to destroy. Instead, his magic choose to cocoon around Elide, pasting itself to her ankle and stroking slivers of gentle strokes behind her ears. His magic whirled in great streams around them, protecting and serving the small body on top of him, and masking their scent.

His magic soothed and bent in worship at the warm presence on his back.

Even Lorcan’s wolf knows that he cannot break the Pack Covenant by returning Elide back to her house with his body in full Lycan form. He cannot return back to his own damned house where other males and females will want to take his mate away from him. So he carries his mate to the one place where no one will dare find him.

Where no one will disturb him. Where no one except him knows.

Elide does not complain as the darkness bends over her, worshipping her presence, stroking her fur gently, sliding over her as a warm blanket. His own wolf cannot wait to touch her, and to hear sounds of sweetness escape from her throat.

Lorcan knew that Elide had fallen asleep when she stopped twitching in small movements he found endearing. Gentle puffs of air escaped from her snout, fueling his magic’s power to serve something worth more than his entire life. Lorcan can feel his own power surging as the night descended upon them, the darkness thriving in the sheer cover of the moonshine, an element considered his to own and slave to his will.

His wolf stalked through the forest at a brisk pace until they reached the very middle of the wilderness, a large, looming cave beckoning them under a cover of darkness. The crickets no longer chirped their harmonious melody, and the soft patter of dew no longer dared to journey to the grasses.

Not where a killer has made his asylum.

Here, Lorcan’s beast had taken refuge, seeking company in isolation and silence. Here, the echo of his loneliness reflected his pain of regret lining every second of his heartbeat. Here, he sat in stony monotony, memorizing the outline of his mate’s face and breathing in the remains of her scent.  

His wolf strode through the cave, ignoring the crunching of bones underneath his paws, and then gently lowered his mate onto a soft bed of leaves and flowers that grew only in the pure, utter darkness. The nature here grew and spurred into creation from Lorcan’s magic of ruination; because demolishment meant the development of dark beauty.

He was not full royalty like Prince Rowan Whitethorn.

He was the King of Death, and Elide would be the queen of decay.

If she would have him.

Lorcan circled around his mate’s body, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Elide slightly stirred when he sniffed her ankle, spotting marrings of a weapon he knew all too well: chains. Lycans would often be strapped to walls during their first couple shifts, their wolf side unable to be reasoned with.

But Elide was not a Lycan.

Meaning someone had intentionally tried, and successfully hurt her.

A calm, thunderous rage pulsed around him. His canines slipped out, needing to somehow to protect the fragile white wolf in front of him.

Lorcan situated himself over his mate, soaking in the warmth her body offered while offering his own. They were destined by fate, and for once, Lorcan finds himself not minding simply belonging to another. Slowly, he licked her face, needing to see those sweet eyes.

Her eyes flickered open, filled with emotions Lorcan would wish on an enemy, reserved for a foe. Those shining orbs gleam with hatred and disgust, causing him to recoil. The very look sent a sharp jab to his heart, a more fatal blow than any silver blade. He immediately scrambled away from his mate, staring at the wall. As his hind legs bend underneath him, his skin prickled, knowing that the white wolf is staring intently at him. Judging him.

His ear twitched at the sound of his mate shuffling in the makeshift bed that had become his sanctuary in the darkest nights.

His dark wolf rifled through the corners of the cave walls, pulling a long T-shirt into his mouth. He trotted back to his mate, who is still gauging him with an unreadable expression, head slightly cocked.

Lorcan decided that he couldn’t have his mate simply continuing to stare at him with that look. Biting down on her behind as gently as he can afford, a teasing affection only reserved for her, and her only, Lorcan loosed a small howl, demanding Elide return his call.

Elide loosed a yelp, and instead crawled away from him. His wolf whined in protest, lowering his head, and followed her across the cave floor, dragging the fabric dangling from his mouth.

The lovely white wolf hauled herself onto her hind legs and lifted her head, as if she were a queen and he were nothing more than a peasant. Quick as lightning, she snagged the shirt away from him, holding it in front of her like a barrier. The popping of joints and cracking of shifting limbs filled the solemn air, and in a flash, Elide tossed the shirt over her pale body.

Lorcan can only stare at her exposed skin, his tongue falling out of his mouth. The curve of her collarbone, and the long, pale legs that run from underneath her waist the shirt barely covered—

Elide ran a hand through her hair, fingering out the knots. He watched, utterly transfixed.

After a second of staring at him with accusations flooding her orbs, she finally said, “Hello, Lory.”

He dipped his head in shame, Elide crossing her arms.

Lorcan walked to the corner of the cave, his tail between his hind legs. Weaving through other pairs of clothes, he shifted, and quickly pulled the cotton material over his body. By the time he rose from the corners of the cave’s darkness, Elide sat with her legs crossed over the bed, staring intently at the cave’s top. From his angle, she looked like a fallen angel, and Lorcan knew at that instant, he would follow her anywhere—even into Heaven, a place not meant for him.

But he would bring down those golden gates just to leave amongst his mate.

“I—” he started, voice rugged and low, but Elide’s voice abruptly ripped him apart, having him swallow his own sentence. Her eyes cut through him, colder than any temperature and worse than any death.

No amount of time could have him braced for the words that spilled from that cruel, rose-bud mouth of hers. No amount of morphine nor drugs could have numbed him. No amount of preparation or pain would have him ready for her sickened words.

Elide stared at him, and opened her mouth without missing a beat.

“I, Elide Lochan, reject you, Lorcan Salvaterre, as my mate.”

There’s a burning sensation filling every part of him as he falls to the ground, the darkness shattering around him. Air clogs through his throat, and he feels the true abyss of loneliness beckoning him, sucking him in. Pain—this was pain and agony like no other roaring through him.

He thought he knew anguish and anguish knew him.

But this was different.

His wolf is howling and his legs no longer work and he wished that she would have shoved a silver dagger through his heart instead.

The pain peaks, and darkness consumes his vision.

And all is still.

She would not have him.

Elide broke the silence by blowing her nose loudly. For once, Manon deigned to not tap her iron nails against the tables, with Aelin rubbing her arms solemnly and staring at the floor, a despondent look of despair plastered over her face.

The Pack House had still been full of merriment from last night’s activities, and Aelin hadn’t had the heart to shut down the after-party as the Sun broke through the clouds. Instead, the Alpha, Beta, and the apprentice Pack Healer had locked themselves back into Aelin’s room, Elide tending their injuries.

Aelin had not let a single sound escape from her as Elide set her broken elbow. Manon had not scowled.

Elide slid a finger over the mangly flesh that was her ankle, and inhaled sharply. Walking had, for the first time in years, not bothered her. For the first time, she could walk without leaning on her other leg, and run freely and fully.

But for the first time, her heart truly hurt and felt as if an iron brand was wrenching itself onto her.

Because her mate had given her the gift of pain-free. Her mate had healed her, had given her the ability to live a normal life. Her mate had taken away the scars of the chains.

And she had broken him.

Manon stared at Elide, an internal debate playing out in her face. Finally, she said, “The arousal was not the Lycan’s. It was the female’s.” As if it pained her to add, she finally bit out, “Your Lycan had threatened the female’s life. Which is why she was crying.”

She stared at Elide. He did nothing wrong. He rejected every female every since he met you. You were his miracle.

Lorcan. 

No one had dared to say his name. No one had uttered those two syllables as his body had been lowered onto a hospital bed, whisked away into the Lycan infirmary where regular wolves would never be admitted to.

Aelin looked up with ghastly eyes. “The female is dead. Princess Lycan Essar is dead. The female who was with him that night.”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact she was allowed on top of him.” How could she compare to royalty? Do their dishes for them, and fold their laundry?

“All I hear is jealousy,” Manon snapped. “That boy has degraded himself for you. That boy has turned away his darkness for something good, just for you. That boy risked his health for you, just to make you happy. He tried to war a battle against his nature for you. And this is what you give him? Rejection?”

Manon’s eyes misted to ice, an expression meant for the enemy on the battlefield. Elide found herself paralyzed against the floor as her Beta relentlessly forged on.

“He learned himself to be a monster, but changed for you. He regretted every single action in his life because of you. You were his hope and his redemption. But you even took that away from him.”

His eyes—Lorcan’s eyes had glassed over as his body had collapsed, and his will has left his body.

The Great Silencer had fallen. The Devil’s Mind, Death’s Right Hand, the Executioner. He had fallen.

Aelin tried to hold up a hand, her face tired, but Manon snarled in her direction, and stared down Elide again.

“If you kill and break a monster, Elide, what does that make you?”

Elide stood up, clenching her fists. “Stop.” Her voice cracked. Guilt poured through her, but she couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to. She had hurt her mate, when she was supposed to bring him up, uplift him, help him. She had failed her other half when he so desperately needed her.

She glanced at no one in particular, brushing invisible off her jeans. “Do you think they would let me into the hospital?”

Manon laughed bitterly. “You have no connection to him now. You cannot go in because you are not his mate, and not a Lycan.”

Aelin dragged a blade through the couch, tearing apart the sewing. “But we can distract the guards long enough for Elide to get in.”

Her Alpha looked at Elide with those uniquely ringed eyes, full of burning fire. Hope surged through her, and she smiled at Aelin, the Alpha who would always fight for righteousness.

It was time she did the same. Because she had spent her time here as a healer, only to break her mate. The healer’s creed was to listen, to repair, to understand.

She had done none of those things.

“I’m going to fight for him.” She stood up, testing her ankle, which did not fail her. She had failed Lorcan. Her duty was to appease him, to calm his wolf side. Instead she had severed the mate bond that had tethered him to this world as his one chance of love.

Lycans had to be calmed by physical contact.

The way Lorcan had closed his eyes in delight when she’d touched his cheek the one night—

A lump formed in her throat, and she looked out the window, wishing that the midnight wolf would appear from the crook of the trees. She imagined her fingers stroking Lory’s soft fur, and how she let jealousy and rancor overtake her.

Aelin clasped her hands. “You forgive him for his faults, Elide. But never, ever forget.”

Elide looked at the window one last time, and nodded in Aelin’s direction. She set foot for the door, determination flooding her.

“I’m going to fight for you, Lorcan Salvaterre.”

Breaking in was a lot more simple than Elide thought. Once Aelin showed up in front of the gates, sobbing in front of the guards and demanding the presence of her mate, those doors had quickly swung open.

Elide and Manon had flanked their Alpha, feeding the royals and courtesans with feeble and concerned glances. Apparently Aelin’s anguish worked too well, with the Prince Rowan Whitethorn breaking the castle doors and rushing for his mate with wide eyes and concern etched across his face.

The Lycan didn’t spare them a second glance as he swooped his mate into his arms bridal style. Within mere seconds, they had disappeared within the palace, Manon watching the encounter with distaste.

Elide had hurried after them, not wanting to lose access to the grounds, but apparently Rowan had given them permission to loiter until Aelin had passed his inspections and decided to leave.

Her Alpha had sent a message to them down the pack link, instructing Elide and Manon to search for Lorcan—and that she would not clear herself of the premises until Elide found her mate.

Manon grabbed Elide’s arm, hauling her into the grand palace. Once, she would have admired the towering dome and intricacy of the details tracing every curve of the palace.

Once, she would have been in her mate’s arms.

Manon cast her a sharp look. “Your mate’s probably in the infirmary wing. Just say you’re learning to become a Pack Healer and want to see the medicines here with your own eyes.”

Lying.

Elide swallowed. How her mate was already changing her without him knowing. But if this was the cost just to plead and have the opportunity to see Lorcan again, then she would lie for the rest of her life, shattering her reputation repeatedly.

“They must have changed the rules around here, if they just let anybody enter,” a high voiced sniffed in disdain.

Elide turned around, her eyes widening at the sight of the female in front of her. The flowing, draping gown that swirled around her feet, displaying diamonds encrusted onto the high heels—

“You do not have permission to make eye contact with me,” Princess Lycan Remelle, first consort to Prince Rowan Whitethorn, snapped. She flicked her wrist at them in dismissal, and wrinkled her nose in Manon’s direction. “Half-breed mutt.”

Manon merely went for Wind Cleaver, staring down the Princess. “What did you say, bitch?”

The Princess softly gasped, placing a delicate hand over her heart. Then the beauteous narrowed her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. “You’d best watch your mouth. Your presence is already unworthy in these halls.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, pointing her nose down at Elide. “And you—you reek of rejection. It’s only fair you got what you deserved. Poor, poor little weakling—who would want an abused runt?”

A cold smile wrapped around Remelle’s face like a viper readying to strike. And she did, sneering down at Elide.

“Tell me, how was Morath, Elide Lochan?”

Elie didn’t have the chance to utter a word as Manon slashed Wind Cleaver through the air. Remelle barely missed the blade by a centimeter as she scrambled backwards, her gown slashed through the seams.

“Guards!” she screamed, fleeing down the corridors. Her cry echoed down the hall.

Manon growled, and leaped after the Princess of Lycans. After a moment’s thought, she shouted at Elide to find her the gods-damned rutting Salvaterre.

Elide obeyed, running down the opposite direction as a large stream of guards followed Manon’s direction. She sniffed the air, following the scent of Eucalyptus and salves, silently praying to the Moon Goddess that she’d find her mate.

It didn’t matter if she rejected him. She would fight for him back and rip the throats of any female who dared to challenge her spot. She would reclaim what was rightfully hers, just as her mate had tried to claim her.

Lory had wooed her. Lorcan had quashed his wolf’s demands.

Lory had soothed her. Lorcan had denied Essar’s affections.

Lory had given her happiness. Lorcan had taken her to his sanctuary.

Her mate had trusted her with his heart.

Elide had broken the mate bond halfway.

She had shattered her mate’s chance at redemption and love. She had not trusted him when she’d seem him with the other female. She had jumped to conclusions.

Never before had she felt so simply petty. Never before had she felt like a human girl. Never before had she been so determined.

Elide wandered down a series of hallways until she came across a path that no longer lay woven of gold and glass diamonds, but smooth stones. The air turned heavy, the atmosphere thickening.

The scent of Lorcan and blood and grime filled her nose. Elide walked forward, as if she were in a trance. The scent should have brought her comfort, but instead, hesitance filled her veins. She almost wished that her ankle would have failed her now so she’d have the pathetic excuse to crawl back.

But Elide Lochan was going to fight for her mate. Win him back. Give him a second chance and hope he’d do the same as well. So they could learn and grow together—as true mates.

The tang of her mate’s scent was nearly visible in the air with thralling shadows of gallant darkness swooping in the air. Beckoning her.

Elide stopped at the last door, and pressed her palm against the cold stone. She shuddered.

This wasn’t the infirmary. This was a place to waste away.

To decay.

She pushed the door open, wincing at the creaks and wobbling hinges.

A dark figure laid on a bed of stone and bone. The air had accumulated to an almost suffocating layer. Quiet lapped at her, solemn silence filling every crevice.

“Lorcan,” she said.

The figure did not stir, but Elide knew that he was listening. Awake.

She clutched the doorframe as if it would dissipate in her grasp. She ignored the message someone was trying to send her down the pack link. She stared at the sprawling figure, a living longing to touch and comfort him washing over her.

But he would not have her. Not now.

His voice rasped through the darkness. “I hurt everyone. Everyone and anyone who came close to me. Even you.”

Elide blinked away the phantom of tears. “I forgive you.” Always.

“I loved you,” Lorcan said, suddenly and abruptly. Livid passion and raw anger seared in those dark, fathomless eyes.

Elide slowly shook her head, her mate’s eyes tracking each movement. “You loved the idea of me. Not me. There’s a difference.”

“I could have. I could have learned to love. But you didn’t give me the chance.”

Elide stared at the prone figure in front of her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

The granite-hewn face did not relax, and instead black eyes regarded her coolly. “For what?”

Elide swallowed, reaching a hand for him. “For everything.”

Lorcan looked away.

Elide realized what Manon was trying to tell her through the link. Realized the warning too late. She cursed herself, and slowly turned around.

The tsunami of sound thundered in her ears as a sea of armor swarmed towards her. Cold metal lining their bodies tainted the air. Elide felt her knees waver, and she cast her mate a betrayed glance.

Lorcan watched as the guards rounded the corner, and struck a silver blade horizontally across Elide’s back. He did not flinch as her scream resounded across the walls, and as they dragged her down the hallways, her nails scratching against the floor, leaving no marks or dents. He did not blink as she screamed his name, nor as the guards clasped silver handcuffs around her tiny wrists.

Elide’s eyes found his, even through the darkness.

He gave her a smirk, the last piece of hardened piece of him.

“You did not give me a chance, Elide. So I will not give you a second one.”

Lorcan turned away, and waved the door shut as the guards wretched her around the corner. His wolf did not call for her anymore, and he leaned back against the cold bed, closing his eyes.

Silence.

The cell was cold and damp.

Once upon a time, if someone asked her if she believed in love, she would have wholeheartedly agreed. She would have cooed and fawned over the mere notion. She would have smiled in pure eagerness and elation.

Elide knew better now.

Love was a figment of the imagination.

I loved you.

I

Loved

You,

Her mate had said.

Loved.

She thought she could have been the sunshine in Lorcan’s darkness. She thought the stars in her eyes would have been the universe for Lorcan. She thought the passion in her heart would have pulsed for him.

Her body sagged against the chains, her mind a sorrowful mess. Her mate didn’t want her. She had pushed him beyond breaking point. He would not give her a second chance. He did not want to fight for her.

Lorcan had taught her that silence was beautiful.

But as she drowned in this silence, in the coldness of the cell, she knew that the only thing that silence meant was anticipation for the future in what the Lycans would do to her.

For breaking the Gamma Lorcan Salvaterre, for placing him in the death bed, for snapping his chance at love. For reducing a Lycan into a sickly stance in which his wolf was isolated without a chance at redemption.

But if he wanted love, he wouldn’t have shut her away in this dark, dark cell. He would not have chained her up, a thicker chain wrapped around her once-mangled ankle, mocking and taunting her.

Down here in this deep cell, bolstered by silver linings, her pack link did not work. She was shut out in sheer loneliness, in forever silence. She was left alone to the poison that seeped through her thoughts, plaguing every syllable and sound.

Elide Lochan turned down the inkling of love. She fully embraced the pain as the mate bond snapped in half, as a piece of her soul was torn away from her. She did not cry as she felt her inner wolf weep and howl in agony.

Elide flinched as the bars to her prison shuddered and slid to the side.

Fear splintered through every bone in her body as she regarded the face of her nightmares grin manically, revealing those pristine, chipped teeth that had regularly sneered at her.

The wolf who had killed her father, and taken away the rightful position of Alpha from her and her bloodline. The faint memory had her ankle throbbing.

“Hello, Elide,” the Alpha of the Morath Pack leered, snapping on gloves oozing magical wards to defend the user from the touch of silver and wolfsbane.

Elide struggled in the chains as she regarded the final piece of her childhood swinging in her Uncle Vernon’s hands, dragged from the outside and into her chilling cell.

No, no no no.

He could not—

The rusted chain, thick and tinged with hints of wolfsbane and silver.

The bars slammed into position, and clicked with a whirring lock.

Elide trembled and jerked in her restraints as he unhooked the coarse chain around her ankle, and gripped her bone firmly in place, no matter how hard she thrashed. A nail dug into her skin, holding her in position.

He leaned in directly in front of her face, the smell of rotten things clouding her face. That monstrous smile that had fueled her nightmares.

“What an adventure you’ve had, Elide,” he breathed onto her face, and snapped the all-too familiar chain over her ankle.

Elide cried out as her ankle bent back into that demented shape, the silver digging into her skin, and the chain marring her skin once again.

Elide Lochan screamed as her Uncle Vernon ripped the fabric of her blouse off her body, a lecherous, triumphant smile on his face.

“Now that your mate has rejected you, you are up for taking.” A bony hand wrapped around her throat. “And I think you will make a fine plaything, Elide Lochan.”

[easkyrah]

Elorcan Werewolf AU part 6

It was so damn hard to not write Lorcan instead of Lory and vice versa. You know you’re tired when you write cock instead of cook.

“Just like our eyes, our hearts have a way of adjusting to the dark”

Elorcan Werewolf Part 6

Lory didn’t come back. No matter how many times she left raw meat out in the woods or called his name. No one responded to the have-you-seen-this-dog posters she dutifully taped on tree trunks, listing rewards she’d scour from her trust funds. The animal control couldn’t find him, and found no traces of a large-sized dog or wolf in the woods. There was no sighting in the inner cities either.

Lory was gone without a trace, as if he were a ghostly whisper whose secret existence only Elide knew.

Elide mourned him, and even held a funeral for him, placing all his collars in formation around a patch of grass he often frequented, moodily staring into the forest as if cursing the restraints on his body.

Only the pink collar was gone, leaving a foul aftertaste in her mouth: never had before Elain so despised a color, and demonstrated her pettiness by refusing to wear anything of that hue.

On her third night of eating rocky road ice cream and staring blearily at her papers, Manon and Aelin burst through her door without warning. Elide popped off the the chair, hand snaking out to reach for a spare dagger. Seeing it was only her Alpha and Beta, she placed a hand over her heart and managed a glare at them.

The frown had easily been swept away as she took in her friends’ appearances. In Manon’s arms, a grocery bag of chocolate covered strawberries winked at her. In Aelin’s own hands, shopping bags of dresses and short skirts filled the very top to bottom.

“I can’t have my favorite healer down.” Aelin breezed through her living room, pulling aside her curtains and tossing all her tissues into the waste bin. After a heartbeat and cocking her head, she amended, “Well maybe Sorscha as well.”

“We have this day all to ourselves,” added Manon. “The Thirteen are in command for twenty four hours.” She stalked through the threshold, inspecting her cottage, and noting the lack of pictures adorning her tables and walls.

Elide reached for a strawberry, but Manon slapped her wrist and ushered her to her bedroom. Her friends tutted in distaste at the simple designs; Aelin nearly threw a fit when she saw her gray-lined bedroom.

“How can you live like this?” Aelin tugged her fire-gold strands of hair, surveying Elide’s simplistic room. Elide watched as Aelin tear through her dresser, clucking her tongue with an almost revulsion reserved for her utmost disappointment. Manon, however, sniffed the air, and flocked to the window, her spine stiff.

Elide played with the hem of her shirt. She’d also stared out that window, wondering where Lory had gone, and why he decided to not return, to abandon her. She had offered him a steady hearth and affection, pieces of her heart, and glimpses into her past.

Emptiness tugged at the corner of her heart. She didn’t need glamour when she had Lory’s presence. There was a soothing quality to his presence that didn’t need to speak volumes from the human tongue. The mere steady and silent exposure to an animal with no ill intent towards her, in which he’d lick her palm and twitch those ears, stare at her, as if she were the only human in the world—

Aelin flopped onto Elide’s bed in defeat. “The only option I see is getting laid.” She tapped her chin in thought. “Shopping and eating won’t cut it. You need physical contact.”

Elide shook her head, and stood next to Manon. The Beta’s eyes fixed on the path of grass where the collars sat in heart formation, mocking Lory’s absence. She imagined Lory curled up on the grassy plains, his hind legs bent in restlessness, and those dark, dark eyes following her shape as she did her yoga exercises, watching the Sun gallantly spiral into the vast sky.

Her heart warmed as she studied the two females in her room. One herself blazed with fierce mortality and sheer determination, the other a honed icicle and ironstone. They were two sides of the same coin, and if Elide wished, she could flip them into the air at her command.

Manon surreptitiously sniffed the air again. “Dog,” she hissed.

Elide nodded in confirmation. She’d always thought herself a cat lady, but there was something different about Lory other than his moodiness and his steely demeanor that seemed to simply see more than she did. The way his eyes would flicker with deeper intellect, and the powerful muscles rippling across his back as he stalked around her house as if he owned every inch. The way that nose would twitch in aversion when another male neared her, and a deep growl would thunder from the base of his throat—

It was almost as if her were her guardian angel. Her watchdog.

Elide pinched her arm. Dear Hellas, she really was hung over a dog, an animal that most likely found another warm home with another owner who would treat him with care every second—

Why was she so damned jealous?

Aelin joined them at the windowpane, and laid a hand against Manon. “Speak,” she ordered, and Elide recognized the Alpha command, one she rarely used.

“If my senses aren’t deceiving me, just a mere dog wasn’t here.”

“Your senses don’t lie.” Aelin crossed her arms. “What is it?”

“I detect a Lycan. Not a full-blooded one, mind you, but a wisp of a male that has Lycan blood running through his veins.”

Elide’s veins turned to ash. “No,” she said.

Wolf, Nox had said, and she’d dismissed him. What did a human know about dogs and wolves?

“Lory’s just a wolf. Or a large dog,” she blurted, and leaned back as Manon towered over her.

Aelin dragged Elide to her bed as Manon flipped her white-ash hair over a shoulder. “Tell us about this Lory,” she hummed.

Elide decided she did not like the glint in Manon’s eyes.

Lorcan was in deep shit. Deep, unrelenting shit. He had returned to the cadre, his bones cracking in protest, hair tousled and grim coating the exposed inches of skin, and sweat running down his neck in rivulets. He could feel his wolf thrashing inside of him, craving any type of release that didn’t involve a dead body, but utter dominance.

His wolf needed to claim his lovely, sweet, vixen of a mate, and Lorcan had forbade that.

His wolf needed to at least dominate a female, a poor attempt to loosen the edge of feralness that chipped away at him. Only his mate could fully quell him, but his mate did not want anything to do with him. A part of him disagreed, that the rules of nature and raw hand of fate had paired them together, but if his pure mate did not want him, then he would not object.

Because he was bound by blood and the fallen. Could his mate look past the hands that had snapped the necks of even the children? Could his mate accept his dark-woven future and calling for bleak death? Could his mate tolerate his penchant for starkness, the life of a spartan?

Fenrhys let out a low chuckle as Lorcan stalked through the entrance, his body shuddering in pain. His wolf was a monster inside of him, and it took his entire willpower to turn away the demands of intimacy. He would not touch another female unless his mate permitted him.

His wolf cursed Lorcan’s decision, roaring in protest. Both savage and pathetic, every Lycan’s wolf side needed a gentle hand in their life, and over the years, that softness expressed itself in watching submission, and Lycans resorting to casual sex.

It was another reason for his mate to hate him, he supposed. He could sense the innocence radiating from his mate, and while that made him and his wolf beyond ecstatic, a small part of him had wished that mate wouldn’t be so pure—so that he could also have a reason to hate her.

And in the hatred, they could find themselves back to each other, easier. Pain was the easiest emotion to deal with, the easiest feeling to manipulate. Words and the heart intertwined so deeply, all he could do is lie and break a strong psychological mindset.

But disgust had to be earned. Something had to go a little wrong, a little awry. A stone had to be overturned to reveal the dirt underneath rather than the smooth, cool surface. His history was no secret, his path as a warrior, as the cadre’s gamma, or first general. The tales of his executions and interrogations were no sight for his mate, a young girl who delighted in clean, savory truths. His rock had been tossed into the swamps to rot and he had emerged as the victor. Unscathed, but internally scarred.

He was not the male for her, and he cursed the Moon Goddess for this pairing. He had waited eons for the notion of love, and had waited for another broken soul who had wrecked havoc upon others—so they could share this pain in empathy. But the hand of nature had given him someone who could mend him, and that was something Lorcan knew he didn’t deserve. He could break his mate’s neck without so much as a blink, and ruin that soft skin and fill it with scars and blemishes. He could crush her with a single blow, and this precious, delicate creature that was Elide Lochan deserved more in life than a murderer.

Fenrhys laughed under his breath, watching Lorcan make way to his room. “She’s got you more whipped than Maeve.”

Maeve, their past Alpha Queen who had haunted his nightmares still. 

Now the only nightmare consisted of his mate’s rejection.

He could feel the ebbing of his darkness receding with his wolf’s ferality. Soon his own body would fade away into a weak waste of flesh if he and his wolf did not see eye to eye. If a Lycan’s human and wolf side did not live in harmony, the body would fail, and Lorcan had never once imagined himself in this scenario. The things his mate caused him without knowing—Elide Lochan would be his downfall.

He could only snap his teeth at Fenrhys and stagger towards his room, promising to wring the Fenrhy’s neck later.

His wolf called for Elide; to be simply near her would be enough to quell him for a week—months even.

But Lorcan refused to run the risk of claiming her outright. It was the rare case that his wolf overtook his body completely, pouring his intentions and will into every muscle and tendon. And the mere mention of his mate was enough for him cross the line into where the true feral lurked.

It was dangerous. He was dangerous. His mate made him more dangerous. He had no control of these matters of pure emotion coursing down him, making each step unbearable. His wolf demanded release and claiming and binding, and Lorcan slammed down on his will just as hard.

He had slaughtered armies. He would not allow the picture of his mate be his undoing. But that was her purpose, perhaps. To bring a Lycan to his knees. It would not be the first time in history such scheme had been done, and with all the misery Lorcan had caused, he wouldn’t expect anything less.

But sweet, sweet Elide—he didn’t believe she could harm a fly. She’d guide the insects that dared to breach her house out. She cooed and soothed. She was his angel. She was soft and gentle. She was everything he wasn’t.

“Lorcan,” Gavriel said.

He realized that he’d been leaning against a marble column, his entire posture tense.

“I’ll call Essar,” was all Gavriel said, before he disappeared down the hallway. A tang of gratitude swept down Lorcan that his friend did not help him limp back towards his room full of darkness.

Even Essar, the doe-eyed female, would not bother him there.

No one would bother a killer in his natural habitat.

His wolf was angered, and Lorcan did not bother to acknowledge the walls that were crumbling around him. He did not want Essar. He did not want a female who believed to see more in him, and wanted to change him. He did not want a casual fuck.

He wanted Elide Lochan.

And he would endure this pain of his body wasting away if it meant he could finally stay true to her. It was his penance, and he supposed he should thank the Moon Goddess for this chance.

“Bullshit.” Manon had walked back to the window, staring at the collars. “Although the scent is there, I refuse to believe that a male who is older than me and has killed more than me and seen more betrayals than me—will wear those pieces willing. And pink, much less.”

Aelin flung a hand over her heart. “You know, the names Lory and Lorcan are too similar too ignore. But the fact that a Lycan would willingly degrade himself for his mate—” Her Alpha let out a bitter, low chuckle.

Elide trembled, wrapping a blanket around herself. “Lory’s not Lorcan, Manon. Aelin, please.” She pleaded with them. “My mate doesn’t love me anymore than those girls he’s touched.”

She refused to believe this. Yet it explained so much, of why she was pining over a creature of the forest. It explained the comfort a four-legged creature could provide more than Aelin and Manon combined could bring her. It explained why she could trust him with stories of Morath, and why she needed to be around him constantly, checking up on him as much as he checked up on her. The way Lory looked at her—no animal would carry such tenderness in those eyes that had usually stared at everything in such solemn misery.

“You know, Rowan really has to pick up his game.” Aelin shook her head. “I’ve never seen him in wolf form, much less having a collar wrapped around that pretty neck. And we’re talking about a male who has probably has Death bowing to him. Pink, Elide? What were you thinking? That’s probably what scared him off.”

Elide bit her lip. “Did I mention that he ran off on a full moon?”

Manon’s head whipped around. She cocked her head in a way that was surely predatory, those eyes calculating. “You did not feel him cheating in anyway?”

She shook her head. “None. The mate bond doesn’t lie, and he’s actually kept...it...to himself.”

Aelin nodded to herself with grim certainty. “I really need to find a new mate.”

Manon clapped her hands. “Great. We have a female who doesn’t trust her male, and a male who’s pining after his female with one foot in the grave.” Her head swiveled towards Aelin. “Would Rowan tell you if Lorcan decided to visit Elide on a whim?”

The Alpha tossed her hands up in the air. “I think males blame females for bipolar syndrome because they displayed the traits in the first place. Who knows? One moment he’s sucking up to me, the next he’s the coldest floating piece of ice in Antarctica.”

Manon crossed over the room, her eyes dark. “Enough. I’ve done with you both fawning over your mates—” she dismissed Aelin with a bold flick of her nails, and turned towards Elide “—another reason we have come here is because we are holding a ball, and I think it would do you well to come. Leave your studies and moping for another day. Live one night, and see who you were before you met your mate.” She briefly glanced at Aelin. “And you as well.”

Aelin let out a harsh laugh and fell onto the bed. “Stars above. What have we come to, Elide?”

Elide cradled her pillow, imagining it as Lory. “Love. It does the worst to us. Doesn’t it?”

Aelin chose to move up the ball’s date by a week, so the Pack House was a flurry of commotion, silk and lace flying through the hallways. Perfumes and delicacies crammed in every corner, bouquets of every kind of flower floating in the breeze and fluttering around the curtains, which had been elegantly thrown open to allow the rays of sun and night pour into the sweeping ballroom. The crystal chandelier had been polished, with gold ornaments and statues gleaming at every facet. Soft streams of music swept away the blinding lights, the pleasantries of kisses and hugs exchanged as servants poured in, arms full of arrays of all kinds.

Aelin had called in every favor, demanding an all-out production. Ancient wine and bottles of drinks beyond Elide’s knowledge were brought out and displayed. Trinkling windpipes and glistening harps of all sizes were situated on pedestals, a grand piano arcing the center. Layers of cakes were seized into the kitchen, and a flurry of cooks flooded the hallways, arms full of batter and butter.

Elide watched, captivated by all the commotion. Until she saw a flower girl and a servant boy exchanging a sloppy, but passionate kiss in the gardens. When they pulled away, still in each other’s embraces, their faces were flushed red, but happy nonetheless.

Elide turned away.

The cadre had been invited. To not would have been a public insult and as good as a declaration of war. Aelin had flourished her arms out, declaring that shit was mostly to go down, and ordered an extra shift of guards to loiter in the hallways, and blend among the shadows. Elide had fled to her old room in anticipation, wondering how she’d confront Lorcan.

Thank you for protecting me as a wolf? Not putting up a fuss for wearing the collars? Watching me dress and shower? Did you get tired of my body—is that why you left?

As the sun set, and the moon rose, Elide couldn’t help the trepidation that pumped through every vein. It didn’t matter if Lorcan showed up with another girl or two notched up in his arms. She just had to see him.

The first trickle of guests streamed in, Aelin and Manon greeting each arrival with a curt nod and quick smile in customary tradition. Elide had smoothed the soft fabric of her skirts down, twirling a strand string of black around her finger.

She wanted Lorcan to know that she wasn’t afraid of death. She was a werewolf, and she also had bled from silver, had been held hostage in the Morath pack. She knew death and death knew her. Elide had often found herself on the brink of death, poison and morphine pumping through every vein of her scrawny body. The scars on her ankle was a reminder of the memories, locked up. The lashes of the whip were no stranger to her, and the stinging had always been her silent friend. The cold loneliness that had swept through her as she had crawled because her ankle had failed her, her Uncle—Alpha—Vernon failing her in worse ways. Morath had taught her that family was not blood. Family was trust, and trust was earned. She had learned that the world was not her oyster.

The world was clever and cruel, but it was also colorful, and if she could chose to live it so that she could be content not any seeking revenge, then she could rise above the pain. She would not Morath break her.

Because one day she would bring Morath down.

Elide didn’t believe that monsters were born. Monsters were cultivated and grown from the vices of humanity, something the Were were not exempt from either. And as Elide looked down at the crowds of entering people, she had an inkling of a feeling that Lorcan would not come. And as the clock chimed away minutes that transformed to hours, she knew her suspicions were right.

She didn’t think one individual, much less a male, could affect her this way. Manon had been wrong when she’d said that mates were a bedtime story. A mate was a thorn in her side, and she cursed the mate bond as a shrapnel of pain digging into her mind, a throbbing that beat louder with each breath. Something was off, and the mate bond flared between her, pulsing in her head. She could feel a gentle caressing down her side, and an almost frenzied despair flashing down.

Aelin was instantly at her side, half-carrying and half-guiding her to the infirmary. She pressed a palm against her forehead, and Elide moaned in pain.

“She’s burning up,” Aelin whispered to someone, who slammed a dagger into the table in frustration. Manon.

“Is he cheating on you?” Manon demanded, her voice near guttural. Her tapping of her nails against the steel table drove Elide further to an edge. There was something wrong—not by fault, but by nature. There was a wedge cleaving between her mate, but not between them. A struggle between man and wolf, a fight that always ended in bloodshed.

The Prince Rowan Whitethorn burst through the door, his face ashen. He further paled as Manon whipped out her favorite blade, Wind Cleaver, that promised death. Aelin merely sat at the foot of the bed in which Elide laid, sweat pouring down her forehead. She tried to bow, but Aelin was having none of it, using her Alpha command to order Elide to sit and rest.

“How dare you,” Aelin snarled, turning to her mate with livid anger. “Have the audacity to not show up, and flaunt yourself in now?”

Rowan shook his head, and slowly lifted his palms into the air. Elide could have sworn his Adam’s apple bobbed. “This is beyond me.” His eyes cut to Elide, and Manon loose a low growl. “Your mate is dying. Fading away.”

Elide managed to leap off the bed before her ankle collapsed and gave out on her. Aelin wrapped an arm around her shoulder, Manon pacing around Rowan, shielding her from the first threat that was the Prince of Lycans.

“Explain,” Manon commanded, her voice a thin blade of viciousness.

Rowan sighed, a sound that spoke ancient volumes. “Lorcan’s wolf is not taking Elide’s absence well...and believes she’s rejecting him. The fact that Lorcan refuses to lay with a female even for—” Rowan’s face turned to stare at the wall with shame stitched across his eyes “—a means to satiate his wolf’s side—it’s causing his own wolf to reject him. He won’t survive the night if this keeps up.”

Aelin tucked Elide closer to her chest. “I won’t allow her to go near that monster,” she nearly spat out, and glared daggers at her mate, who lifted a brow. “I won’t put one of my pack members in danger.”

Rowan stared at Aelin, an unfathomable look sketched across his face. Something like cold fury spun in those eyes. “Lycans would rather die than hurt their mate.”

The Alpha of the Fireheart pack looked like she wanted to very much disagree, but surprisingly, it was Manon who said, “I think it’s Elide’s decision.”

Elide thought back to her time with Lory, and how he’d so easily seeped happiness into her life. How he’d press his wet nose against her knees and stare up at her, resting his snout on her lap. The way he had made her laugh and made sure she’d eaten every last bite, and encouraged her to go for runs in the woods. He had made her smile. Made her appreciate life. Made her experience joy.

She thought back to the nights when he’d lick away her tears, and lay closer to her side, snuggling against her.

Elide lifted her head, even as she felt searing pain in her neck, and said, “Take me to my mate.”

“I’m going to hold another ball,” Aelin announced to no one in particular as they piled into a black SUV that screamed wealth. “Maybe a masquerade.”

Manon filled the silence by sharpening her nails.

Rowan pulled the car up to a sprawling mansion with silver gates. As they walked across the pristine, cut lawn, Elide marvelled at the honey droplets of morning dew that still drooped from the leaves, the moonlight illuminating the beauty of the greenery that was contained just in the lawn.

The entrance had no door, and Elide supposed it was fitting when it would be suicide to enter the home of the Lycans. Marbled pillars and glass panels filled her vision.

Rowan stalked down the hallways until he faced a door that was halfway open. The last door in the hallway.

Rowan frowned, slightly sniffing the air. “I think—”

Elide willed herself to hold her head high as she slipped through the door.

She didn’t expect to be engulfed in darkness, save for a burning candle lighting the room into a soft, orange glow. She didn’t think that the room would be immaculate, and no dust nor blood would stain the floor. She somewhat expected the lines of swords and daggers hooked onto the walls.

She didn’t expect the outline of women on top of the large male, sprawled across dark sheets. She didn’t expect the guilt written in the eyes of her mate as his head snapped towards her, and his arm to be wrapped around the other female’s hips. She expected the flicker of surprise in that granite-hewn face. She didn’t expect the tang of arousal that permeated the too-clean room, and the beautiful doe-eyed female on Lorcan’s lap to seem strangely sad, her hair cascading down across Lorcan’s bare chest.

Elide took one look at the embrace of her mate and the other female before she fled the room, her own wolf also turning cold and slamming down a wall not even Aelin or Manon could penetrate.

She ignored the howl that shattered the air as she felt her bones shift and crack. She ignored the image of the other female’s legs locked around her mate’s waist. She ignored the voice telling her to go back, to return to her mate.

She embraced the other voice that told her to seek rejection, revenge. The one that saw that doe-eyed female with soft curves with hands around the corded muscle of the Lycan that should have been hers. 

When white paws hit the ground, Elide Lochan felt herself bolt forward, away from her mate. And she did not look back as a series of howls and tearing pierced the dark night.

[easkyrah]

Elorcan Werewolf AU Part 5

Sometimes I wish I could paint my perfect character and bring him to life, stripping him of his own mind and molding him with my own expectations; when reality sinks in I’m stuck along a maze that leads to an ocean to drown in. — Ea

“I closed my eyes and talked to you in a thousand ways”

Elorcan Werewolf 5

Lory brushed against Elide before she could reach the door, and she gave into stroking his warm fur. His ears twitched back and he rolled onto the floor, showing his belly. She laughed and scratched his belly, the underbelly holding the softer fur. 

Her canine companion slightly growled when a slight knock resounded at the door. Ignore it, he seemed to say.

Elide kissed Lory’s head, much to his dismay, and skipped to the front door. “I’ll be right back.”

She opened the door with a broad smile on her face. A male with gray eyes and dark hair stood in her doorway, holding bouquet of pink roses tied together with a yellow ribbon.

“I’m Nox,” the male said, nervously shifting on his feet, offering a somewhat hesitant smile. “The one Manon set us up with.”

Elide gave him a sunny smile and held her door open. “Welcome, Nox. You must know I’m Elide.”

He gave her a smile, dimpling, and Elide couldn’t help but smile. She guided him to the kitchen where Nox handed her the flowers. “Red seemed too deep, you know? So pink. And then yellow for happiness.”

“I love it,” she chirped.

Nox helped her place them in a vase, filling it halfway with her kitchen tap water. She found the lack of conversation comforting and appreciated how Nox didn’t barrage her with questions past dates had done. When they finished, Nox glanced at her. “I had planned a walk at Central Park and then a garden picnic afterwards, but on my drive here, storm clouds broke over.”

“On this side of the city, the weather is renown for its bipolarness.”

A cheeky grin. “Like females in general?”

She lightly slapped his arm. “We can stay in for movies and popcorn, if you don’t mind?”

A slight shake of head. “Not in the slightest. Do you—”

Lory let out a bark that meant he wanted attention and barreled into the kitchen. A red rose was slipped between his teeth. He skidded to a stop, cocking his head at Nox. He slowly sniffed the air, and gave Elide a betrayed glance.

Elide rushed to him with outstretched arms. “Lory, this is my Valentine’s date, Nox.”

His tail stopped wagging, and she swore Lory’s eyes darkened into feral pitch-black. When she blinked, Lory spit out the rose and knocked down the front door, abruptly barreling into the woods.

Nox cocked his head. “Is she temperamental?”

Elide choked. “Lory’s a male.”

She retrieved the rose from the floor and slipped it into the vase, even though a small part of her wanted to retrieve a separate vase for the single, thornless rose.

Elide let him go. Lory would return. He always did.

Nox, she realized, was an easy person to get along with. He had a younger sister who loved painting and dreamed of attending Juilliard. Nox was finishing his masters degree in dentistry at a respectable college. 

He was perfect, charming, and absolutely one hundred percent average. Borderline dull, but perfectly safe and average.

Elide told herself she could deal with it. She deserved someone sweet, even if that notion meant normality. The mundane signaled security. 

Nox squeezed her knee. “You okay? I’m not boring you, are you?” He cocked his head. “The reason Aelin sent me is because I focus on my studies more than anything else. And if I want a relationship, it has to mean more than a fling. So while I am enjoying this date and getting to know you, and this may be early, I need to know if your inklings of thoughts follow.”

She nodded, and set the empty popcorn bowl on the table. “I’ve never really dated anyone, so I have nothing to compare to.”

Those gray eyes widened. “You would have turned everyone down, because there’s no way not another single wouldn’t have asked you out at least.”

A blush spread on her cheeks. “I just—” Wanted to save myself for my mate who turns out to not even like me. Who didn’t want to wait for me. She needed normal now. She could deal with a human. Werewolves and humans intermixing was not uncommon, as long as the pair ordained permission from one of the Lycans.

Elide knew she wouldn’t be asking Lorcan.

She shook her head. “I don’t even really know.”

Nox took the bowl to the sink and started rinsing it. Casting a look out at the stormy clouds that hung blearily, he said, “Shouldn’t you look for your dog now?”

A sliver of guilt ran through her. She’d almost forgotten about Lory. “I will.” She grabbed a sweater from her room and stepped out onto the porch.

Seconds later, Nox joined her, those eyes analyzing his surroundings. “Does your dog have a favorite part of the woods?”

Elide swallowed back further shame. She’d never wondered where Lory went, as long as he came back. “No. I can’t keep up with him when he bolts off.” That much wasn’t a lie.

“So he bolts off often?”

“Yes.” Elide studied the line of trees and walked down the narrow trail, clutching her jacket closer to her frame. A slight wind started picking up with hint of frost. The clouds thickened and darkened. “Lory!” she called.

Nox reached for her elbow, pressing a flashlight into her hands. “We’ll just stick on the trail so we won’t get lost.”

She nodded, and picked up her pace, flicking her wrist with the flashlight. “Lory?” she called.

The wind howled in protest, and she felt her shadow and the darkness loom over them. A chill ran down her spine, and her flashlight flickered. The faintest sounds reached her ear drums, but no snap of the twig or scratch of the claw filled the empty, streaming air. 

“We should go back inside,” Nox said.

She put her hands on her hips. “I am not going back in without Lory.”

Nox tapped her flashlight, which went off. “It’s not safe. Lory’s chances of survival are higher in the woods as a wolf rather than you. Wait until morning and search again if he’s not already here.”

She stared at him. “What did you say?”

“Elide,” he said exasperatedly. “Go home.”

“No—you said wolf.”

She saw him blink. “Yes, wolf. What, did you think that large thing was a dog? I’m surprised you even managed to tame one. It’s a full moon, Elide, where wolves run with the moon and claim what’s theirs. Your Lory must be out there. And if you’ve managed to tame him as well as I think you did, then he will come back.”

Elide didn’t sleep well. She’d offered her couch to Nox before he left just in case he wanted to wait out the storm, but he merely waved a hand and said he’d crash at a nearby hotel, not wanting to intrude — and to call him if she wanted to look for Lory in the morning.

She had pulled back her curtains, staring at the full outline of the moon and its light shedding down on them. The clouds had rolled over, but the wind had persisted, blowing in great breaths and heaves that shook against her windowpane.

She missed Lory curled against her bed. She missed his warmth and his presence, and the comfort of another’s existence rather than utter silence and her own self. Maybe a trip to the city with Aelin and Manon was in order.

How’s your Valentine’s Day going? She sent down the pack link.

Manon immediately replied. Watching Alpha Dorian do the walk of shame.

I did not need to know that.

I really am going to reject Rowan, Aelin said a few moments later. Right in the middle of clearing our differences he runs out the door and flees out of my pack territory like a bird shot out of hell.

Tell him he’s a pussy, Manon suggested. It’ll keep him on his toes.

Elide rolled her eyes and tried to force herself into sweet oblivion, but none came. She needed Lory.

So she pulled a bathrobe tight over her nightgown and ventured into the woods, armed with two flashlights.

As soon as Lorcan had reached a good distance from the rutting house, he shifted. The dark abyss of power he hadn’t touched in weeks and months welled up inside of him, yearning to be unleashed. And he did, his own power and rage fueled by the full moon. His inner Lycan side had demanded to mark Elide right then and there and rip apart the guts of the human who had dared to charm and touch his Elide.

He felt Rowan’s wind summon and reach against his dark walls. Before he could stop his intrinsic side, his magic had erupted at the touch, thinking the wind as a threat from restless peacefulness of domesticity. His magic tore from him and slammed against the wind and throbbed around Lorcan, pulsing and beating larger with each second.

“What the fuck,” a snarl tore out of Rowan’s lips as his ass was knocked back several feet. “Fucking attack the rogue, not me.”

He could feel Rowan’s magic testing him, seeing if he was possessed. His own magic flexed back, sweeping through his friend’s defenses easily in demolishment, his specialty.

“There is no rogue werewolf,” Lorcan snapped, flexing his aching back muscles.

His other friend rolled onto the balls of his feet, staring at him in disbelief. “Then why the Hell did you call me to get my ass over here? Aelin and I were—”

“Elide is with another male.”

Rowan stopped, and the wind died. Silence fell upon him, and his fists clenched. Then— “you interrupted my time with my mate just to whine about yours?”

The darkness flared out and pulsated around Rowan, threatening to suffocate him. “I cannot claim her without her despising my existence further.”

A snort from Rowan. “It’s not like you can go to her anyways with her on human lands.”

Lorcan’s face remained oddly stoic. The dark slowly retreated at thought of Elide, his beautiful werewolf mate addicted to sweetened coffee and milk chocolate, and prone to little ramblings that too-often touched his heart.

Rowan swore. “You found a loophole, didn’t you? You went in wolf form. Goddammit, Lorcan. She didn’t see your true Lycan side, did she?”

“Do you take me as an idiot?” he snapped. “Just my weakest wolf shape.”

“Then fucking get your ass back and chase the human off.”

“She constantly seeks companionship, and I constantly chase them away. If we do not have her today, my Lycan will end up fucking another girl.” And I cannot do that again, not that now I have found her.

Rowan’s face twisted. “You think I care right now? You left me with my mate on a full moon when I thought you were near death.”

“I am, you fool—”

His friend lunged out, his Lycan side snapping into place. Cracking noises filled the air as both Lycans turned, teeth snapping. Wind rushed and slammed against Lorcan, who immediately shot up his shields. Coldness spread throughout the dark, seeping and attempting to find a weakness to crack.

Finding none, Rowan let out a roar and lunged forward, and Lorcan met him head on. He knocked Rowan to the side, biting down near his neck, but he rolled away, launching off Lorcan’s own back as they tumbled. As soon as they hit the tree, they disentangled, pacing around one another.

Rowan let out a startled bark, and let out a huff. He dropped to his haunches, and Lorcan warily stared at him, his ears flattened and jaws open.

Lorcan, Rowan’s Lycan wolf of silver streaks and black whorls panted not from exertion, but amusement. There is a pink collar around your neck.

So? Lorcan growled out, ready to leap again. The dark was ready to maim and attack his friend in the name of Elide. The fight with another Lycan would also be needed to release the pent up stress that had accumulated.

The other wolf’s ears flopped back, and he released a short breath in exasperation and amusement.

I didn’t know that was your type of thing, Lory.