This kind of preservation is largely found in dinosaur fossils within the Jurassic Morrison Formation, a sedimentary rock formation found in Wyoming, Utah and Colorado. [Image via http://imgur.com/gallery/2OFmi]
Inside a dinosaur’s bone. This is a special preservation where a variety of quartz called agate has filled the bone’s pore space. Fossils with this preservation are largely found in dinosaurs, especially sauropods, from the Jurassic Morrison Formation in states like Wyoming, Utah, and colorado.
Sometimes following your heart means losing your mind
Elorcan Werewolf Part 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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
Her mate had said.
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.”
His bottom lip is being devoured by a flushed, slightly swollen, hungry mouth. Magnus smiles a little entranced, once again awash with realizing how hopelessly in love he is, but he’s known it for a long while… Alec, however… Magnus had been waiting for him to say the words, looking for something he had already found.
He’s lying on top of him after their shower, their half naked bodies pressing together in every place possible, burning up every muscle, every bone, every pore, limbs sliding against limbs, brushing places that elicit waves of delicious sparks. Magnus can feel Alec’s hands roaming on him, tracing the shells of his ears, over his ear cuff, tiny bumps appearing when the slightly cold metal presses against his heated skin.
I just trod on Clod’s tail. I am scum. I am trash. I am a talisman of immorality. I’ll come quietly, officer. There’ll be no resistance from me. You want a trial? No need, officer, I’m guilty as sin. I’m dripping with it. Put me in solitary, officer. Lock me up and feed me bread and soap. Separate me from society, officer. It’s more than I deserve.
Since I’m going through the process of becoming an exchange student, it gave me the idea of the situation with wolfstar.
I’m going to make it cliche and say Sirius is The American™ going to Paris, France
City of love and all that
Imagine Sirius’ shitty French trying to weave his way though the insanity
in steps hot french man Remus
Sirius is just about to tear his hair out trying to ask for food.
So he helps Sirius because this is One Hot Tourist
When Remus steps in to help (all denim and stereotypical stripes). Sirius is nearly dizzy with the stranger’s heavy french accent.
Sirius’ expectations about European boys was not a disappointment
So later on, Remus becomes kind of like a tour guide to Sirius, showing him around and teaching him the language better than he could’ve learned it from his classes
Remus tells him a lot about his life, the culture, his ideas. Remus was a writer. He had too many ideas and opinions, so many that shoved themselves in between his bones, pores, ears. They all overflowed from his mouth.
Remus was happy someone took the time to listen to him. After a while, his friends called it all nonsense.
Sirius ends up signing up for more than he bargained for when he not only falls in love with the city, but Remus as well.
Imagine the pain when Sirius has to go back to America.
They keep an old fashioned pen pal thing going, sending each other photos, knick knacks, and postcards through the years.
Eventually, Sirius decides to go to uni over in France.
He gets a flat with Remus and they spend their life drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes out on the terrace.
There are dishes and empty mugs all over their apartment.
Papers surrounding the wastepaper basket and Remus’ desk.
But there is no other way Sirius’ would like it to be.