by L. C. Davis
He was leaning over the table, his hands planted on either side of my head as he yelled in my face. I fought the urge to close my eyes or turn away, knowing that would only bring more fury. “Yes, Master.”
He took my face in his hand. Even when he was being rough, his every movement was controlled and every ounce of force calculated. “Now, tell me, pup. Did you really mean to say red?”
“N-no,” I stammered, trying to shake my head.
He stared me down for a moment, his jaw set. “I didn't think so.”
He released me and I let out the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. “If you ever misuse a safeword again, I will end more than just our session. It's too crucial to the way things work. At the very least, I demand that my submissive be capable of telling me when he truly can't handle something. If you ever cry wolf in my dungeon again, it had damn well better be with your legs wrapped around my waist and your nails dug into my back begging me to fuck you harder. Do you understand?”
It was a roar this time. “Yes, Master,” I choked out.
Whether it was the yelling, the subject matter, or simply my celibate lifestyle for the past couple of months, I was deeply, embarrassingly aroused. It was only a matter of time before he noticed. It wasn't as if I could hide it with my arms and legs splayed out and locked up.
“We'll move on then.” He glanced me up and down with a knowing look. “Your disobedience is racking up. Instead of a slew of little punishments, I'm thinking that one big one will have to do.”
I gulped. That didn't sound good, but at least he wasn't looking at my crotch anymore.
He pulled a black silk scarf from his pocket and flicked it with the sleight-handed expertise of a stage magician. I squirmed when he came towards me and tied it over my eyes, blocking out all but the blurriest traces of light.
I heard his footsteps go behind me and I awaited my fate in quiet desperation. The table jerked violently and I was plunged forward into an upright position. When I was sure I was going to fall, it stopped at a slight incline, almost perpendicular to the floor.
“I'm here.” His voice came from right in front of me. “Bad pups don't get warnings about things like that.”
I whimpered.
“There, there,” he said, clearly pleased with my unintentionally appropriate sound. He stroked my face as if he were soothing a beloved pet. “I'm not angry, not anymore. You've simply got to learn to be a good boy.”
I melted at his touch. It was rough but the way he was rubbing my neck was so relaxing. Maybe it was the fact that I couldn't see or move on my own.
“I know it's not your fault. You lack guidance,” he whispered in my ear. His voice came over me like the soft caress of silk sheets. “You're almost feral, but I can change that, my little stray,” he purred. “I can give you what you need. I can meet all your needs, even the ones you never knew you had.”
I shivered at his touch. I didn't want to let myself think it was from his words.
“There is so much more to breaking down walls than sex. There's intimacy, trust, fear, doubt, pain. If we can get through just one of those things today, I know I can heal you.”
The sound of metal clinking together on the tray made me jolt out of the trance induced by his words. I could tell he had selected one of the many sharp implements I had foolishly hoped were meant for another session.
“The question is, do you trust me, pup?” He was in front of me again, his voice gentle. “Do you trust me to help you?”
“Y-yes, Master.” Who else was there? Sebastian was still in my heart, but in my mind, he seemed like a distant memory. There, in that dungeon room, there was only Victor and only me.
“You have been preyed upon, my pup, but you will soon become the predator. The transformation can't begin until the walls are down, but the vampire mind games are only part of the problem. In some ways, your own defenses are even stronger, but they're not keeping you safe anymore. They're making you weak, fragile. Too frail to fight.”
I tried to listen over the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.
“You think you escaped the pain by harming yourself, but the truth is, you were only covering up the scars. His work, not yours. Now it's time to realize that.” He sighed wearily. “I can help you. I can go into your mind with you, help you see the enemy more clearly, but I'm afraid that can only be done by returning you to your most vulnerable, desperate state. It's the only way I can get your defenses low enough without doing even more damage.”
I knew what he meant. In a way, I had known ever since I saw that tray of knives and scalpels. I wasn't going to resist and he knew it. I hung limp on the table and suddenly felt how the Vitruvian man must. On display, ready for clinical dissection. All your flaws out in the open for someone else to analyze.
He moved closer and I recognized the cold, familiar sensation of steel balanced against my flesh. It was resting just lightly enough to apply pressure without breaking the skin.
“Are you ready to begin, my pup?”
I took a deep breath. I never wanted to be in this place again, but I struggled to remind myself that it was different.
“Yes, Master.”
After all, this time it was Victor holding the knife.
17
I tilted my head up to welcome the streams of hot water that cascaded down. Victor had given me some body wash and actual shampoo to use.
Victor had cleaned the shallow cuts on my chest with a warm washcloth before he let me down from he table. He then covered me in a plush crimson robe and led me to the dungeon showers. They were empty, but I still took the one with the stall, just in case.
To my surprise, he hadn't followed me in. He told me he would be waiting somewhere outside when I was ready and urged me to relax and enjoy myself. They were the first words I'd heard him speak since, “The session is over.”
Maybe for him. He wasn't the one who had gone through alternating phases of breaking down, panicking, feeling the rush of adrenaline that occurred when the blade sliced through skin, all culminating in triumphant final release.
Or at least, it would have if he hadn't stopped. I had never been taken so close to the edge before only to be dropped unceremoniously on the other side. I wasn't just talking about sex, either.
I knew mind games would be part of the deal as soon as I signed the contract with Victor, but I hadn't expected him to use my own boundary against me.
Maybe a cold shower would have been a better idea.
I paused to listen just to make sure no one else was in the room before I wrapped my hand around my own length. I pressed my free hand against the tile and leaned into the wall. I stroked embarrassingly even though there was no way anyone would ever know.
Victor was right. I had come dangerously close to begging him for release towards the end of our session, only I didn't just want to feel his hands on me. All I wanted was for him to bend me over that table again, grab me by the hips and-
“Remus?”
I gasped audibly. So close.
Turning the faucet, I blasted myself with cold water. It was enough to keep my arousal at bay, but guilt was quickly taking its place.
“Y-yeah?”
“Are you alright in there?” There was smugness in his voice. “I thought I heard moaning.”
Even under the cool water, my face felt warm. “I um, burned myself a little. I'll be right out.”
I listened for the sound of his footsteps, but he didn't leave. Sighing, I turned off the water and drew a towel around my waist before coming out.
He was standing there, holding a robe and wearing a knowing smirk. Looked like my Victor was back.
“Enjoy your shower?”
“Most of it,” I grumbled.
He looked absolutely triumphant as he pulled the robe around my shoulders and tied it off at my waist. He yanked the towel out from around me and started using it to pat my hair dry.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking care of y
ou,” he replied.
“I thought the session was over.”
“It is, but it's not healthy to go from intense play to whatever passes for normalcy around here. A bit of pampering and tenderness helps make the transition,” he explained.
“Oh,” I murmured. “That sounds nice, I guess. Do I still have to call you Master?”
He laughed. “Not unless you want to. I would normally do this while we were still in the dungeon, but considering that it's your first time, I thought you would prefer this.”
I nodded vehemently.
“I normally bathe my pets as well, but you did specify no sex.” He struggled to hide a smirk but his lips betrayed him with a twitch.
“Yes, and you're determined to punish me for it, aren't you?”
He shrugged. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Can we go back to your room?” I asked, yawning.
He laughed. “I suppose I should meet at least one of your needs. You can lie down while I get something from the kitchen.
I wasn't about to complain about that. The long walk up the stairs, on the other hand...
He lifted me into his arms and carried me out into the main area of the dungeon. I looked around, worried warily for signs of the others.
“No one is here. The dungeon is closed temporarily until Sebastian gets back,” he explained. “Half the others are out searching for him, anyway.”
“Oh.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. Pain seared around Sebastian's mark as my thoughts were directed to him for the first time since Victor brought me into his dungeon, took me apart and put me back together again.
“I can walk, you know.”
“Yes, but you don't seem to mind. Anyway, I'm faster and the sooner we get up the stairs, the better,” he admitted.
“It's going to be a big deal when Sebastian finds out, isn't it?”
He hesitated. “Yes, but he'll take it better than finding out you're dead because he wasn't here to help you.”
I sighed, resting my head against his shoulder. “You're brothers. Twins, even. Isn't there some code you don't break when it comes to this kind of thing?”
“Typically,” he admitted. “This situation is different.”
“How?” I asked doubtfully.
“Sebastian and I must have had the same vision when we were younger. We both saw you. It's never happened before, as far as I've heard,” he said, kicking open the door to his room. “But the legends are old and we were the first to have visions for a long time. I won't bore you with the history lesson, but suffice I to say, we should have had time to sort things out.”
“You mean fight over which one of you would get me?”
He hesitated but he didn't say no. “Your preference would have been a major factor. We would have at least had time to court you properly before you made your choice.”
“A major factor?” I asked incredulously. “Shouldn't it be the factor?”
“That isn't the way things are done in the supernatural realm, Remus. Especially not among wolves. The Alpha of the pack makes the deciding vote on all binding agreements, including marriage.”
“He didn't sign off on our contract,” I pointed out.
“No, that was an open contract settling the terms of our dungeon play. Were I to take you on as my permanent submissive, he would have to give permission for that as well.”
“Oh. And here I thought werewolves were all about howling at the moon and running around the forest.”
He chuckled. “There's that, too. You don't need to worry about all that now. Just worry about accepting things as they come.”
“Like having two soulmates,” I murmured.
“Unfortunately for me, you only need to worry about accepting Sebastian.” He smiled sadly as he placed me down on his bed. “He's the one who marked you. I'll do all I can to help prepare you for the transformation, but he's the one who has to help you through it.”
“What happens after that?” I asked warily.
He shrugged. “After that, you're bound as mates for all eternity, free to hunt and roam 'till Lord Fenrir calls us all to fight.”
I gave him a dubious look and he smiled wryly. “Or so the legend goes,” he added.
“That can't be what you believe?”
“I believe in here and now. I believe in the power of the mind, both human and canine. Anything beyond that matters little to me.” He took my hand and raised it to his lips. “I believe in the vision I had years ago as a whelp. That our souls, whatever it is they're made of, intertwined irreversibly at that moment, and that I've been waiting my entire life to follow through on the promise I made you then.”
His words had me under their spell. I wish I could have blamed it on his control, but there was something deep within me, deeper that any compulsion or push could go, that knew they were true.
“Promise?” I asked, snapping out of it.
He shook his head slightly and his eyes held a sadness I hadn't noticed before. “It's not the time. You're with my brother now. What we did today was not a betrayal. Sharing any more with you would be, whether he marked you unfairly or not.”
I didn't know what to say. Not an hour before, he had been a fearsome sight to behold, cool and dominating. Now he seemed so vulnerable, fragile even, that I wanted to reach out and hold him.
He stood suddenly. “I should get you something to eat.”
“Victor-”
“Please.” He held up a hand to silence me. “Let me just have today.”
I nodded hesitantly before he disappeared.
I huddled under the covers and pulled my knees to my chest. It wasn't long before he came back with a box of pizza.
I blinked in surprise. “Either that was really fast delivery or you run a Pizza Plaza out of the downstairs.”
He snorted, seeming to be in better spirits as he placed the box on the bed. “It's Friday night. If there weren't twenty boxes of pizza downstairs, I'd be surprised.”
“Do you all have such, uh, intense appetites?”
He laughed. “Shifting into our beast forms takes a lot of energy, so we try to consume as much as possible before we eat. It also helps stave off aggression if we're full.”
I shivered. I think I could have done without that bit of knowledge, especially after witnessing Sebastian chow down so intently on our date.
“It varies from one to the other,” he said, handing me a slice of pepperoni pizza on a plate. He popped the top off a beer with a slight flick of his hand.
He caught me smiling and his eyes twinkled in amusement at my reaction. “I don't shift as often as the others. Never got the same thrill out of it, so I don't need to eat like a barbarian most of the time. Here.
I took the bottle and drank a sip to hide my embarrassment. I grimaced at the bitter taste. It wasn't what I remembered.
“Not much of a drinker, huh?” he asked, taking a swig of his own.
“Not beer,” I admitted. “It's good, just hard to get used to.”
“That it is. Doesn't have the same effect on us, either.”
“No?”
“Our metabolisms are a lot faster than a normal human's. Takes a lot more to get drunk – not that some don't manage it.”
“That's good,” I said without thinking.
He gave me a puzzled look. “Why?”
I shrugged. “My ex got drunk a lot. Wasn't a very nice person when he did.”
He frowned. “Is he the one who hit you?”
My headache returned, at first as a small hum from deep inside. It grew slowly but steadily and I tried to subtlely rub my temple.
“N-no,” I lied. I didn't know why I was still protecting him, but it was like an automatic response.
“You're lying.”
“You're not supposed to be reading my mind,” I said through gritted teeth. I sat the beer down and leaned into my hand, trying to apply as much pressure as I could to my temple.
“I'm not.” He leaned in closer.
“Your head is hurting again?”
“It's just the beer.”
“You only had a sip.” He took my face in his hands and forced me to look at him again. “It's him, isn't it? Your ex.”
“I don't know what you're-”
“Oh, bullshit. As soon as I asked you whether he was the one who hurt you, you got defensive. Now your head is hurting. That's the psychic block, it's always the first sign. Whenever you think too much about him, whenever the questions hit a little too close to home, you hit a wall. The more you try to climb it, the more you get pushed back. Then the pain starts.”
“No,” I said, trying to tune him out amid the rush of blood in my head. “That's-. You're not-. Just, stop, please.”
“Ah. Getting weak, isn't it?” He murmured. Something about his words told me he wasn't talking to me. Not that I could answer, anyway. The pain was no longer a weak hum, it was a full-on roar.
He held his hands on either side of my head without touching me. “I didn't think it would work this soon, but it looks like our session weakened the walls enough. I think I can get in.”
“No,” I growled. “Stay out of my head.”
“That's him talking, not you. I know it hurts.” He took the syringe from the night stand and loaded it with a fresh vial that seemed darker than the others. “This will help.”
Even though I knew it would, something caused me to panic. “No!” I tried to pull away but he caught me and plunged the needle into my neck.
I moaned and went limp in his arms as he pushed the thick red liquid into my vein.
“There you go,” he said soothingly. “Atta boy.” He pulled the syringe out of my neck and cradled me in his arms.
“I feel weird,” I murmured, staring up at him. “This doesn't feel like before...” My words were starting to slur, but I didn't feel drugged. I felt drunk. Blissfully so.
“I know. It's a different formulation,” he said guardedly. “Is the pain gone?”
I tried to nod but I couldn't remember how. I reached out to touch his face. It was hard, because there were ten of him, each one bobbing and weaving in the blurred light. I finally reached him and marveled at how smooth his skin felt underneath my fingertips, all the way until his five o'clock shadow.
