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gjnergnwreiweior!

We back, back, backkkkkkk

Enjoy the latest update and don’t forget to like and comment if you enjoy!

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Luciel’s POV

Books fly from the shelves, eager to answer my rare call.

The last time I stood in these halls, it had been to uncover what he studied in the quiet. This time, the knowledge I seek is mine alone.

Magic surges beneath my palm, the ice beneath melting as I blare a single word through my mind for the engraved spells beneath to find.

Omega

It dominates my mind. The word, the suggestion, and the unknown it hid. Even now, it taunts me as the books pile up beside me. They are few in number, but little was still more promising than none.

I dig my fingers in until the ice weeps.

I had honestly thought Lindana mistaken. Not about the case of his arousal or the scenting. That I believed—I had seen it with my own eyes, but I did not believe it translated to the lewd extent Lindana described.

Perhaps I did not want to, but when I peeled her words back, her assessment struggled to fit in my mind. So my mind, stubborn as it was, made it fit, deciding that she was not wrong, but exaggerating her point.

I scrubbed myself clean, redressed and told myself that I would still learn more about Peter’s designation to avoid future misunderstandings, apologise to him for this one, and put the whole matter behind me.

The door he’d slammed in my face dispelled those foolish notions.

A shudder passes beneath my fingertips, the magic within straining to find more texts that it does not have. Scowling, I pull my hand free and gather the meagre pile.

Eight books. That would hardly be enough.

“Send for Atieno,” I say to the nearest guardsman as I exit the library as little more than a blur.

My rooms were a space I rarely dwelled in beyond need, but on this day, I can think of nowhere safer for me to do what I must.

It is as I left it last, empty outside of the cutting tools pressed to the corners, the forgotten wardrobes stuffed with old attire, and the wide, audaciously carved work table I set the books upon.

I do not bother with a chair. I open the first and scan the tightly scripted writing until I come upon the knowledge I seek.

The lupine pack structure mirrors that of a natural wolf pack order, but while they have added ranks of their own into their modern-day framework, there are only five natural designations: alphas, lunas, betas, elders and omegas.

The passage goes on to break down the usefulness of each tributary of a werewolf pack, but I skip them all until I find the only one that matters.

Omegas are the beating heart of a proper pack.

Just as an alpha is needed to lead, warriors to fight and healers to mend, omegas are principal in maintaining the peace within a lupine pack.

The species forever walks the line between man and animal, and omegas help maintain that balance, much like each wolf’s inner wolf does within each werewolf. They are most often kind and nurturing, natural traits that they use to provide relief when social tension grows too high, but also to keep their fellow packmates from giving in to their most violent tendencies.

Packs without omegas are always more violent in nature, their wolves prone to isolation, while those with omegas are more sociable and always stronger.

I frown slightly.

From what little I knew of the species, omegas were presented as the lowest-ranked members within the werewolves’ pack hierarchy, but this text seemed to place them at the very centre of pack dynamics.

I think of the picture of Peter amongst his family, of all their smiles and the protective circle they formed around him and read on.

The rest of the book offers no specific details pertaining to an omega’s nature or the topic of scenting, or even an explanation of what an ‘inner wolf’ is, but it does mention omegas once more near the end.

Omegas desire peace and unity so greatly that they happily take the submissive role to maintain it.

My frown deepens.
Was that wording a mistake, or did the author mean to suggest that omegas chose that submissive role to achieve their goals?

The door opens before I can question it any further.

“Retrieve for me all you can of omegas,” I tell Atieno without turning around. “What we have in the library is insufficient.”

“As you wish,” he replies, already retreating.

“And of scenting, and inner wolves,” I add as I switch to the next book. “Deliver it all here.”

The door shuts behind him, and I find myself stalling even though it closes without any of the force Peter’s had.

Of all the things he could have done…

I still could not quite believe it, that I had been shooed in such a callous manner within my own halls, but it had happened, and its memory remained astoundingly clear.

I knew going in that he would likely be rattled after how we parted and act more shy because of it, but when Peter opened his door and spotted me, it was pure terror that I saw before I received a face full of ice.

No, Peter was not simply rattled. What he was, I would make no more assumptions on, not until I understood him and his nature.

My new book is not focused on werewolves, but supernatural creatures as a whole, isolating their strengths from their weaknesses, and claiming omegas as ‘werewolves’ glaring weakness’.

A werewolf is a creature that is only made stronger by the wolf standing beside it. Their pack structure makes them a formidable opponent and the very worst type of enemy, for where there is one, there are almost always three more, but dismantle that structure, and what is left?

But where to strike? Alphas are a foolish target—remove one and another will take its place. No, to properly destroy a werewolf pack, one must break it from the inside—they must strike what holds them together.

Omegas. They are the social glue of any strong pack. They absorb pack stresses, redirect tension and restore calm when their counterparts allow their feral, barbaric instincts to get the better of them. They are the calm in the storm.

Strike the omegas and the pack will fall.

A chill runs through me as I stare at the pages before me before I hastily search for the author’s name. Relief seeps through me when I find that it belongs to no member of the clan that is still breathing or frozen beneath the ice.

I close the hateful book and place it aside, careful to separate it from the others. It would not return to the library, not until Peter was returned to his.

I reach the sixth book before I leave the complexities of a werewolf pack’s social hierarchy and finally find a passage about what I am actually looking for.

Scent marking is common practice amongst werewolves, most commonly performed to mark territory, share emotions, and reinforce bonds. Scent marking only becomes an intimate affair between mates or bonded pairs.

When bonded or mated, werewolves often scent-mark one another to communicate their status as a unit and provide comfort. They can also perform the affair more often to bring pleasure to one another, given how sensitive the glands are— located at the neck, beneath the ribcage, wrists, upper thighs, and behind the knees.

If only one werewolf marks another, it is to declare their ownership and most often, to reinforce their status as the more dominant wolf.

Scent marking poses no danger, but with omegas, care should be taken, for they are already submissive in nature, especially to their mates. All worthy of such trust wait for consent to be explicitly granted.

Horror hurtles into me, battering against the edges of my soul in a torrent as I stare at the damning words.

Gods, what had I done?

Scented Peter with my blood, marked him as a lover in his kind might, but worse of all, I had done so without even asking. I did not know I needed to— did not even know what I was doing at the time—but that did not make the crime any less damning.

Intent only counted for so much, and I should have known, shouldn’t I?

‘That is intimate’, he had once said during his rites when Radu’s fingers had aimed for his neck.

I thought it strange at the time, a werewolf custom and nothing more, but he had been trying to avoid being marked with another’s scent.

My mind scrabbles to recall all the times I had touched that part of him, but to my relief, I had only touched him today, but when I had… My hands rise to cover my face, to try to hide me from the shame that rises hot and true.

He must think me some ill-mannered bastard who did not care to ask permission before behaving like a brute. No wonder he had reacted as he had when I showed up to his only place of refuge without warning after bathing him in blood. It was by sheer luck that he had not freed his claws and tried to maim me instead.

He had been violated, and I had dared to feel— I burn the memory from my mind, and the sensation as I have each time it has dared to arise.

Before, it was because I refused to believe it. Now it is because of the shame it coils me in.

Staring at the pages, I am almost afraid to delve any deeper, but knowledge is not always pleasant to receive, and ignorance would only lead me further astray.

Pulling a chair behind me, I fall into it and steel myself before I drag the next book from the table and read on.

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By the time the new day settles over the world, I struggle to meet my reflection in the ice that surrounds me. My rooms and mind, hauntingly quiet.

Everything was so simple before. Peter was the werewolf I did not want, the one I only had to endure until he failed the Trials or gave up and returned home.

I owed him nothing, so I thought nothing of him or his ingrained nervousness. When I demanded that he maintain eye contact, I did so without a second thought, and when I had stared him down from the shadows to see if he would run or approach, I did so just the same.

By all accounts, I had been goading Peter— bludgeoning him with acts of domination. And while he had never fallen to his knees or rolled to his belly in surrender as all I read suggested, his fingers were rarely without tremors, his lips without his stutter, and he did flinch. Often.

Then there was the presence of his inner wolf—a second conscious persona inside of him.

I had heard that wolves had a guiding beast inside of them, but I had thought it was that alone. I had not a clue that they were their own being, cognizant, fully conscious, and able to take control at any interval.

Peter had a second half just so, and I had not a clue. I did not even know its name.

I sweep my gaze over my rooms, the one now pillared by more books than I have possibly ever entertained. Atieno had fulfilled my request to the letter until I was surrounded by accounts that each painstakingly outlined the extent of my foolery.

Before, Peter was only a werewolf. Now… Gods help us, he really should not be here, and worse yet, he absolutely should not be partaking in the Trials.

If his family heard of it— their packs— we would face a reckoning far worse than our initial assumptions for what we’d put him through as an omega. The safest course of action would be to send him home, no matter what he wanted, but he had already completed the first, was on his way to the second, and by our laws, he reserved the right to see them all through.

But by the Gods, he really should have never begun them.

It was a mystery how he did, if the texts were to be believed in full. Despite all that was said of his nature, he had boldly, if tearfully, denied all our attempts to get rid of him when he should have run, just as I knew he would deny them now if I tried.

In those ways, Peter defied every word said about his wolf class.

He would cower and cry, and he did buckle under the pressure of a more dominant presence, but he had never given up, not once.

I stare at my hands, mind churning.

I could not tell the clan to treat him any differently. I understood pack dynamics thoroughly now, but he was not in a pack right now. He was in a vampire clan and had come here of his own volition, and despite all odds, he was adjusting— adapting, and growing stronger for it.

I could not take that away from him, just as I could not remove him from the Trials.

Similarly, while I would have to make a conscious effort not to perform actions he would perceive as an attempt to dominate him, I struggled to imagine treating him wholly differently.

To do so resembled coddling in my mind, and all that was tender froze beneath the ice.

But that hardly mattered right now. What mattered was the wrong I committed yesterday, the one I still needed to apologise for even more than I originally assumed.

I push from my tables and part from my rooms.

I did not want Peter here any less than I had from the day he arrived and declared me his mate, but that did not mean that I wanted him believing I was some predator while he was here.

An apology was in order, and Gods be damned, I would give it.

I had only gone about it the wrong way yesterday.

It was too soon after the assault, and too near his place of comfort. I could not ambush him when I apologised this time. I had to make my presence known, be sure not to crowd his space, and leave an open and obvious route of escape for him.

I nod to myself, practising my words as I go.

I am gravely sorry for marking you with my scent against your will. I was not aware that was what I was doing, but I am now, and I am sorry. It will never happen again.

Maeve is not at his doors when I reach them, so I bypass them entirely and make for where it is more likely for him to be at this hour.

The southern eating quarters are not nearly as crowded as they usually are, for with the sun up and most lying with their eyes closed, only the mages are awake to eat. Only three tables are in use when I arrive, which makes spotting him an effortless affair.

He sits at the very table he was at last when I’d been observing him. Then, he’d eaten with Zawnté and Atieno, but only Atieno sits with him today while Maeve stands dutifully in her post behind him, scowling as she scans the room.

None of them speaks as they had before, no Zawnté to carry it perhaps, but even so, Peter seems no less happy for it. He eats quietly, a comfortable smile resting on his face as he takes a bite of his large sandwich and chews into it as though it is the very best thing in the world.

He is in better spirits today, it would seem, which is good. Very, very good.

I lift a foot, but return it just as swiftly.
No, I could not go to him. Better to stand here and wait for him to see me, so that it did not feel like an ambush. Yes, that would do.

To my pleasure, it does not take very long.

Peter swallows down his latest mouthful when his eyes lazily drift to me, an unconscious action that he soon regrets as his eyes bulge before he begins to gag and choke.

Oh Gods.

I take a step back.

Peter’s eyes turn red, watering already as he tries to gasp for air while simultaneously watching me like a startled, squawking pelican.

All eyes drift to him, and it only seems to alarm him more as he claws at his chest.

Mouth agape, I watch as Atieno rushes to his side to slap a hand over his back, gaze alarmed, while Maeve stares at me over his head, her gaze no less troubled, as the boy narrowly avoids death.

I make my retreat without uttering a word.

… that had not gone to plan.

Nowhere near it.

Somehow, I had still ambushed him, though I was not sure how when I made a consorted effort not to. Though, perhaps, appearing in a space he had never seen me in before was its own sort of ambush.

I would have to find common ground. A place I had been in before that he had found me within. It comes to mind without thought.

The library is empty when I arrive, and I am not sure whether or not that is a good thing.

Would the privacy help or would he react the same way again? Surely not.

… hopefully not.

I had no plans of staying in his company for long. I only wanted to deliver my apology, ensure that it was heard at the very least, and then take my leave. Peter could avoid me all he wished afterwards, once it was not with the mind that I was some sort of deviant.

I claim a section that faces the doors and place myself before a set of shelves. I stand idly, waiting, repositioning myself until I am sure that I look just as I had the night he had approached me.

Prop book in hand, I wait. Ready.

Minutes tick past before I hear the pitter-patter of his heart approaching beneath his heavy steps. They are not truly, but on the ice, they are like a marching band.

“Wh-What was your m-mission of valour?” He asks, voice not nearly as contained as it usually was with Maeve.

“Telling you would assist you in no way,” she retorts plainly, her steps entirely absent.

“W-What i-if I just wa-want to kn-know?” Peter retorts bravely.

“Then you will find disappointment in the near future.”

Half turned as I am, I watch one of the doors swing open under Maeve’s hand. She holds it open, her scowl still firmly in place as she watches Peter slip through the gap with a murmured word of thanks.

He is smiling again, restored and far happier than when I left him, and thankfully, he is no longer struggling for air. He seems at perfect peace as he strolls inside the library, sighing as he does before he takes a deep breath as if to savour the space.

But then freezes mid-breath.

Lungs puffed, his eyes flick to me and this time Peter squeaks audibly.

“Peter, I—” I begin, but he is already dashing out the door. My mouth falls open.

His feet stomp away, so easy to follow that something inside of me churns, that same urge to chase arising with a quickness. How easy it would be to catch him, but listening to that lunacy was what got me in this horrid situation in the first place.

I cull it, cull myself and let him run away while a wired anxiousness travels through me.

It was not about time nor place, or even how I went about making my presence known. Peter was actively avoiding me.

I could only pray for such a treat a week prior, but now, the discomfort deepens.

My gaze drifts to Maeve. She still stands in the doorway, eyes widened by shock or pride, I am not sure. “By the Gods above and below, what in all the realms did you do yesterday?”

“Nothing,” I hiss, annoyance flaring hot inside of me before I bat it away. “Nothing intentional,” I correct, calmer. “I came to apologise, as I had yesterday, but he keeps—”

I wave a hand in the direction of the still fleeing omega.

It would take only a moment to catch him.

I shake my head. “I did not think he would fear me to the extent of running from me.”

“I believe you are the one he fears least here,” Maeve retorts with a heavy sigh, as though this situation somehow affects her.

“He panics every time he sees me now,” I deadpan, and she shrugs a shoulder.

“You have received worse reactions to your presence.” I scowl, and she smiles a little before it fades. “You could leave him to it. Let him run and make his avoidances. His desire for the bond will lessen with distance.”

I frown, and she returns it the moment she spots it. “Unless—”

“It is not so,” I dismiss before she can assume the worst. “I would have no problem with him avoiding me if I had not mistreated him as I did. But I have, and I need to apologise for the wrong.”

Maeve nods, understanding that as all in the clan would. Personal grievances did not exempt a person from correcting their wrongdoing and making amends, if such was needed.

Amends were needed here, if only Peter would allow it.

“I will have to write a letter,” I sigh, resigned. Gods, I hated writing.

“A letter?” Maeve cackles, eyes widening. ‘By the Gods, leave him for a day and then try then, Luciel.”

“I can not wait a day or more. I can not function with him assuming I am a predator.”

“A predator?” Maeve echoes, aghast. “You are not a predator, Luciel— Peter and all of us know this. But if you are so desperate for resolution, I shall pass on the message. You are not writing a letter.”

“I did not know you loathed them so,’ I retort dryly, and her scowl returns at the speed of light.

“A letter is unnecessary when he is neither angry with you nor afraid of you,” she bites out. “Not to mention, literature is not your place of expertise.”

I ignore the gab and focus on her words, on all her words. “You spoke with him,” I state as I realise it. Maeve tenses. “You spoke of this with him.” I close the space between us as fast as I can, not prone to let her escape. “Tell me all of it, or at the least, what the matter is to him.”

“I hardly know,” she defended, snorting. “I do not live in his mind or coddle his thoughts before bed. In fact, the only reason I spoke with him after you left as quickly as you did yesterday is only that I wanted to ensure you did not do something to him.”

“You thought I would?”

“No, but it hurts none at all to check, least of all you,” she replies, gaze daring me to make a challenge. I do not. “In any case, he said that you did nothing wrong, and then prattled about other matters—”

“What matters?” I press, but Maeve only stares at me. My jaw works, fangs grinding. “Now you wish to protect his privacy? Now?”

“Think twice before uttering such stupidity. Peter forfeited privacy the moment he came here. I do not care to maintain the illusion of it.”

“So, then why will you not tell me?” I snap, anger rising again, and there is no leash for it. “I want to fix it and be done. You now stand in the way.”

Maeve’s deep brown eyes are a still terrain as she watches me. “I am not the one who stood in his way when he tried to flee yesterday.”

My glare turns vicious, and she clicks her tongue as she turns from me. “Maybe a letter will do.”

She leaves without another word, disappearing after Peter and leaving me stranded with nothing but my thoughts that once again hail around the wolf who would not let me be.

First with his claim, then his presence and now, with the very lack of it.

If the Gods hated me so, then why did they not slay me down where I stood, and if they were taking this age’s greatest conundrum, then perhaps they would tell me how one apologised to a creature that refused to hear it.

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Luciel… I think you’re losing it buddy lmfaoooooo

Thoughts?????

Thoughts on Luciel’s POV??? On his reaction post-tunnel scene and door slam??? On him lowkey actually seeking Peter out for the first time??? Not once, not twice, but three damn times???!?!??!

I can’t even blame Peter could I would need at least five business days before I can even think of facing Luciel again if I was him. I hateeeee being embarrassed, but it’s hilarious cause he’s there avoiding him and he doesn’t know Luciel’s losing his mind cause he thinks he’s a predator.

the man is a clown ugh I love him

alsoooo HE KNOWS ABOUT JOSEPH!!!! JOSEPHxLUCIEL IS NOW PENDING!!!!!!!!

I hope you all had fun with this chapter and seeing Luciel meltdown! The next chapter should be out next Wednesday I think but you can get sneak peeks early on my website and on Patreon!

Next up is the continuation of the Colson-Jacob-Zhoron saga on Patreon!

Until next time,
Byeeeeeeeeee Humanssssssssssss