#beastfolk

Maybe it was just jitters from the recent news—beastfolk and humankind agitating each other, crime rates rising at an uneven pace. You hated living in the segregated zone, suffocated by rules and restrictions. It reminded you too much of that hellish year at that boarding school.

Slumping your shoulders, you reached into your usual pocket for your keys, your thoughts wandered to your boyfriend’s mom’s cooking. You loved her savory soups—she’d always made you feel at home, like one of her cubs. You used to feel so envious of your boyfriend for having such a wonderful mother, especially when yours offered only strictness and disappointment, constantly measuring you against her impossible expectations. His mom was the one who made you realize just how much your own parents, quite frankly, sucked.

“…Damn,” you murmured, leaning your shoulder against the front door, regret coloring your voice, “I hope they’re all okay. I don’t think I’ve even smiled once since…”

Metal clicked against metal as you slid your key into the lock and turned it, blissfully oblivious to your surroundings.

If you had, then perhaps you’d notice a tall, hulking figure on the street corner watching your every move.

Once inside the empty apartment, you switched the lights on and absently greeted your pet on the way to the refrigerator to grab some leftovers for dinner. You hadn’t noticed your pet’s keen interest in the door you’d just locked a moment before. Too exhausted to care, you deposited your things and proceeded to your usual nightly routine.

That night was nothing out of the ordinary for you.

Sprawling out in your bed, surrounded by comfortable sheets and soft pillows, you had little left to do but to fall asleep and dream of happier times.

Yet sleep eluded you.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes became hours, before finally, your eyes grew heavy enough—

Loud poundings from the front door startled you, and with an angry groan, you all but stomped your way to yell at the ones responsible for disrupting your much-needed sleep. It was your ingrained “stranger danger” upbringing that stopped you from flinging open your door, and you peered through the peephole.

“…Policemen?” you blinked.

One of them was about to pound your door again when you unlocked it and glanced at them warily through the crack. Tensions had your muscles tight, as you murmured, “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“—?” One said your full name.

Your frown deepened, “…Yes?”

The other sighed and readjusted his hat. “We have some news for you.”

Your blood ran cold.

Dead.

Your parents were found dead.

They didn’t say a whole lot, sparing details to quiet your unneeded guilt, but enough so that you knew they died a gristly death—at the hands of some ‘gutterjaw’*, they said—right inside their own home.

Good riddance, you wanted to say, barely masking your grimace at the slur being used in front of you, but crumbs of mixed feelings lingered.

“…Fuck,” you mumbled into your hot mug, your hands not even feeling the radiating heat from the ceramic. The dark liquid within hadn’t stopped rippling from your shaky grips, yet numbness dulled your senses to realize your state of being. The policemen gave you their sympathies and left after an hour, leaving you to process and digest the information they delivered.

You were alone, with your lights dimmed in your kitchen, with your jumbled thoughts.

Your pet nudged you, confused by your emotions, their wide gaze piercing through your soul. Was it worried about you, or was it asking for its early breakfast? You weren’t sure, but didn’t care. Whatever it was, it was at least a distraction.

“…you hungry?” you mumbled tiredly.

Idly, once the kibbles scattered noisily into its bowl, you patted its head and slumped, how much its eyes reminded you of your missing boyfriend. Selfishly and yearningly craving some company, you’d adopted this little creature specifically because of its eyes. The fang that dangled from your wrist had never felt so heavy.

Your parents were gone.

There is no one left in your life now.

Thick tears cascaded down your cheeks, and for the first time in your life, you had no more anchor to ground you.

You couldn’t live out of pure spite anymore.

Sobs came like thunder, and the floor felt like ice on your skin.

“—, wake up.”

You wrinkled your nose, confused at why you were hearing both your pet’s confused noises and a husky deep voice. It was somehow nostalgic, yet unfamiliar. With a groan, you mumbled and pushed yourself up from your curled position, palms pressing against the tiled floor. When your bleary eyes flickered open, you yelped in shock and scuttled backward at the sight before you.

A hooded…man? His face was concealed in deep shadow, leaving only his wet nose and elongated muzzle with thinned lips visible. He crouched low to the floor, absently doting on your traitorous pet with soft strokes along its face, using his gloved claws.

What the fuck?

Gaping at this intruder in a wordless stupor, your mind scrambled to process his identity.

There were twin bulges against the hood where his ears would be, and his feet looked oddly crooked, wearing inappropriately large human shoes. His fluffy tail swished along the floor like a fan of feathers—

A fangedfolk!?

“W—why are you in my apartment!?” you yelped, scrambling back until your spine smacked hard into a chair.

His glowing gaze shifted slowly onto yours, and your chest thumped at how eerily familiar they were. Your stomach dropped upon his dangerous grin, his black lips pulling apart to reveal pearlescent, jagged teeth. His tail waved slowly, its many colors painting a happier memory behind his large figure, as he released a slow chuckle—voice oddly hoarse, as if he had aged decades…

You trembled, crawling toward his smile, and uttered one name you’d wanted to say for years: “L, Lycas? M, my Lycas?”

As if giving him the confirmation he needed, the smile grew manically.

He grasped your chin, the claws feeling like razors against your skin, and your fingertips brushed across the furs on his snout, still weakly chanting his name. Then his voice dropped to a dangerous level as if in warning:

“Do not scream, my love.”

As your blood ran cold, he gave you no opportunity to defy his threat. You sputtered—and then, he was on you, biting at your mouth before forcing his tongue inside. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a conquest, all teeth and panting fury. You clawed into his shoulders, your protests muffled, and for the first time ever, you no longer found the sharp fangs on your face thrilling.

Fear.

Since when were you ever afraid of your Lycas? That sweet, loud, endlessly earnest Lycas? The same idiot who howled off-key with his siblings until they made everyone’s ears rang? Who’d nab you onto his back and just run, just to prove he could carry you no matter how far (and your weight meant nothing—even that wouldn’t stop him)? His family, his pack, was his heart, and he’d already accepted you into it with a promise of one day making you its center.

The gentle boy who would trip over his own paws trying to make you laugh now had you frozen in fear.

This was not your Lycas you knew. This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him.

He never held you like this, like an object he wanted to break into thousands of pieces. Before, you were like fine glass, something beautiful that only deserves gentle touches and slow kisses. Now, anger trembled his grip.

You choked on his tongue, your lungs screaming for oxygen and your feeble pushing did nothing to break his kiss, despite your fingers tearing through his polyester jacket. Your moaning protests swelling into his mouth and confused tears beaded into your eyes, slipping into thin rivulets down your cheeks. This had to be an imposter, you tried to convince yourself—but deep inside, you know this was Lycas.

Why would he come back the same?

Your knees buckled and your head spun, you attempted to shove him again—

Finally, he pulled away and his tongue slithered like a snake, saliva glinting along his teeth, and you wheezed into a cough.

You missed the way his tongue swept over his fangs, his eyes darkened in a mixture of fury and possessiveness, as you tried to rasp, “L, Lycas…!”

Faintly, you registered the sharp tips of his claws (since when had he sharpened these? He’s always hated accidentally scratching you or his siblings) tracing down your spine. His voice rumbled, “It’s time to come home. They’re all waiting.”

“Wha—?” Dizziness distorted your vision, then a sharp pinch stabbed through your neck, right where your heartbeat thudded. The world dropped away to a darkening blur.

Your body dropped, staggering bonelessly against him, with his arms wrapping around your vulnerable form with a familiar ease. The last thing you saw was his eerily bright gaze, before the blackness took you.

The last thing you’d heard?

“Pst, pst…wanna come home with us?” Lycas clicked his tongue at your whining pet, voice warming with that same charm you fell in love with, “Always got room for one more four-legged critter…”

Your head slumped against his chest, his heartbeat pounded against your ear, that same, gentle rhythm you’d fall asleep to so many times before. Somewhere inside this stranger, that same kind Lycas you loved, still existed.

The bracelet on your wrist felt a little like a burden now, but a comforting one.

—end...?