My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest

Andreas was wilted in his cell, sitting in the corner with his hands hanging over his knees. The pain from his healing jaw was finally gone, the bones set as they had been prior to Graeme's interference between him and Zosime. Now there was only a lingering soreness to remember the injury by.

It was Samhain. The day had finally come, but now all he could do was sit back and wait to see how everything unfolded. Either he would end the day burning in the pure fire—something that was too horrendous to fathom—or he would be back in his position as a venerated elder in the pack.

He hadn't been given any water, so he still had Zosime's dried blood on his face. It tightened over his skin, creating a mask that he was itching to be rid of. Even if he shifted into his wolf, it would be difficult to get the blood off. No amount of licking his paws and running them over his muzzle was going to do at this point.

And that meant her scent was choking him. She was all he could smell. It was maddening.

At one point, he was banging on the cell door demanding water from a passing guard, but he was ignored. His throat was dry. His face was dry. Her blood was dry.

All he could do was wait. Wait in this seemingly endless darkness.

And then it happened. The burning wholeness that flamed through his center.

At first he thought he was in the flames of the fire. Perhaps he had blacked out from dehydration and was mercifully spared the humiliation of facing the pack and hearing the evidence against him and Pearce. Straight to the flames. He could handle that.

But then the fire was gone, leaving a glowing warmth in his chest like a precious metal that had been forged into a new form. He sat stunned. What had just happened?

He now had a hopeful sense of being... complete with a fierce instinct to protect that source of completion. But he hadn't marked anyone. He hadn't been marked.

"Fuck," he grumbled, rising to his feet. He clawed at the tightness of his face and raked a hand through his hair as he began pacing the cell.

Something profound had obviously happened between Graeme and his mate. Something… perfect and divine that pierced through his center. If he felt it, everyone else had felt it.

How could he repair the pack after losing an Alpha and Luna now? After this?

His pupils dilated in fear over it for the first time. The pack could overcome losing the supposed Luna. Half of them didn't believe she could truly be their true Luna anyway given that she wasn't even lycan. They could even get over losing an unborn pup who was the Hallowell heir. But now… but now he didn't know if they could get over this.

He had to get out of this cell. He had to run. Or warn them. Maybe if he told them what he had done and what was coming, they would have a chance.

He paced, chuckling maniacally to himself. This new stupid bond he somehow shared with his Alpha and Luna was responsible for the panicky thoughts. He felt like a pup who could be sheltered if he ran home to his parents despite how hopeless he knew the situation was. They could never fight back against the ancient creature that was coming. Andreas would be cowering behind them, facing the same sure end as they were.

"Fuck," he repeated, pulling at his hair.

He had done everything he could. He had done everything right. How had it come to this? Now he couldn't see a way out.

Just as the true hopelessness of this situation was beginning to make itself known, creeping from the dark recesses of his mind, an eerie crackling sound had him freezing in his tracks. It sounded like the first pops of logs in the fire, but there was no fire here.

His eyes darted to the darkest corner of his cell where the sound happened again, this time louder before splintering toward him along the ground and under his feet. The ground had turned from a dull stone to a frozen glossy sheen, and a deep cold sprung from it, rising in the air and pebbling the skin under his clothes.

"Andreas," a voice raspy with disuse, sounding somehow frozen itself called him from outside the cell door.

He was here. And He had chosen to visit Andreas first.

The lock of the door fell, dislodged by an unseen force. The heavy weight of it hitting the floor made Andreas jump in his skin. Then the door slowly creaked open.

The ancient one stood unmoving behind it, the smallest glint of light shining in His otherwise pitch black eyes. Andreas couldn't look away. He was frozen like the ground beneath his feet.

Finally the creature took a step toward him, still holding Andreas captive with those empty soulless eyes of His.

"You have not taken care of your gift," the voice crackled and sliced through the air. A cold hand shot out from beneath His cloak and gripped Andreas face, the thumb running along his cheek and sloughing off the dried blood beneath.

"Sh-she betrayed me," Andreas stuttered, trembling despite himself.

"Zosime is capable of no such thing," He answered. "Unless she was first betrayed."

Andreas was freed from the icy hand, but he stood shaking, unable to move.

"She is no longer yours," He said then, beginning to retreat from the cell room.

"Z-zagan," Andreas stuttered in an idiotic moment of desperation to stall the monster in his cell.

The retreating form froze before rushing back to him with terrifying speed. The hand was around his throat, piercing black eyes boring accusingly into his.

"You do not speak that name," He said, lifting the elder lycan now by his throat. "Who have you told of that name?" The voice had turned deep and chilling like an entirely different person was speaking now.

Andreas shook his head frantically, making choking sounds as he instinctively grasped at the arm holding him in an attempt to release himself.