Neon White Season One: A Tooth, Claw and Horns Chronicle

by Wulf Francu Godgluck

  There, right there, in front of Niko, scowling down with blazing gold eyes—looking cute as fuck with his rolled up sleeves, in a marshmallow-pink button-up shirt—had stood the black beast who’d nearly crushed him in the alley those weeks back. Slight scruff adorned his angular jaw while his big, fat nose flared its wide nostrils. Niko had swallowed, fire roaring through his veins, his heart pounding as all the blood in his body dried up. His courage too, when the beast’s lips had curled on the right side, allowing him a glimpse of sharp white teeth.

  And, fucking pancakes, Niko hadn’t been able to deny that the beast looked goddamn edible in pink.

  The fiend had shoved the table aside, not seeming to give a shit about the attention he’d drawn to them, and plopped down onto Niko’s lap. The chair had screamed the only protest, taking their weight, and fuck, the bastard was heavy. People had stared, old ladies and mothers with their teenage daughters, and—the beast had cupped Niko’s face—he’d been sure as the snow outside that his cheeks had gone the same rosy pink as that goddamn fucking shirt.

  “My name’s Bruce, little human,” the beast’s words had jarred deep and dark, “and I gotta tell you,” those large thumbs intimately stroked Niko’s cheeks, “you are a damn sight breathtaking.” The beast, Bruce, had growled, leaned forward, narrowed his tender gaze and rasped, “No biting this time,” before he’d taken Niko’s lips.

  He was gonna die, sure one of the old biddies had been about to slaughter a teapot over Bruce’s head at any moment. Niko’s toes had cramped, they’d curled so tightly in his shoes, feeling the passionate devotion from the monster’s lips and the heaviness of those thickly-padded forearms resting on his shoulders.

  “Have dinner with me,” Bruce had uttered quietly, breathing out, making Niko very aware of the heat radiating off the big guy and the extremely hard bulb pressing into Niko’s stomach. Niko had parted his lips to speak when a finger had stopped him. “Think on it, puppy. Saturday night, eight o’clock, the Drunken God. I’ll be waiting. If you show up, I’m one lucky Lycan, if not…” Bruce’s Adam’s apple moved as he’d swallowed. “I’ll get the message.” With that said, the beast had stood, leaned forward and kissed Niko on the nose before he’d walked out.

  Niko had pressed his fingertips to his prickling lips, his nose still moist from the peck. Bruce’s heat signature had still lingered, along with his gentle caress and taste. He’d sighed, raked his fingers through his hair, and planted his elbows on the table and hung his head forward, squeezing his lids.

  Saturday had come, and with it, had come a torrent of drama Niko hadn’t wanted to deal with. It hadn’t been enough that his mother had found out about the incident at the tea shop, being openly kissed by Bruce. No, it was the fist to his face and then another and another, followed by a leather belt ripping into his skin while his father had yelled and screamed over his dropping grades and his queerness. He’d been forced to flee.

  His blood mixing with tears hadn’t been what had surprised him. It had been more his father’s brutality, and the lengths he’d gone to prove a point. Never, not once had his father ever raised a hand to his mother or Niko, until Niko’s sexuality had surfaced. What had terrified him more was, the act hadn’t been done out of anger, but hatred and disgust. He’d felt raw inside, helplessly stumbling up the path into the forest behind their home. His face a mess, his fingers shredded with cuts, hands and arms covered in red welts from trying to protect himself from the belt’s blows. Two fingers had been most probably broken; he hadn’t been able move them and the pain had pulsed without mercy.

  Exhausted and too sore inside to care, Niko had plopped down against a massive tree, biting against the pain. He’d pulled his hand to his chest and cradled his fingers to keep warm. He had taken flight, not stopping to grab his coat or gloves, just bolted out the front door, stumbled a few times as his father’s voice had chased him out.

  He knew he was weak. He could do something about his situation. Maybe he’d become a man-whore like his father had told him he was.

  Snobby, rich kids apparently didn’t need friends, despite the fact that he was hardly snobbish about much, but his father’s reputation of being an assholic prick had haunted Niko throughout high school, straight into college.

  He’d been the platinum shit-stain that everyone avoided, too scared to get dirty hands from befriending him.

  So there really had been no one he could lean on and crash with till he could stand on his own two feet. For the first time in Niko’s life, he’d realized how truly alone he was in this world. He’d no longer felt sad for the woman who’d sold herself; he’d felt sorry for himself, for not understanding why she did what she’d done for a living, possibly out of desperation. What if she’d had someone she needed to take care of? It could’ve been drugs, but Niko had not been about to judge anyone in whose shoes he had not walked an entire lifetime. He didn’t have the right to judge; God had no right either. And Niko shouldn’t have judged Bruce. The man had come across as freaky scary, but that couldn’t be helped, with his intimidating frame. Maybe the beast-man had no clue how he’d come across all aggressively frightening.

  Niko had closed his eyes, recalling each look and regard he’d been given by Bruce. Each touch gentle, so careful with his claws, as if the monster had understood the power he held, how fragile and soft Niko was in his dangerous talons. His kiss had been a contrast to everything the beast had perpetuated in appearance, sweet and tender, almost forgiving in seeking Niko’s approval.

  He’d had nothing to gain and probably his life and ass to lose, but he could, at least, give the man-beast a chance.

  Niko had stepped into the Drunken God at ten-thirty that night. His skin had crawled while a liquid shiver had snaked down his spine the moment he’d set foot inside the building. This was no place for humans. There had been supernaturals and paranormals packed into every space of the ample bar, and all gazes had darted right to him when he’d walked through the entrance.

  A fat creature, with stained brown, clawed hooves for hands, had come up to him. His bald scalp, decorated with tiny spines, had glistened with a coating of sweat, giving his skin an almost waxy appearance, while his beady eyes had stared down at Niko.

  In a quiet voice Niko had explained that he was there to meet ‘Bruce.’

  The pig-critter had sniffed Niko, then smiled. “Ye is a bit late. The beastrosity might have left already, but ye is welcome to go up.”

  “Up?” Niko had frowned, watching as the critter had stood to one side, holding out four cloven fingers in the direction of a staircase.

  “Up on the building’s crown, he bespoke the rooftop.” Niko’s gaze had darted from the hooved hand to the other patrons who’d glared at him with glowing eyes. “It’s okay, laddie. We serve the anthropoid flesh down in the underbelly of the building. Ye be safe here...for now.” The pig face had creased and the creature sounded more as if he’d been wheezing and choking as he’d chuckled, and it had taken Niko several seconds to understand the monster-swine was making a joke.

  With a deep breath to force movement and courage into his legs, Niko had advanced to the staircase, aware of the sets of gleaming gazes through the cloudy haze of smoke drifting above them, observing his every step. He hadn’t wanted to look at the crowd, too scared of what he might’ve seen, and too terrified he might’ve embarrassed himself with pee-stained jeans again.

  His heart had pounded with each step, and he’d been certain every creature in the pub could have heard the frantic beat.

  A door at the end of the hallway had stood open to the night sky. No light shone outside, except for the glow of the surrounding city. He’d paused at the door and gasped, getting a nice gulp of fresh, cool air. A table had been set up, its white linen cloth dancing gently to the tune of a soft breeze. The scent of wax faintly infused the air as he’d taken in the endless amount of candles, some now burned down, others blown out.

  Claws had gripped his gut, squeezing tightly.

&n
bsp; It must have cost Bruce quite a penny to rent the roof, and what had Niko done; shoved the invitation in his face by showing up late.

  But he hadn’t had the nerve to face his parents. He’d waited until they left to attend whatever social event they’d been invited to for the evening, before slipping back into the mansion to pull on a random red shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and his brown leather jacket. His trip into the city had taken him at least an hour by bus, and because he hadn’t wanted his father tailing him, he’d navigated with an actual paper map instead of his phone’s GPS. It had made him even later than he’d expected to be.

  Niko frowned, taking in the scene. He couldn’t figure out why the stupid man-beast would do something so...amiable for him. His parents hadn’t done anything remotely nice like this, not even close.

  He’d examined the scene again. If he’d come earlier, stuffed his cowardly, shitty attitude down the grave, he could’ve had a lovely evening with a strikingly handsome man. Well, technically speaking, Lycan…and what the hell did that really mean? He‘d never paid attention to supernatural and paranormal things. They didn’t exist, not up until four years ago. That day his mother had nearly flown, shitting up enough of a jet storm to propel her through the roof, when the news report had broken.

  He’d worried his bottom lip and took a couple of steps forward. His gut had fallen… There’d been a rose. Niko wasn’t the romantic type, but he had to admit, even this, no matter how cheesy, was kinda sweet.

  “Why did you do all this for me?” he’d whispered under his breath, the fresh night air colder around him.

  “Because I wanted to,” the darkness had answered.

  Niko had stiffened, a shadow had moved behind him; strong hands had come down on his shoulders, fingers careful, unsure if they’d been allowed to touch or not. Niko had closed his eyes and leaned back into the warmth swallowing him. He could smell the beast...not cologne, but clean, warm skin, a little musky. “You smell good,” he’d murmured.

  “Doesn’t everyone deserve to have something nice done for them?”

  Niko hadn’t replied, instead he’d turned, pushed up on his feet and kissed Bruce.

  The tender sting in his face had forced him back. He’d dropped his gaze, swallowed as another bolt of pain shot from his right fingers.

  “Who did this?” The growl, the snarled words, had torn loudly and harshly into Niko’s ears. He hadn’t been certain about the noise Bruce had made, but he didn’t favor it.

  “Tell me, puppy.” The beast had cupped Niko’s chin, gently urging him to look up.

  “Familial values.” A stupid damn tear had to trail itself down his cheek.

  “Never again.” Bruce eyes had glowed a sharper gold, but his irises were darker than what Niko had seen before. “No one gets to do this to you, Niko. No one has that right.”

  Niko had taken a step back, “How do you—”

  “Know your name…” Bruce had licked his lips. “I said I’ve been watching you…” Bruce had grinned, the smile hadn’t erased the anger still burning in his eyes.

  “I believe you were eighteen, at your high school graduation, when I first saw you.” The further Niko backtracked, the clearer the image of Bruce had become as his eyes had adjusted to the night’s dim light. The man had dressed in a dark gray suit, the shoulders and sleeves hugging his immense frame. Niko hadn’t been able to vouch the same for the pants, however. Those massive hands had been coiled at his sides, but quickly pulled behind the beast’s back.

  “You looked so sad that day…almost…heartbroken.”

  Niko had swallowed rapidly, his heart jumping mad. Someone had noticed, not anyone, but a stranger had taken the time to stand still and pay attention to him.

  “You’ll never understand the desire that arose in me” —the beast’s words had cut into Niko’s thoughts— “to hold you in that moment, just to witness your smile.” And God had they stung and burned.

  “It was even harder to keep my distance from you for five years. Especially when I learned you were interested in in men, and not boys. Your scent drove me mad with lust, little human boy. I couldn’t stop falling in love with you: the way you walk, move, and that sexy little grin you make when you realize someone’s flirting with you. Your smile, laugh, though they were rare and far between these past five years, they always brought warmth to my soul. Many nights I had to brawl with myself internally and allow you to experience life, experience...men. I didn’t want to force you into this. I wanted it to be your own decision, puppy. Lycans don’t have the mating call as many humans seem to think we do, but when we do see the one we desire, who we deem to be our potential mate, who we deem our equal, we will honor, protect and care for them until we draw our last breath.”

  Niko had taken the massive paw offered to him, with his good hand. Damn, the beast just had to step in close and swipe a fat tear away from under his eye and smile.

  As they had stepped out of the building, walking along the strip towards Bruce’s motorcycle, Niko had passed a woman standing by a black Mercedes. His head had still reeled a bit, not paying attention until his shoulder was grabbed. “Niko!”

  Shit, fuckery fairies. Niko gazed painfully into his mother’s green eyes. Fate just had to slip her dirty fingers into Niko’s life and gut him with her blunt butter blade.

  “What are you doing here?” His mother had cleaved her pedicured nails to his shoulder. Her grip had wavered when her steel regard cut to Bruce, then to their joined hands. “This is unacceptable.” She’d practically spat in his face, choking the words out. Her nostrils had flared, eyes turning an ugly shade of murky green with wrath. Bruce had wedged between them, breaking their contact, releasing a nasty, violent growl. Niko had felt a pang of sympathy for her as she’d stumbled back, her frame shaking, but had shoved it aside. The woman didn’t care about him, she never had, so why should he.

  “You have no right to speak to him that way.” Bruce had bent, lowering himself to meet her gaze. “No one does!” The beast had glanced over his shoulders, golden sparks glowing in his dark stare. “You know what I am, Niko, and I want you to be mine. I want you to give me the honor of protecting you, to provide for you, I want you to be my mate. But more than anything, my puppy, I want to be yours.”

  “No!” His mother had stormed back up to them, a hand shaking, waving off Bruce’s declaration, her eyes infected with the lunacy of her faith. “Wait till your father gets here!”

  Bruce had glowered, snapping his attention back to her. “His father? Look at his face. Look at his hands! You care nothing about it, allowed his father to do this to him!”

  Niko’s mother had stood like stone, fear bleaching her skin to a sickening ash-gray. “He who loves his son will not spare the rod… He who disciplines his son will profit by him.”

  Niko had stepped up to Bruce’s side, taking the beast’s large hand. He’d smiled up at him, “Let’s go home, big guy.” Bruce had cracked his neck, muscles still tight, but he’d turned, gently pulling Niko along, leaving his mother to ferment in her own anger.

  The rest had simply fallen into place, Niko had gone home with Bruce that night and had never stepped foot in his parent’s house again, until Detective Raven had shown up.

  The final confrontation between him and his parents at the detective’s request had been ugly. His mother shouting and swearing at him had been more shocking than when Niko had slammed a fist into his father’s face for firing bullets at Bruce. No... It hadn’t been enough that he was gay and his lover was a black man, but apparently, according to his mother, he was a zoosexual too. He hadn’t bothered to mention to either of them that he was now part-Lycanthrope. The fangs and fur he’d sported in his rage had been more than enough for his parents to disown him.

  Niko hadn’t accepted Bruce’s offer of a mating bite because he’d known it would cut any and all ties from his parents; he accepted it because Bruce had given Niko the freedom to make his own choice. Yes, it was proof of Bruce’s promise: to
be there for him, to protect Niko, but he’d been ultimately swayed by the fact that Bruce said it was Niko’s decision to make, especially when Bruce had explained to him how other Lycans wouldn’t allow their human mates a choice in the matter, they would simply take and claim them.

  Niko might never be able to fully shift the way Bruce could, or ever have the same kind of strength Bruce had, but the bite mark, no matter how powerfully it bonded Niko to Bruce for the rest of his life, was freeing in its own way.

  Niko gave one last glance over the Chetlér mansion’s backyard before he trotted over to the bed, straddled Bruce’s waist and laid himself down on the massive chest. He curled himself tighter to his mate’s warmth. Niko whimpered when another howl scraped through the mansion, only for the noise to be drowned out by the shattering roar of a beast far older than any of them.

  Bla’Gar burst into the dungeon, leaping from the top stair to the floor, a madness searing in his blood as he landed, in a squat. His pants ripped at the seams when his legs muscles flexed from the bend to absorb the shock, his dress shirt pulled out, buttons ripping as he straightened, exposing his skin beneath. He glanced up, snarled, and let out a dark roar so atrocious, the air in the room rippled from its force.

  The Strigoi froze, hunched on all fours, back arched, teeth showing while it hissed, black blood spewing from its mouth. Bla’Gar had witnessed this too many times, knowing what the signs indicated. Once the creature’s feed of demon blood was depleted, it started bleeding the unwanted gore from its eyes, mouth, nose and ears. Most painful was the humiliating sight of the substance leaking from its cock and ass. He could see traces of it on the pale, muscular legs, running down to its ankles. The Strigoi heaved, curving forward, gaze pinned on its food supply.