by Anya Byrne
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Brown is a good color. " Luther's eyes glinted with interest and maybe joy. "I'd say brown is understated. A lot of things are."
And somehow, Owen suspected they were dipping into profound territory again. Or maybe it was just the way Luther was looking at him that made him feel that way. "You know," he said a little breathlessly, "I get the feeling I'm in some sort of movie right now."
"Like what? The Godfather?" Luther smirked teasingly. "Anything except Gone with the Wind, please. I hated that ending."
"I had something like Pretty Woman in mind, but seriously, how can you hate Gone with the Wind?"
Somehow, his question led to a debate that went from the not-quite-happy ending of the book-cum-movie, to Luther's appreciation over the realistic depiction of that tumultuous era. "To be perfectly honest, V made me watch it, but I would have much preferred a happier ending. There was already too much pain and too much loss in the war."
Luther's words carried a weight that Owen didn't know what to make of, almost like for him, the movie wasn't just that—fiction. Instinctively, he reached for Luther's hand. "So does that mean you don't believe in real happy endings?"
"I didn't, not for a long time, not until I met you. I will admit it wasn't immediate. I had some help. Some friends of mine gave me the courage I needed. Now, I believe there's always a chance, as long as we're brave enough."
His dark gaze settled on Owen's face, the silent question as clear as it would have been if uttered out loud. "Are you brave enough?"
It wasn't a challenge, more like a plea, and Owen had a clear moment of revelation. He knew that the man in front of him had a lot of secrets, more than all the characters in The Godfather, Gone with the Wind and Pretty Woman combined. Even so, he also realized all to well that he couldn't let go. He was already addicted to Luther's voice, to his touch. He was already wondering if his caresses felt as good in real life as they did in his dreams.
Once again, he almost asked Luther to skip the dinner altogether and go on to the main event, but he was lost in thought for one second too long. A waiter appeared by the table, ready to take their order. Owen resigned himself to an evening of being helplessly aroused, and decided to make the best of it.
He marveled at the quantity of food Luther ordered for himself, and appreciated the fact that he allowed Owen to make his own choice. Owen went with the mussels, and then picked a chocolate mousse for desert. Once the waiter was gone, Owen went on the offensive. This was his chance, and he would not waste it.
"Here's the thing. There's just something about you that makes me want to trust you. But I can also tell you haven't been completely honest with me, and I wonder just how much you know about me when I know so little."
Luther winced. "I tried to respect your privacy. I wasn't always successful. It's hard for me not to want to help you when it would be easy to solve your problems."
"I take it that you know about my family then."
Luther nodded. "I apologize. I didn't mean to pry. It's just..." He released a frustrated huff and rubbed his forehead. "I can explain it, but I'm not sure you'll believe it."
The man had said that once before in the car, and Owen couldn't allow it any longer. "Luther... Stop. You never know until you try."
"Okay. I wanted to give you some time to get used to this, and to me... But the truth is... My mother was human. That's why she was killed. My father was a werewolf, and his pack didn't want him to have a human mate."
Owen stared, dumbfounded. Okay, he'd half-joked when he'd been talking about being in a movie, but this was taking the "truth is stranger than fiction" thing a little too far.
Luther cursed at his lack of reaction. "And I could have said all that in a far more tactful way."
"Right." Owen steadied himself and carefully retracted his hand from the crazy man's reach. "I guess that means that... I'm your mate. And you want to protect me? Because I'm human, and you're a werewolf?"
"Yes," Luther replied. "I know it's a bit much—"
"You're right, it is quite a lot." Owen pushed his seat back and got up. "Maybe I'm just not brave enough to face this."
He looked away from Luther's face, knowing he needed to get out of here before things got any worse. Despite that intellectual understanding, he was having a very difficult time with it. A treacherous part of him was relieved when, as he passed Luther, the other man grabbed his arm. "Wait. Please don't go."
The relief lasted only for a second, until he looked at Luther's hand and realized the man had somehow sprouted claws. "Holy shit."
"This is real," Luther insisted, "and please remember, I won't ever hurt you."
Owen would have believed that a little more if those claws hadn't looked as sharp as they did. He poked Luther's hand, and Luther's fingers twitched, almost as if in a subconscious gesture.
The claws didn't pierce Owen's flesh, but they definitely made their presence known, and pointed out that no, Owen wasn't seeing things. Luther wasn't crazy after all. He was a werewolf.
Owen would have loved to say that he reacted calmly to that little revelation. Sadly, while he might have been a hopeless romantic at heart, he wasn't so crazy about the supernatural. He met Luther's eyes—eyes that seemed to glint in the light of the candles—and promptly fainted.
****
This was, plainly put, a disaster. Luther had not wanted to burden his mate so quickly with all the baggage in his life. He definitely hadn't wanted to tell Owen that he was a werewolf so quickly, and in that idiotic way. But somehow, whenever he was with Owen, he really felt he could be himself, and the barriers between them seemed ridiculously artificial. He felt like the proverbial wolf who just had to huff and puff to tear those walls down. Of course, things didn't work like that in real life, which was why Luther ended up with his pale, unconscious mate in his arms, fanning his face instead of wining and dining him.
The waiter who showed up with the wine list gasped and rushed to his side, the menu clutched in his hands so hard his knuckles were white. "Mr. Valentino? Is everything all right?"
"Everything is fine," Luther replied tightly. "I can take care of this. Set our order aside. I'll be in my office."
The man knew better than to question him. After all, he belonged to Luther's pack, like all the employees here, and he was well aware of the importance of not questioning Luther.
It was almost ironic. Luther had never actually hurt any of the members of his pack—except one, and that had been enough. People still remembered what had happened to the culprit behind the murder of Luther's parents, a particularly enthusiastic enforcer. Coupled with Luther's challenge of the then-Alpha, his rise to power had been very memorable, and at any other time, a satisfying episode to remember.
Right now, though, Luther was too worried about his mate to focus on anyone else. With a heavy heart, he carried Owen to the office. A small part of him immediately felt more relaxed once they were in his private space, surrounded by his things, in what he'd come to see as his den of sorts. He set Owen on the leather couch and knelt next to him, wondering how to address this.
Owen was obviously scared, and Luther didn't blame him. It couldn't have been easy for Owen to realize Luther was indeed a werewolf, especially since, letters aside, they were practically strangers.
Luther set his forehead on the leather couch, right next to Owen's arm. He wanted to touch his mate so badly, to hold him and comfort him, but he knew it would not be appreciated, and he had not right to take advantage.
His wolf stirred inside him, the instinct to protect quickly becoming too strong for Luther to contain. Before Luther could bury his feelings deep inside himself, a jolt went through him—and suddenly, his mind drifted away from his body, toward Owen.
It wasn't something he did on purpose. He would have never invaded Owen's consciousness like that. But the pull of his mate's soul was too strong, and Luther surrendered to it, a slave to Owen's lure.
The next thing he knew, he was back in
V's club, and his mate was on the stage, in his Incubus outfit. Everyone else was indistinct—and the scene behind them blurred slightly as Luther landed in the center of the stage, on four paws.
Owen blinked at him, stopping mid-routine. He didn't say anything. Instead, he swallowed nervously, taking a small step back, obviously frightened.
Luther whined and bowed his head, his mate's rejection clawing at him like a wild, angry beast. He tried to control it, to breathe through the pain and remind himself Owen couldn't understand or identify his astral self.
Thankfully, he managed to shift with just as much ease as he did in the physical world. Once he was in human form, he lifted his hands, trying to convey harmlessness. "It's okay, Owen. Don't be scared."
"Seriously?" Owen glowered at Luther. "You didn't just have your potential love interest confess to being a werewolf on your first date." He scoffed, turning away from Luther. "Oh, wait. That's exactly what happened. What the fuck am I doing here?"
Luther was momentarily confused, and it gave Owen time to continue. "I mean, no matter how much I want you, this is seriously crazy. And I know you're my subconscious and all that, but even you have to agree with me. Right?"
"I'm not your subconscious, Owen," Luther replied softly, knowing this would most likely not earn him any points with his mate. "I'm really here."
Owen turned so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. "Wait, what?"
"I'm a half-breed werewolf. We have some extra abilities, and mine is astral projection."
Owen narrowed his eyes at him. "So on top of everything else, you've invaded my mind."
Luther winced. "It wasn't on purpose. I was worried about you, and it just sort of... happened."
This was never going to work, he realized. His mate didn't believe him, and he was entitled to his doubts. Luther had ruined things, and he could not expect Owen to ever forgive him.
"You're right," he said, his shoulders slumping. "I should have never pushed this onto you. You deserve better. I was selfish, and I'm sorry."
He dared to cross the distance between them, everything inside him screaming to lean over and kiss Owen. But that would just further violate Owen's trust and make things even worse, so instead he cupped Owen's cheek gently. "You're safe. Don't be scared. I won't stalk you or anything. I understand and respect your decision."
He took a step back and braced himself for what he was about to do. "When you wake up, a car will be waiting for you to take you home. As my final gift to you, I will cover your parents' debts. I know you don't truly want to work at V's place, and I've held back because I didn't want you to hate me for intruding, but it's a moot point now."
Owen opened his mouth, probably wanting to reject Luther's gift, but Luther didn't allow it. If he didn't hear Owen's final plea, perhaps he could fool himself into believing Owen would not resent him for this. Tugging at his astral self, he retreated from Owen's mind and returned to the real world.
When he opened his eyes again, he was kneeling next to his couch, with his mate still unconscious. It was just as well, he supposed. Some bonds simply weren't meant to be, and Luther had hesitated for too long. Owen was better off on his own. He could find a human lover who'd make him happy—and even if just the idea of it made Luther ache inside, Owen's well-being was far more important than his own.
Yielding to a final impulse, Luther pressed a kiss to Owen's brow. Reminding his wolf of what needed to be done, he forced himself to pull away. He found a quilt on the armchair and covered his mate with the fluffy blanket. Finally, he memorized the image of Owen's beautiful face, then turned away and left the room.
He would not have a mate, but Owen would be safe and happy. That was what mattered.
Chapter Three
One month later
Owen stood in front of the now familiar club, biting his lower lip in indecision. He hadn't been here in ages, and he was as of yet uncertain if he'd be welcomed back. Still, he had no other choice, not if he wanted to find the answers he so desperately needed.
Trying to project a confidence he didn't feel, Owen entered the alley he'd walked down so many times. As always, Sonny was there, guarding the entrance. He greeted Owen with a grin. "Hey Ink. What's up? Boss lady said you might be dropping by."
"Did she?" Owen wondered if he should be alarmed. He himself hadn't been quite sure if he would come or not.
Sonny nodded. "Go right in. We've all missed you."
It would have been easier to stick around and chat with Sonny, but he hadn't come here for that. He'd come for answers, and he'd get them, no matter what.
Taking Sonny's words as permission, Owen made his way to V's office. He'd only seen the place twice—when he'd been hired, and when he'd quit. He hesitated in front of the door, wondering if V was going to smile again like she had previous times. Somehow, he doubted it.
Owen had not wanted to believe Luther's words in the strange not-quite-dream, but they could not be denied. His family's debts had indeed been paid. Without that financial burden weighing on him, Owen had found a regular part-time job. It paid less, but it was enough for his rent and he didn't have to take his clothes off for strangers.
But the roses and the letters had stopped arriving. There had been no sign of Luther whatsoever, not even a black car, or a shadow through the corner of his eye. Owen didn't dream of Luther anymore, and he wondered if before their disastrous meeting, Luther had used his astral projection to slide into his nighttime fantasies.
It should have bothered him, but all he felt was loss. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he should have listened, waited for Luther to explain. He couldn't in good conscience say that he'd overreacted—after all, it wasn't every day he found out that his sort-of-crush was a mythological creature. But Luther had been fragile. He could see it now. Given what had happened to his mother, he'd obviously had a very hard time approaching Owen, but he had done it nonetheless—and that meant something. With every day that passed, Owen ached more and more, haunted and in pain. He suspected he wasn't the only one who felt the loss.
He realized he'd zoned out when the door suddenly opened before he could even knock. "Well, what are you doing skulking there?" V snapped at him. "Come in already."
Owen complied, stepping past her and into the office. "You're looking for Luther," she continued. "Took you long enough."
Something rebellious rose in Owen's chest. "Can you blame me?" More than he already blamed himself, at least.
"It doesn't matter if I blame you or not, Owen. He's my friend, and I've known him for centuries. He's been through a lot."
Owen didn't answer. He had a feeling she wasn't quite done with what she had to say. "You know, he was only a boy when he saw a werewolf enforcer tear his mother's throat out in front of him. I found him in the forest, covered in blood. He wasn't even shivering. He wasn't scared. He was furious, a wounded animal. And a wounded animal lashes out at the people who harmed it."
"What exactly are you saying, V?"
"The thing is, Owen, that it's easy enough to get revenge. All he had to do was wait and train, and once he had control over his astral projection... Well, let's just say he didn't have a hard time taking over what is now his pack. Of course, by then, his father was already dead." She paused and shook her head, as if physically trying to dispel the memories. "What I'm saying is that he would never lash out against you, so the pain stays with him instead. I don't like to see him hurt."
"I'm just a normal guy, V. I don't know anything about werewolves and magic. I don't even know why I'm here. All I know is that I still have questions and I can't give him up just yet. I hate that he gave up on me so quickly."
V rubbed her eyes and went to the bar, pouring two glasses of expensive whiskey. She offered one to Owen, and he took it obediently. Normally, he didn't drink much, but he suspected he'd need it for this conversation. He had not missed her casual mentioning of 'centuries'. "Are you a werewolf too?"
V shook her head. "There are a
lot of creatures out there other than werewolves. But I'm sure that's not really what you want to know, is it?"
No, it wasn't. He didn't really care about V's secrets or her anger. In fact, what she'd told him so far pointed out that he'd been right to come to her. "How's Luther?" he asked outright.
"Trying to get over you, and failing. Well, it was pointless to even make the attempt, but he wants to respect your choice."
She scoffed, pointing out how she felt about that particular tidbit. Owen arched a brow. "I take it you don't agree with him?"
"My darling boy... You're a human. I know humans, and you want him. Proof in point, the fact that you're here." She left her glass on her desk and stepped close to him, invading his personal space. Suddenly, her eyes seemed to have a strange glint, and when she gripped his chin, her fingernails were sharp and pointy, almost like claws. "Humans are fascinated by the paranormal, and have been even ages ago, when it was harder for them to accept it. Now, they retaliate with skepticism, whereas before, they attempted to bury it with violence. But you... How will you face it? Tell me."
Will you be brave enough? It was exactly what Luther had asked, and Owen had told himself that yes, he could handle it. He could believe. Of course, at the time, he'd had no idea what he was getting into. In the end, did it really matter?
Owen closed his eyes and thought about red roses. In their natural state, roses had an intoxicating perfume, but also thorns that could draw blood. Love wasn't just the sweet smiles exchanged on Valentine's Day, but also being by each other's side through thick and thin, struggling to understand and get over seemingly impossible differences.
When he looked at V again, he'd made his decision. "I want to see him. I want to fix this. Please, V. I know it won't be easy, and maybe we're both idiots. It might be the blind leading the blind here, but between the two of us, we can still fix this."
"And you don't care that he's a werewolf with powers of astral projection?"