Bind Me in Steel

by Beast

  Then he was pulling away, tossing his head to Wren as he headed toward a door with a picture of stairs on it. “We’ll have to share a room,” Ero said grudgingly, and Wren tried not to let it sting that Ero was obviously so reluctant to be in any kind of space with him. “They’re booked fully. You can take the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

  He followed Ero up a flight of stairs to the second floor, and a room with 313 on the door; when Ero unlocked it he revealed a small space with something like fuzzy fabric on the floors, a single large bed piled high with faded but still colorful quilts, the windows looking out over the sea, the bathroom visible through another open door. The room was simple, old, with no decorations, just the bare utilities…but it was nothing like anything Wren had ever seen.

  Was the rest of the world like this, he wondered? When he’d been led to believe more of the world was like the pack’s keep than not…he felt cheated, almost. Lied to, and he resented Connaught for that enough that he wished he could see his former alpha one last time, just to ask him why.

  And he didn’t want to leave here, not yet, not when there was so much to see and smell and taste and learn, and he wanted to absorb it all before he moved on to some unknown place he’d never seen.

  But he couldn’t tell Ero that, when Ero was just in a hurry to get rid of him and move on with his life.

  So Wren only bit his tongue, held his peace, and climbed onto the bed, kicking his boots off and curling up on his side and wishing for…for…

  He didn’t know what, but it wasn’t this.

  CHAPTER NINE

  With a sigh, Ero looked down at the forlorn, miserable little bundle that Wren made in the bed, tucked up on his side and glaring toward the window.

  No matter what had happened between them, he couldn’t let it end like this. He still didn’t quite know what he’d been thinking when he’d insisted that Wren leave his entire life behind to follow Ero to the ends of the earth, but…

  He couldn’t stand to see Wren unhappy, and even if he wouldn’t give in to that dark and needy pull in his blood every time he looked at the omega, he still couldn’t help a fond desire to make him smile.

  “Hey.” He dropped his pack in the corner and settled to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at Wren’s back. “Do you want some help brushing your hair?”

  Wren tensed, then cast a wary look over his shoulder at him. “Why are you asking?”

  “Peace offering,” Ero said, with a faint smile. “And I think it’s safe for me to help you with it, all things considered.”

  That earned him a sullen glare, which he probably deserved—but after a moment Wren looked away with a sniff, pushing himself up to lean over and snag his bag from the floor. “I suppose it’s a little much to handle on my own.”

  Ero bit back his smile. Even in rough conditions like the ones Ero had found him in, it wasn’t hard to see that Wren had gotten just a little spoiled. A pampered little queen, the alpha’s mate—as much as anyone could be out here. Ero could see him in fine silks, in lovely things…and flushed with the ache to be the one to bring him those silks and beautiful things that would bring out the warmth in those pale green eyes.

  If he could hear the dryads, he wondered what they would whisper to him.

  Perhaps that he was being a fool, denying what the wolf inside him wanted so very much.

  Yet he kept his thoughts to himself, as Wren fished out his hand-carved comb and brush set, then unwound his scarf. Ero itched to bury his fingers into the knot of Wren’s hair and loosen it, but he made himself hold still, hold back, while Wren pulled it free and sent it bursting out over the bed in an inky black cascade. It wrenched Ero’s heart to see it, beautiful and unfettered and not for him. This was a practical thing, not a shared moment between lovers.

  And he clenched his teeth as he applied himself, starting first with the wide-toothed comb and beginning to comb through slowly from root to tip, tracing his way down long skeins of hair and pretending not to notice that Wren trembled, sitting before him with his gaze turned glassily away and his lips parted. Wren trembled, and inside Ero matched that tremor as he sank into the rhythm, stroke, and unbelievable intimacy of combing through Wren’s hair.

  It shouldn’t be like this. It should be a routine task, an olive branch, but instead it was wrapping him up in those long skeins of hair and tangling him to Wren so deeply. He swallowed roughly, switching to the brush, beginning to stroke a fine gloss into those dark locks and finally breaking the silence that hovered, heavy and tense, between them.

  “You said your birth-father would help you with your hair?”

  Wren’s eyes had closed as he’d swayed into every touch like a cat being stroked, but now they opened, fixing pensively on the far wall, the window, before he nodded. “Yes. When I was very small, and just learning what it meant.”

  “Tell me more about them?” Ero asked softly. “Before they went north.”

  Wren’s breaths caught, and he hesitated, but then…

  But then.

  “They were kind,” he murmured. “That’s what I remember the most. Even when other people in the pack were cruel…they were always kind. Connaught called them too soft, and maybe they were since they went north together…but they were together.” His voice broke briefly, then strengthened. “I like to think they were at last happy for a few moments before the Disc took them, because they were together.” He paused, then, and looked over his shoulder at Ero. “What were your parents like?”

  “I don’t remember,” Ero said, and ran the brush through another skein of hair until it shone like black diamonds. “It’s been so long…and I think some memories, I let go on purpose. I’d rather hear about your parents than remember mine.”

  But Wren only looked at him for long moments, and between them stretched a tether that pulled so deeply on Ero’s heart that he wondered…he wondered what kind of parent Wren would be. If he would be kind and gentle with their pups, as his parents had been with him. And reflected in Wren’s eyes, his scent, seemed thoughts that ran tandem to Ero’s own, like two halves of a wish that would never be fulfilled, and after aching seconds Wren looked away again, something shuttering behind his eyes as he continued,

  “I think the other thing I remember most is that…they were very much in love.”

  Ero fell silent to listen, then. To Wren—to his voice, to everything he said, to the things he didn’t say as he remembered how his parents would look at each other, how they doted on each other even when they fought, how they doted on him. It left Ero oddly soothed, as he worked through Wren’s hair…and it seemed to be having the same effect on the little omega, as his speech closed and his scent drifted closer and closer to sleep.

  When he sagged forward, Ero set the brush aside and caught Wren’s weight gently, and eased him onto his side on the bed before drawing the quilts up around him and tucking him in. Wren slept quietly, peacefully, his hair a spread of galaxies against night across the bed.

  Ero gently tucked a lock back, lingering on the fine softness of Wren’s cheek, then pulled away. He should make his bed on the floor, and settle in for a day’s rest.

  Instead he stretched out on the foot of the bed, like a faithful dog standing watch, and closed his eyes to fall asleep.

  T

  Wren woke to half-numb and yet very warm feet, and didn’t realize why until he blinked his eyes open drowsily.

  And saw Ero on the foot of the bed, sound asleep, this massive beast of a man curled in a lazy sprawl with the dark tumble of his hair spilling over the blankets.

  The sight of that tangle of black hair made Wren reach up to touch his own—glossy straight, silk-smooth, so soft from Ero’s gentle attention. He’d been stunned, almost heartbroken when Ero had offered, then made it out to be nothing.

  When it was everything, to Wren.

  Everything, and he’d let Ero do it anyway just to feel his touch; just to imagine, for a few quiet moments, what it would be like to have Ero as his mat
e.

  He’d told Ero about his parents…but he hadn’t told him that he understood them, now. The way they’d seemed connected, like two halves of a whole that could never fully be parted; the way his birth-father had said he’d hated his father for a few snarling, angry days before suddenly he’d said one small, gentle thing and somehow something had unlocked, and without even knowing more than his name and the sound of his voice…

  He’d been in love, mated, bound. The wolf inside him had chosen for him, chosen for them both, and if they could be so happy with such simple things…

  Why couldn’t Wren?

  Because. Because his wolf had fallen for someone stubborn and defensive and determined to isolate himself; because Ero, for all that he knew more about life and the world and being a wolf than Wren ever could, knew nothing about this and was so afraid of himself that he refused to learn.

  It made that ache start in the back of Wren’s throat, as he realized one simple, unshakeable thing.

  He loved this stupid wolf.

  He loved this stupid wolf who thought he was a monster, just because he was different. Just because he was one of the first, a unique breed, stronger and more vicious—and yet he’d used that strength to protect Wren, again and again. To protect human lives, even when those humans would gladly have murdered him. Wren didn’t need to know every detail of his nearly thousand-year life, or what his favorite color was, or if he preferred deer to rabbit stew or any of those other little things to understand the kind of man Ero was.

  The kind of man who would be walking away from him, after the long journey over the water to the Silk Islands.

  Maybe, in the close quarters on the ship, Wren would be able to win him over. Or maybe Ero would find a way to always be around others, or hide himself away, so Wren would never have a chance beyond these last few days in Meridian.

  So if these were to be his last few days, he would be brave.

  And his heart beat with trepidation, as he extracted himself from the covers and crawled across the bed, his eyes burning and stinging hot as he pressed himself against the broad, heated expanse of Ero’s back.

  Ero tensed, alertness rippling through him almost immediately—but before he could roll away, Wren reached up and tangled a hand in his hair, just letting it wind around his fingers.

  “Don’t,” he choked out in a whisper. “Don’t pull away. Just let me stay like this.”

  Ero let out a soft, confused rumble. “Wren…?”

  “Please.” Wren swallowed hard. “Just let me have this. I don’t want to be helpless. I don’t want to be dependent on you…but it hurts to think of you going away, Ero. And you’re going to leave me when we go south. You’re going to leave me because you think it’s for my own good. So please…please.” Breaths hitching, he buried his face between Ero’s shoulder blades. “Let me have just this moment.”

  “…Wren,” Ero repeated softly, his voice breaking.

  But he didn’t move.

  His heart labored against Wren’s cheek, but he didn’t move, and together they stayed.

  Wren closed his eyes, imprinting every shape of Ero on his body so he would never forget. The breadth of his shoulders, the narrow trim of his waist, the way his muscles were like great cragged boulders under his skin.

  “Is this really what you’re going to do forever?” he whispered. “Wander alone, with no mate and no home?”

  “It’s fitting.” Old, dark pains haunted Ero’s voice, turning that baritone growl raw. “A fitting punishment.”

  “Why should you be punished for caring for your pack?”

  “Because I didn’t protect them!”

  “You didn’t hurt them, either,” Wren pointed out. “You tried to be better. It’s not your fault that…that other people are cruel.”

  Ero said nothing.

  He only remained, still and quiet, while Wren willed himself to sleep against his back.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Wren almost wished Ero didn’t indulge him so much.

  Because these last few days had felt like false hope, as they’d killed time around Meridian and Wren had discovered an entirely new world. He’d seen wolves who looked happy and healthy and carefree, rather than beaten and cowed; wolves who lived not in packs but in neighborhoods with no clear leader. He’d ventured to the human side of town, watching as men and women moved among each other with casual ease, their scents masked by the salve under his nose but their body language so clear, and they weren’t afraid of wolves at all.

  He listened to people tell stories in taverns, of the world before Discfall; of the strange monsters that lived around the Disc, mutations and things of magic; of how the dryads would sometimes sing in a single voice that swept the world, and how every time two women fell in love they would make a pilgrimage to the dryad stands outside Meridian to stand beneath their twined branches and above their mated roots and pledge to love the way the dryads loved, growing together deeper and deeper until they strengthened each other.

  He tried fried fish for the first time, and nearly put it away until he got used to the taste and the crispy, flaky flesh; he stared at the bright ribbons in a shop window, only to wake up the next evening with a pale blue one threaded into his hair. He had to nearly be dragged out of the apothecary’s shop, when he was fascinated by the powdered and cubed and dried and fresh herbs in jars and bunches, asking question after question until the apothecary responded with a sort of waspish fondness, poring over the books on herbalism for sale only for his heart to sink as he realized he didn’t have any money and he couldn’t ask Ero when Ero had to pay passage for both of them south, and was paying for their room.

  Yet the book had somehow appeared in his bag overnight.

  All because Ero was indulging him, and even if they no longer spoke of that hurt, that ache, that pull, that need…

  Every once in a while their hands brushed, their eyes locked, and Wren only wished Ero would push him away just a little bit more so it wouldn’t hurt so much when they parted.

  When this playact of idle nights and silent days, pressed against Ero’s back in the bed they shared…it only made him hope for something that could never be.

  Their boat would be leaving tomorrow, though. Ero had already booked passage to New Orleans, and then from New Orleans they had been told it would take over two months to reach the south pole and the Silk Islands. So Wren was going to enjoy one of his last nights on land for a very long time, and Ero was once again indulging him and letting Wren take the lead, following him through Meridian wherever Wren’s curious questions took them. He’d learned that the big creatures they’d spooked were called cows, and Ero’s clothing was made of cow leather, and farmers kept cows for their hides, their meat, and their milk. Wren had balked at the idea of drinking milk from another animal when he hadn’t nursed since he was a pup, but Ero had coaxed him to try something called ice cream and now he couldn’t get enough.

  And he was just dragging Ero toward the shop that made ice cream, moving under the quarter moon and the little pretty lanterns strung up all along the street, when a familiar scent struck him like a spear to the gut.

  Connaught.

  Connaught was here—not in Meridian, but close by and drawing closer, closer by the moment. His scent drifted toward Wren on the wind, heavy and dark and burning with an acid rage, loathing. Wren’s heart sank, his body turning to ice, and he couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t breathe, clutching at his chest, and Ero froze, turning back, looking down at him with his eyes dark with concern, his voice urgent.

  “Wren?” He dropped to one knee, rubbing a hand against Wren’s back. “Wren. What’s wrong? What is it?”

  Wren jerked his gaze to Ero; his lips worked, but he couldn’t speak. He only shook his head, trying again and again, voice lodging in the back of his throat before he finally managed, “C-Connaught. He’s here. He’s here.”

  And Wren would rather die than go back with him.

  Back to the emptiness of that poi
ntless life, and its complete and utter ignorance.

  Ero swore under his breath, lifting his head, flaring his nostrils; his brows knit, gaze distant and searching, before he let out another curse. “And he’s come with silver. I think he’s here for me, not you.”

  That was enough to jerk Wren from his shock; he inhaled sharply, staring up at Ero, and shook his head quickly. “We have to run. He’ll kill you with silver, he’ll—”

  “He’ll do no such thing,” Ero said firmly, his hand strong and steadying again Wren’s back. He looked down at Wren, that quiet, neutral calm settling over him; that calm Wren now recognized as a mask over his feelings, over the weariness that came from having to face this cutthroat world. “Go back to the hotel. I’ll go out to meet him. He could hurt too many people here, and I’d rather lead him away.”

  “No!” Wren clutched at Ero’s arm, his heart a sick and frightened thing, small and trembling. “You can’t fight him alone!”

  “I don’t intend to fight him at all.” Ero covered Wren’s hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “Maybe this time he’ll be more willing to listen to reason.”

  Not if he has silver, Wren thought. Most wolves would never touch silver, and it was considered dishonorable to use it against each other. If Connaught came with silver…

  He meant to kill, and he had nothing to lose.

  “Take me with you.” Before Ero could even protest, Wren shook his head sharply. “Take me. He knows me. I know him. I might be able to talk to him if he won’t listen to you.”

  Ero hesitated, doubt clear in his eyes, in his scent, before he nodded. “Stay behind me,” he said, then turned to forge through the streets of Meridian.