Damian's Wolf - 33. Alistair's Fate

The door opened quietly, Jordan slipping into the dark room.

"Hey Sander, I got some food-"

"I'm not hungry."

He could barely see the elf in the darkness. Stepping forward, Jordan hissed as he stubbed his toe, nearly dropping the plate in his hands.

"Jordan-"

"I know you're sad, distraught… but you can't push me away, push us away," the man sighed, trying to find a dresser for the plate.

Free of the food, Jordan crawled into the bed, wrapping his arms around Lysander.

"I'm not pushing. I just need some time."

"Well, you need food too. And a hug."

There was a quiet knock on the door, Damian peeking into the room.

"Can I come in?"

"I suppose."

Lysander let out a sigh as the neko lay in front of him. The elf was sandwiched between his mates, their love sheltering him.

"Why is this shit easier to deal with when it's someone else?"

Jordan shrugged.

"What if it was? If this was me or Damian… what would you do?" he asked.

The elf grunted.

"I don't know. I suppose what you're doing right now."

“This keeps happening, and it’s scaring all of us Lysander. But we are here for you. We’ll get through this together. No matter what happens,” Jordan said quietly.

“Do you want to go back to Astara?” Damian suggested.

Lysander shook his head with a sigh.

“I can’t just leave my mother alone. That would be wrong. Look, I love both of you, but I just… I need to be sad right now. I need to get this out.”

“Okay, then we’re going to be sad with you.” Jordan said firmly.

“You can’t. Who’s going to take care of Dylan while you two are taking care of me?” Lysander pointed out.

“Fine, we’ll tag team you,” Damian said. “Jordan, you get the master of poo first.”

“Great. And which one is that again?” Jordan asked.

Lysander’s lip twitched slightly, torn between a permanent frown and the barest hint of a smile. He pushed Jordan away, the human sighing as he stood up.

“You’re lucky you’re cute Aerael,” the elf pouted, pulling his blankets up to his neck.

“Oh, by the way, Damian, you get to feed Lysander. Have fun,” Jordan mentioned, carefully picking his way back through the darkened room.

He slipped out into the hall, letting out a deep breath as his eyes closed against the light. Moving through the unfamiliar house, the man found Lysander’s mother rocking Dylan’s bassinet gently. A red mark peeked from the collar of her shirt, almost claw-like in appearance. Jordan shuddered, turning his attention back to Dylan.

The neko was sleeping inside, swaddled neatly in a lilac blanket Lysander had picked out for him. Tiny snores escaped him, and Jordan’s heart melted as he looked down at his son. He had to remind himself to let Dylan sleep; the urge to pick him up and cuddle him was strong.

“I remember Lysander,” the elf smiled at the neko. “He is small. Complained too, a lot. Alistair wants two, but I said no. Better not to hurt a child.”

“Why did you stay with him for so long?”

“No gold. I can not work.”

“You should have told Sander. I’m sure he would have helped.”

The elf frowned, sitting back on the ground. She looked up at Jordan and shook her head with a sigh.

“No. Sander has his life. He can remember Alistair as nice. But they yell last night. It is my fault.”

“You can’t blame yourself for your mate’s death,” Jordan denied.

“No, I want to hear this Jordan.”

The man startled at Lysander’s voice. Turning, he found the elf standing at the entrance of the room. Eyes blotchy, hair messed up, Lysander made a terrifying image, even for Jordan. Behind him, Damian was trying to avoid being seen, the neko pinned against a wall in an effort to avoid the confrontation that was brewing.

“Damian, why don’t we take Dylan for a ride?” Jordan offered, lifting the bassinet. “I want to see about getting a potion for tonight so I can get some sleep.”

“But…”

“Go on Kalael,” Lysander croaked out. “I believe mei esul and I have something to discuss.”

Damian slipped past the elf, sidling toward Jordan nervously. Stepping past him, Jordan wrapped an arm around Lysander, squeezing him gently.

“Let me know when you’re done, okay?”

“Yeah…”

Jordan followed Damian out of the house, unlocking the car door. He tucked Dylan into the back seat, letting Damian secure their son as he slid into the front seat.

The chill of autumn was strong in the air, and Jordan noticed Damian shivering as the neko got into the car beside him.

“Don’t you have a jacket?” the man asked.

“No, I didn’t have the money for it,” Damian denied quietly.

“Well, we’re getting you a jacket then. Payday was supposed to be this week, but now…”

The werewolf let out a sigh.

“So much death. What’s going on? I know the calico curse isn’t real,” Damian said, almost as though he was trying to convince himself.

“Hey, don’t you go pretending this is all some neko superstition,” Jordan frowned. “Let’s go get you a jacket, then we can stop by the pack house and see about getting a potion.”

“Will they let us into the pack house?” Damian asked as they pulled out of the driveway. “I mean, the Astaran packs all have guards. And they only let us in last night because of Lysander.”

“We’ll try to get in. If we can’t, I’ll see if Lysander can help. But I’d rather not involve Sander in this. I don’t want to stress him out more than he already is.”

“She had a claw mark on her back. I saw it,” Damian said suddenly. “Alistair’s death wasn’t a mistake.”

“I don’t want to go that far Damian. And I suggest you do not mention that to Lysander,” Jordan frowned. “They weren’t a happy couple, but that’s no reason-”

“Stop it Jordan. Anyone can see what happened. He was abusing her, she decided enough was enough, and kicked him out.”

“Fine. Why wait until we showed up?”

“She already had it planned. We just were a convenient excuse. Trust me, I’ve been used by my fair share of people. I know manipulation when I see it. Whatever Alistair said to offend Lysander, I wouldn’t be surprised if his mother put him up to it.”

“Can you blame her though? I mean, she must have been desperate to escape. Especially if he was clawing her like that. Those weren’t the marks of werewolves in love,” Jordan sighed. “Gods, this is all fucked up.”

“Someone killed him though. And it wasn’t Lysander’s mother. Someone wants werewolves dead here too,” Damian shuddered.

“Isn’t there an elven order of wolf hunters or something?”

“Lumara was an elven god originally. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“All the more reason to keep you and Dylan close. Sander should be safe in his house for now,” Jordan said, pulling into a carpark. “I don’t want either of you out of my sight the entire time we’re here.”

Jordan sat on a bench with Dylan, watching Damian browse through clothes. Everything was too small, or too fuzzy, or clashed with his fur. He had told Damian to find what worked best for him, and the neko had taken that to heart. Jordan wasn’t sure the store had any more sweaters left that the calico had not dismissed.

A sudden whimper drew the werewolf’s attention, Dylan’s eyes opening in his bassinet. His mouth opened in a small ‘o’, a yawn drawing a chuckle from his father.

“Hey buddy. Bet you’re a little tired. It can’t be easy to catch a nap when you’re always on the move.”

Glancing back up, Jordan found Damian talking with a man, an emerald green sweater in hand. The neko turned toward Jordan, a smile on his face as he made his way back to his mate.

“I think I found a good one,” he said. “It actually fits well, and even better, it doesn’t clash too much with my colours.”

“Not pink?” Jordan asked innocently.

“I wish. But I could never pull that off,” Damian chuckled. “Oh, I asked, and apparently they do sell wolf juice here, but they’re sold out. I think most of the wolves are trying to hide.”

“That explains the twenty or so werewolves we saw at the park. Such a good hiding place,” Jordan scoffed.

“Safety in numbers,” Damian shrugged, pulling out his phone.

The neko frowned at the screen briefly, typing briefly.

“Sander wants us to pick him up. He says we’re leaving?”

“Leaving? We can’t get to Astara before the moon hits. We’ll be lucky to reach Ceos,” Jordan protested. “And most hotels don’t allow fur of any kind.”

“I can’t drive us. I don’t know how,” Damian added.

“We’ll talk to Sander. If he doesn’t want to stay with his mom, I’m sure we could find somewhere else to stay the night. He was going to have us stay at the pack house yesterday.”

Heading toward the counter, Jordan handed Dylan to Damian and paid for the sweater. They hurried out to the car, and were on the road minutes later.

“Pedun Sander. Staen enarl.”

The elf shoved a bag in the trunk of the car, ignoring his mother. Jordan stared at him, a feeling of dread flooding through him. This wasn’t Lysander. This wasn’t his mate.

Opening the driver’s side of the car, Lysander waited for Jordan to move.

“I’m taking us to the pack house. We’ll get a potion and then I’m going to drive through the night to Astara,” he said dully as Jordan squeezed past him.

The car started before Jordan could get into the back seat. Double checking Dylan, the werewolf made sure the neko was secure before buckling himself in.

Silence filled the car as Lysander drove through the streets of his city. Jordan fought the urge to break the silence. Lysander was dealing with things. Admittedly in a way that worried the human, but the elf seemed to deal with his problems in his own way. The gods knew he deserved to let off steam.

“Sander?”

Damian’s whisper sounded like a gunshot in the car. Jordan took a deep breath, not sure exactly how to help his mate. Maybe Damian could figure it out.

“She killed him.”

The elf was shaking like a leaf, his eyes staring at the road. Hands clenched the steering wheel, and Jordan felt his stomach flip as the car turned sharply.

“I’d like it if you didn’t kill us in retaliation.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Lysander tensed up, coiled tight. It took a moment for him to calm down again.

“Did you know?” he asked quietly.

“Did I know your father was abusive to your mother? Not until she told me as much this morning. Did I know he would die if your mother kicked him out of the house? Not at all. Look, Sander, what happened was terrible. What was happening before was terrible-”

“Don’t you dare try to defend her Jordan. She knew he was going to die. She made him confront us about Damian, knowing it would give her an excuse to kick him out, to let the Silver Hand murder him,” Lysander snarled.

“Fine. I’m not going to defend her. But I’m not letting you drink that potion Sander. You have never forced your wolf down in your life. I’m not letting you start now,” Jordan said.

“Shouldn’t we tell someone about this?” Damian frowned.

“What are we going to tell them? That my esul kicked my etul out on a night she knew werewolf hunters would be roaming? She made sure she was seen with us, outside. Anyone who looks at this will think she had no idea, unless she explicitly confesses to setting the whole thing up. And even then it’s circumstantial at best,” Lysander snapped. “We can’t do shit. She’s going to get away with murder. But I’m not going to be a part of this. What my etul did was bad. Horrible, even. But he didn’t deserve to be burned to death by the Silver Hand. And I’m not going to let Dylan be around someone who resorts to murder to solve their problems.”

“How do you know it was the Silver Hand?” Damian asked.

“Because they’re obsessed with purification through burning. I’ve seen enough of their victims to know, if Etul was found with silver on him, they were responsible,” Lysander growled.

“Wait… there’s a group called the Silver Hand?” Jordan demanded. “The mage who was teaching me… she had a statue of a silver flame coming out of a palm. It was hidden most of the time, but I saw it once. I thought she won it as an award for… pyromancy…”

“She got rid of you for being a werewolf,” Damian frowned. “If she was in the Silver Hand, she would have tried to kill you.”

“Like in a house fire. To cleanse you of your lycanthropy,” Lysander noted.

“The guard found evidence of magical residue on the door,” Jordan remembered. “It’s been a month though… I don’t think it would matter if I called anyone about it.”

“The investigation is probably still going. If it was arson and no one was caught-”

“I think they thought it was Halor. And he’s dead. No way to ask now.”

“The case might still be open. You should call anyway. If the mage has a connection to the Silver Hand, they’ll be arrested regardless,” Lysander insisted.

“There’s something else Jordan. I wanted to help find you a mage teacher, so I looked around. Only certain humans can use magic. If you can’t manipulate energy yet, you aren’t a mage,” Damian added quietly. “And you’ll never be able to use magic.”

“I know,” Jordan sighed. “I looked it up too. So, not only is Thayla associated with werewolf hunters, she scammed me out of several gold. And probably tried to murder both of us.”

“At this point, that’s become normal,” Damian muttered.

“Yeah,” Lysander breathed. “Look… Jordan, why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll get the potion. If you’re going to drive tonight, you’ll need your rest.”

“Are you going to be okay Sander?”

“Eventually,” the elf sighed. “I’ll just add it to the piles of trauma I deal with daily. But I don’t think I’ll ever come back here.”

“Well shit, we can’t go to Sarelin because of Damian’s parents. We can’t come to Mydara because of your mother. Ceos is out because of racist bigotry. How about we head to Khorsa in Ythin? That could be a fun vacation next year,” Jordan suggested. “Assuming we survive the year, that is.”

“I always heard the westerners actually prefer calicos,” Damian shrugged. “Though I’m a little more interested in Sami. I’ve never had sushi before. And kumis is a little bleh for me.”

“Well, we have a while to think about that one,” Jordan sighed, leaning against the window. “I guess I’ll get some sleep. Pick me up an energy drink if we stop somewhere. I’ll probably need it.”

“Will do. I love you Jordan,” Lysander said quietly.

“I love you too. Both of you.”