Chapter Three #2
“Just for tonight,” he agreed, knowing even as he said it that one night wouldn’t be enough. Not when the pull between them felt like this—as inevitable as sunrise and just as terrifying as free fall.
* * * *
A soft, woeful sound had Newt’s eyes slowly opening. Moonlight peaked through the half-closed blinds, casting pale strips across the bedroom floor. For a disorienting moment, he forgot where he was until his memory caught up with his consciousness. Right. Wolf shifter. Borrowed bed. Vampires.
His eyes adjusted quickly, scanning the unfamiliar shapes of furniture before they landed on Vaughn. He lay twisted in his nest of blankets on the floor, muscles seizing in rhythmic spasms, jaw clenched against whatever pain refused to let him rest.
This wasn’t just restless sleep. This was terror.
Heart clenching, Newt watched his mate’s nightmare unfold. Whatever haunted Vaughn’s dreams had sunk its claws deep. His arms had wrapped tightly around his own torso, as if bracing for impact. Sweat glistened on his body, dampening the shirt that clung to his chest and the hair at his temples.
“Vaughn?” Newt whispered, unsure if he should interfere. Was it dangerous to wake someone from a nightmare, or was that rule only for a sleepwalker?
Newt slipped off the bed, his wings unfurling. They spread behind him like delicate sails, catching the dim moonlight in gossamer ripples. He hesitated, remembering how Vaughn had spoken about bad things his body remembered. Was this what he’d meant?
Vaughn’s arms wrapped tighter around himself, fingernails digging into his own biceps as if trying to anchor himself to reality. His legs kicked out, tangling in the blankets until they wrapped around him like bindings.
“Vaughn?” Newt whispered, crouching beside him. “Hey, you’re dreaming.”
His mate snarled, lips pulled back from teeth that seemed sharper in the half-light, more wolf than human. As terrifying as he appeared, leaving him trapped in that nightmare seemed crueler.
“Hey,” he said, more firmly this time. His palm pressed against the damp cotton covering of Vaughn’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. “Wake up. You’re safe.”
Vaughn’s eyes remained closed, but his arms shot out with frightening speed. Hands clamped around Newt’s waist and yanked him down. The air rushed from his lungs as Vaughn dragged him into a crushing embrace, arms locking around him like steel bands. “Who hired you!”
With his canines bared, he tangled one hand painfully in Newt’s hair.
“Stop!” Newt shouted, struggling to free his arms. His wings couldn’t retract, couldn’t fold. They were trapped between his back and Vaughn’s vise-like grip.
The pressure increased. Newt felt the delicate membranes of his wings straining against the pressure.
If they tore, if even one tiny rip formed, he was dead. Not injured. Dead. No healing magic powerful enough would mend what couldn’t be mended.
“Vaughn!” He screamed the name, struggling against the iron grip. “Wake up! You’re hurting me!”
Desperate, Newt pounded against Vaughn’s chest, his fists making no impact on the solid muscle. The grip only tightened, making it hard to breathe. Newt’s heart hammered against his ribs with such force he thought they might crack.
“Please,” he begged, voice breaking. “Vaughn, it’s Newt. You’re safe! Wake up!”
His wings—his fragile, gossamer wings—felt seconds away from tearing under the strain.
But his mate remained trapped in his nightmare, eyes screwed shut, breath coming in harsh pants. When Vaughn spoke, his voice was barely recognizable, a guttural rasp filled with hatred and fear.
“I’ll kill you if you touch me again, Vex.”
Vex? Who was Vex? Newt’s blood froze. Vaughn wasn’t seeing him at all. He was fighting someone else entirely, someone who had hurt him badly enough to haunt his sleep.
“It’s Newt!” he cried, desperation making his voice crack. “I’m not Vex! I’m your mate! Please, Vaughn, my wings. You'll tear them!”
Heavy footsteps pounded down the hall. The bedroom door crashed open, banging against the wall as two enormous men rushed in.
“Shit.” The first one dropped to his knees beside them. “Vaughn! Let go!” His hands moved to Vaughn’s wrists, fingers digging into pressure points like he’d done it plenty of times before. “It’s Zeppelin. You’re home. You’re safe.”
“My wings,” Newt gasped, tears stinging his eyes. “Please, I’ll die if they’re torn!”
The second man circled to Newt’s head, his movements careful despite his size. “I’m Quinn,” he said quickly, voice steady despite the urgency in his eyes. “Try not to move your wings, hon. We’ll get you free.”
“But he won’t let go!” Newt wiggled then cried out.
“Look at me,” Quinn said. “Breathe with me, Newt. I’m not going to let them tear, okay?”
Newt quickly nodded, using the heels of his hands to wipe at his eyes. “Okay.” He took a few deep breaths, trying his best to calm down, even though Vaughn had yet to ease his hold. “Thank you.”
Quinn smiled. “You’re very welcome.” He tilted his head toward Vaughn. “Our boy is just having a hard time right now, but we’ll get your free.”
Vaughn!” Zeppelin's voice cracked like thunder. “Wake up!”
Even though he was already awake, the authority in that one command made even Newt want to obey.
Vaughn’s eyes slowly opened. He blinked several times, glancing around as if trying to get his bearings. A deep beath expanded his lungs, making his hold a fraction tighter before the pressure relaxed slightly around Newt.
“What…” Vaughn glanced around then down at Newt.
The nightmare receded. Clarity returned. Newt watched each stage reflected in Vaughn’s eyes. Recognition dawned. He released Newt immediately, scrambling backward until his shoulders hit the wall, horror flashing across his features.
Newt quickly examined his wings, running trembling fingers along the delicate edges. No tears. No rips. Just the lingering ache of being compressed. Relief made him dizzy. He tucked his gossamer wings into his back, blending them seamlessly into his pale skin until they vanished.
“Your wings okay?” Quinn asked as Zeppelin squatted next to Vaughn.
“They’re okay.” There was a tremor in Newt’s voice. That was the first time his wings had been that close to ripping. “I’m okay.”
But Vaughn clearly wasn’t. His chest heaved with each labored breath, sweat soaking through his shirt. His eyes darted around the room as if expecting someone to materialize from the shadows.
Whatever Zeppelin was saying wasn’t helping.
Newt pushed to his feet, putting distance between himself and Vaughn. Not from fear, though perhaps that would have been sensible, but to give his mate space to recover.
Vaughn looked utterly destroyed. He curled in on himself, drawing his knees to his chest, hands pressed against his face. His entire body trembled with the force of an earthquake contained in human form.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped out, the words muffled behind his palms. “I thought—I thought you were—”
“Vex,” Newt finished quietly. “I heard.”
Screw giving his mate space. Newt stretched himself over Vaughn’s hunched form, draping his smaller body across broad shoulders like a living blanket. Newt buried his face in Vaughn’s neck, determined to ride out the storm with his mate.
The two men backed toward the door, reluctance evident in their slow movements.
“We’re right down the hall if you need us,” Zeppelin said, his eyes lingering on Vaughn’s hunched form. The anguish in his expression spoke volumes about how much he cared about his pack member.
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Newt alone with Vaughn’s ragged breathing and the weight of unspoken trauma between them.
“I’m sorry,” Vaughn finally whispered, the words muffled against his palms.
“Don’t be,” Newt replied, his fingers finding their way into Vaughn’s hair, stroking gently. “Bad things happened. Your body remembers.”
He echoed Vaughn’s earlier words back to him, offering what little understanding he could. Beneath him, Vaughn’s trembling gradually subsided, muscles relaxing inch by slow inch under Newt’s touch.
“Who’s Vex?” The question slipped out before Newt could stop it.
Vaughn went rigid again. For a moment, Newt thought he wouldn’t answer.
“A demon,” he finally said, voice hollow. “He was paid to break me.”
The simple statement held oceans of pain. Newt tightened his embrace, wishing he could somehow absorb the hurt through his skin.
“Did he succeed?” Newt asked quietly, tracing the shell of his mate’s ear.
A bitter laugh escaped. “What do you think?”
Newt considered this, his fingers now moving through Vaughn’s hair.
In a way, it was the same thing Hershel was guilty of.
He hadn’t tortured Newt, not physically, but there was more than one form of abuse.
But his father would never see it as abuse.
He would never admit to the pain he’d caused Newt for hundreds of years.
In Hershel’s mind, any sacrifice was worth their gain.
But it wasn’t their gain. Newt didn’t care about societal class. That aspiration lay solely on Hershel’s shoulders. Yet it was Newt who was paying the ultimate price.
His freedom.
“I think broken things can be mended,” he said. “Maybe not the same as before but still whole, just in a different way.”
Vaughn said nothing, but his breathing slowed, steadied. Minutes stretched between them, comfortable in their shared silence. Eventually, Vaughn’s hand found Newt’s, fingers intertwining.
The small act heavy with meaning.
“I’ll stay for as long as you need me to,” he whispered, sealing a promise he had no right to make.
Outside, the moon slid behind clouds, casting the room in deeper shadow. Newt remained draped across Vaughn’s back, as if he could shield his mate from nightmares through sheer force of will.
If only he could shield himself from his own nightmares.
But in this moment, this quiet connection in the dark, this borrowed peace felt like a gift Newt had no right to keep, but desperately wanted to.