9
Lathan
When Lathan opens the door to head out for dinner, he finds his bashful roommate, hiding half his pink face within the throat of his turtleneck. “Oh.” He leans away from the open threshold so there’s space for him. “Hey.”
Keys in hand, Kylo looks up with round eyes, startled. “Hey,” he says back, quieter. He ducks past Lathan after hovering a beat too long, and places his bag on his desk, pushing back his shaggy curls with his hand.
Lathan glances back at him, admiring the bounce of his hair as it falls promptly back over his brows. “Did you already eat?”
Kylo clears his throat with a cough, nodding and keeping his eyes down as he unpacks his books. “Y-yeah. Just came from the caf.”
“Mm.” That’s good—Lathan’s glad he’s staying nourished. Slightly disappointed, though; would’ve given him an excuse to ask him to join him for dinner. But it’s to be expected since Lathan eats later in the evening because he’s always awake much later too. Maybe I should start eating earlier.
He shifts at the door, beginning to sense the awkwardness between them. The avoidance of his eyes. The nervousness colouring his cheeks. He still doesn’t look at Lathan as he asks, “You heading out?”
“Yeah.”
Does he regret it? he can’t keep from asking himself. Does he hate that we kissed? That I touched him?
Lathan looks down at his feet. After another second, he turns again to the door and slips out silently.
His dinner in the downstairs quick-service is sombre; he’s frustrated with himself, thinking that he may have overwhelmed Kylo. Moved too fast. Became too much. He tries not to dwell on it, but it steals his appetite, and he ends up tossing most of his meal away. He doesn’t show it though—doesn’t often show anything he’s feeling. Not that anyone, besides Kylo, if his track record serves as evidence, may care.
He takes a walk instead when he can’t eat anymore. The cool breeze in the courtyard is refreshing, and fills his lungs deeply as he takes it in. It’s cloudy, the sun mostly set, and the night’s darkness has begun to stretch across campus. He can see the faint sight of the moon in the sky, fighting for dominance, impatiently trying to consume the daytime competitor. It’s round and perfect, picturesque in the void of the near-midnight sky.
Two hours since he left their room, Lathan enters and collects his things from his desk, leaving Kylo to his workspace without a word. From his bed, Lathan can see Kylo yawn—wide and pulled back from his canines—as the late night studying drowses him. While he’d like to think Kylo just didn’t see him come in, didn’t hear him with his cheap little earbuds in, his gut tells him he’s being ignored. So he buries his nose in the current chapter of his book and sinks into his pillows for a while.
“SHIT.”
Lathan jerks, losing his page. When he looks up, Kylo is racing to press his palms to their window, ducking low and searching the sky.
“Oh, fuck.” His voice has softened into defeat, and he whips around to face the clock above the doorframe that each dorm is equipped with—then snaps his head back to Lathan sharply, having skimmed over him in his spin. His eyes are huge, forehead creased, and he opens his mouth to say something—perhaps curse again—but the air is ripped from his lungs in an ugly gasp that brings him to his knees, coughing for breath and clutching his stomach.
“Ky?” Lathan crawls to the edge of his bed to peer over at his roommate’s agony. Kylo growls painfully, heaving through gritted teeth. Lathan pulls his headphones off and drops to his side with worry, reaching to place a hand on his shoulder, much like Kylo did for Lathan when he was starving.
“GET OUT.”
Lathan snags his hand back. The irises that look up at him are brilliant and yellowish, expanding to fill more of his sclerae, swallowing the shadowed whites. With the harsh crane of his neck to look at Lathan, Kylo’s hair flies away from his ears, long and hairy, sharp like the prominent fangs poking his lips. And the bellow of his voice is crackled and raspy, unlike the soft chirp of the pup normally, like a monster breaking through the surface.
Lathan’s eyes grow and he scoots back, transfixed on the bodily shift happening before him. The arching of Kylo’s spine, stretching, expanding past his shirt’s limits, bony and sharp.
They never talked about this part. And Lathan doesn’t know much about it. There’s a place for the wolves to go during a full moon, one that keeps them—and everyone else—safe from the aggression, the rage. The hunger.
There’s no time to ponder why Kylo isn’t there tonight. He bounds to his feet and leaps for the door, but instead of leaving, he locks it, and then shoves Kylo’s desk in front.
I can’t let him get out.
There are no protocols that he’s aware of for this situation—nothing he’s learned in his Ether law classes either—because this mustn’t have ever been an issue before. Not one documented publicly. Or maybe it has, but the how-to is inside information when rooming same-species together. Another werewolf would know what to do.
But Lathan should know, too, now that his roommate becomes an apex predator once a month.
The golden full moon shines valiantly through their window, and he can see its smugness, hear it laughing at him from the desk. I didn’t even fucking think…
The floor rumbles against Lathan’s socked feet as Kylo pushes the desk toward its initial place, snarling up at Lathan, his eyes now angry, feral.
“LEAVE!” he shouts, his voice deeper yet. His arms stretch out in front of him, guiding the furniture, but he pains a cry and stops, his bones cracking into new form, flesh and muscle stretching to accommodate. He grasps at the floor with sharp claws, digging his thick nails into the hardwood. Clothes burst and tear as the transformation quickens. Trapped, taught fur puffs out the second it’s released from the confines of his tight attire. Ears poke up and oscillate as they search for sound.
A deep groan reverberates from Kylo’s new, thick throat as he endures the remaining changes. His back legs now bent and doglike, his face extended into a half-snout, his torso lengthened twice its size. He no longer resembles the small, cheerful yet timid young man he was a few hours prior. Now, he’s a giant beast, a full moon werewolf, trapped in the university’s smallest double dorm—with a vampire, no less.
Lathan presses his butt against the desk, grabbing its edge with both hands as he witnesses the transformation helplessly. He can feel his insides vibrate with the guttural growl of the werewolf, the voice that doesn’t match the Kylo he knows, from the ever-growing frame of a beast much larger than himself. He clenches his jaw tight, his heart thudding with fear. But all he thinks is how he needs to protect the monster from himself. If he gets out of this room, if he does anything to anyone, causes irreparable damage to the campus even, he’ll face more than just expulsion.
There’s barely adequate space for the two men, never mind a giant beast. Lathan’s quiet, watching, studying this entity in its entirety. His predatory instincts scout for weak spots, quickly trying to decide a plan of action.
But mostly all he sees is brute strength, the kind that’s undeniable. Visible. Bottomless.
The beast sniffs the stifled air of the bedroom before it rolls up to its hind legs. While Kylo is normally a few inches shorter than Lathan, he now stands a foot taller, encroaching on seven feet, with a broad, muscular frame. His fur billows down his head and onto his back and chest, longer tufts located down his arms and thighs, a fluffy tail extending from the end of his spine.
Kylo glares down his snout, analyzing the vampire. Hunger wets his mouth, gathering his snarling, half-open jaw and pooling within his jowls. Lathan locks eyes with the towering beast, searching for Kylo within them, his heart dropping when he can’t find the guy he knows. He doesn’t know how long this lasts, or how long he will last against the creature, but he braces himself anyways, determined. Kylo takes two large steps forward and, with one fell swoop of his right arm, pushes Lathan hard off the desk.
He hits the closest wall, knocking air from his lungs, a grunt from his throat. When he squints at the beast and sees him clawing at the desk to free the door, he panics, calling his name hoarsely, firmly, like an owner giving their dog a command. “ Kylo .” He pulls himself back to his feet, rolling out his shoulder. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s me. Stay with me .”
Kylo doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react to his name, completely dissociated from it. Instead, he growls one word past his drooling maw, “ Hungry ,” and then scrapes the desk across the floor with another swift pull, leaving enough space to reach and open the door. He places his large, handlike paws on the surface and lifts a leg to climb it.
“Dammit,” Lathan spits, and pushes a foot off the wall to propel himself at the wolf. He clings to the heavy frame and sinks his fangs into his furred shoulder. His coat is dense, so he has to really nuzzle into him to get a good bite, but then he feels his venom release. He knows it took three bites from those asshole vampires to knock out Kylo, but this isn’t Kylo right now. He doesn’t know how many to bring the beast down.
The werewolf sways and stumbles off the desk with Lathan tackling him. With the puncture of his fangs, a vicious snarl fills the room. He shakes once, firmly, trying to rid the vampire, but when Lathan refuses to let up, he reaches back, sinking claws into flesh to hoist him forward and onto the desk. Face-to-face with the man, he growls in his face for dominance, saliva flinging out and speckling Lathan’s face. Lathan writhes against the sear of open slices up his back, now pressed with his bodyweight against the wood of the desk. He takes a breath, trying to ignore his wounds adding up quickly. Reeling his foot back, he kicks with as much force as he can into the beast’s stomach to push him back. He peels himself upright, the stain of his blood across the oak table, bled through his shirt. His lip curls, snarling back, gums still swollen, fangs protruding. He acts as quick as he can before the wolf retaliates, lunging forward to snag a claw, biting into its softer palm. And then pulls back to do it again, closer to the rich cocoa fur of his wrist, trying to pump as much venom as he can into his bloodstream.
Kylo growls at the injections and rips his hand away from the vampire, tearing it from his mouth before lunging forward and sinking his own teeth into Lathan’s shoulder, throwing him to the side of the room, where he bounces off the wall and lands on his bed. Lathan whines as he tries to roll onto a part of his body that doesn’t hurt. His shoulder is shredded from the wolf’s incredible mouth of incisors, blood dripping heavily all the way down his arm, into his palm.
I’m sorry.
He can’t move it, whimpering when he tries. White flashes across his vision with every movement, and he knows he’s failing, that he can’t take him on his own.
I’m sorry I can’t protect you.
“Ky,” he tries again, this time in a softer, pained voice as he attempts once more to lift from his bed. “Please. Stop.”
Kylo reaches for the door knob regardless of Lathan’s plea, but as his paw grazes the metal, he wavers, staggering back, bumping into the desk and pushing it further back. He growls and shakes his head violently, like he’s trying to clear it, unbalanced on his feet. Lathan watches the beast stumble and sway, a slight spark of hope igniting. The venom.
The werewolf scratches the back of his head, ruffling up his fur, his growls morphing into a distressed whimper as he falls backward onto his behind, yellowed eyes rolling as they try to look around aimlessly, try to focus.
Lathan hesitates, unsure if he needs to bite him again, or if he even should—overloading his system with too much may make things worse. He sucks in air as his shoulder and back hiss painfully within. Despite his pain, his fear, he steps closer to Kylo, risking the proximity. He kneels, a few feet away from the wolf. His fingers dance, instinctively wanting to reach out, but worrying they’ll be bit off, especially when Kylo makes one last effort to push himself up. But his irises disappear into the back of his head and he collapses, unconscious.
Lathan watches him for a moment, and then slumps with an exhale. Kylo’s metabolism must be doubled or tripled while like this, processing Lathan’s venom much quicker. He notes that he may have to bite him again to keep him tranquilized if it’s processed too quickly.
He looks at his shoulder: his shirt is torn to strips, dangling from his body, and his dark tattoos are disfigured by deep, long gashes. He’ll need stitches, and maybe a blood transfusion—if there’s enough to spare from the shortage. Already lightheaded, he leans his good shoulder against the bed frame, eyes on the furry mass sprawled across the scratched floor. With Kylo unconscious, Lathan reaches a hand to touch him, to brush the coarse fur down his back.
It feels weird, like an animal, like a house pet, but couldn’t belong to the furthest thing from it.
He has a second to take him in calmly now, while the werewolf sleeps. His hard muscles and the triangular shape of him; canine legs and predatory talons; the snout filled with teeth that shred his vampiric skin so easily.
There’s something oddly beautiful about the creature in front of him, though.
He thinks about the transformation, how it sounded like Kylo was in pain. He continues to play with his long fur gently, weaving his fingers through it as he wonders: if the place they go to on campus gives them something to prevent that. If there was something he could have done had he been prepared. If protecting Kylo from the consequences, when he’s avoiding Lathan, was the right thing to do.
The beast lies completely motionless apart from his breaths in and out, causing his chest to rise and fall steadily. Lathan’s been fading in and out from blood loss for an hour, soothing himself into a broken sleep by petting Kylo’s wolf form. His hand has since dropped, resting on the scratch marks on the hardwood. Though he’s sticky, having his back pressed to the bed helped to stop the bleeding; he hadn’t even noticed he’d shifted off his shoulder at some point.
His eyes flutter with the heavy sound of Kylo’s movement. He forces them open enough to be aware—like he has been trying to since the wolf passed out, waiting for him to come to, to attack again—but he’s weak.
Kylo’s giant body shuffles around to face him. “Lathan,” he says in a gruff, but controlled voice. The sound of his name startles Lathan, the only other word the wolf has uttered being ‘hungry.’ when he didn’t even seem to know his own name. He watches him cautiously, not knowing just how aware he is yet, how aware he can be under a full moon. Kylo tilts his head down, seemingly looking over the blood, the scratches on the floor below them.
“Hurt,” he pushes out, and then suddenly scoots his body around, using his knuckles to lift and place himself behind Lathan, between him and the bed frame, wrapping his arms around his torso to hold him in place. Lathan stiffens, nervous to be in the grip of a massive wolf. It puts him in a vulnerable position, but he wants to offer Kylo trust—and he’s too weak to fight it.
He can feel Kylo’s hot breath against his skin, can tell his mouth hangs open, and he closes his eyes, expecting another bite. But the heat only increases, concentrating into a severe sting, as Kylo’s tongue drags over the cuts across his shoulder.
“Ah!” Lathan inhales, tilting his head away. His knee bends reflexively into his ribs. Slowly, the unbearable stinging fades to a dull ache, like the annoying buzz of a bug that won’t leave, filling the gaps of his tattered gashes.
Lathan’s world churns as he’s lifted, and his lids pop open to ground himself. “Sit. Bed,” Kylo manages, and sets Lathan on the mattress. He continues to watch Kylo through his exhaustion, his eyes heavy.
“Ky?” Is it really you?
Kylo nods. Then, in an obvious attempt to be gentle, he turns Lathan to the side. His shirt already torn, ruined, he feels the swift breeze of exposure, of Kylo snipping the fabric off with his claws. Lathan readies himself, but can’t bite back his hiss as his wounds are licked, though the pain is more bearable than the ravaged flesh of his shoulder. He almost asks what Kylo’s doing, but he’s hit with déjà vu—he’s using his saliva as an agent for the wounds, much like Lathan does for him, sealing his bite marks. Like that of dogs, cleaning themselves when they get hurt.
Once he’s finished, he sits on the floor in front of Lathan, looking him in the eyes. “Sorry,” he rumbles softly.
Lathan shakes his head, forcing his blurred, tired gaze to hold that of the wolf’s. “I couldn’t stop you. I tried, I… I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to keep you from…doing anything outside of this room,” he says carefully, though he really means: keep you from killing anyone . He isn’t mad at Kylo. The thought hasn’t even crossed his mind, regardless of his wounds. It was a huge risk locking himself in here with him;. he’s only mad he couldn’t do better.
The werewolf shuts his eyes tightly, curling forward and bashing his forehead once, firmly, against the bed frame below. Lathan doesn’t know if this is Kylo upset, blaming himself—not until he releases a sorrowful whimper a moment later. So he rests a weak hand on the wolf’s head, giving a pat, soft pressure. He smooths the fur behind his erect ears. He remembers the online discussions forums about dangerous cross-species relationships, and it saddens him, especially seeing Kylo—as a massive, bestial being—so distraught over what’s happened.
“Are you okay?” he asks shyly. He isn’t pretending that he wasn’t scared. He’s never been in more than a dumb frat party fight. Being face-to-face with a feral werewolf for the first time-–something most people will never have to worry about encountering—he met his superior. Day-to-day, he’s much stronger than Kylo, than most people at this school, but during a full moon he’s hardly an opponent for him. How quickly he could have been killed is truly terrifying. Now, he doesn’t know what else to do; he doesn’t want to go find one of the emergency alarms and get Kylo in trouble. How long until he turns back? Or his instincts kick back in?
Kylo doesn’t respond. He picks himself up and slumps onto his bed adjacent to Lathan’s, onto his back, except his large size doesn’t exactly fit on the twin. His shoulders span just over the width of the bed, his calves hanging off the end.
Lathan’s heart shudders, watching him sulk away. He can’t do anything for him right now, and it’s a pain he can only assume is similar to that of heartbreak. How do you comfort a beast who has just attacked you? His head contacts the wall, in a position he can still keep an eye on the wolf, but not because he’s scared anymore. Because he’s worried.
This. This is one of the dangers those interspecies forums testified about. Because Lathan didn’t know it was a full moon tonight, and he’d have to know. Every time. Or he could die.
Luckily, he didn’t lose enough blood to put him in grave danger, though it was close. He sleeps longer than usual, his body working to regain strength. He hasn’t left the room all night, protecting Kylo by not going to the clinic about his very obviously wolf-related wounds.
“Hah…,” he breathes, trying to stretch his limbs in the morning. They ache, stiff, and as he twists his body his wounds cry, splitting. Against the early sunrise, Kylo is fast asleep, curled so he’s facing away from Lathan, completely nude on top of his covers, and shifted back. Lathan winces as he drags himself off his bed, glancing around at the smears and splatters of blood around the room. Lathan slips the checkered fleece blanket from under Kylo’s legs to toss over him. It’s lightweight and doesn’t disturb the sleeping wolf—and Lathan’s comforter is covered in blood. As he pulls it up to his neckline, he pauses to look at the ornate, crest-like tattoo on Kylo’s shoulder blade. Its floral flourishes frame a letter G—presumably for his last name, Garcia—in the centre. A pack emblem?
He finds some wet wipes amid his toiletries and scrubs off the blood on Kylo’s desk before quietly pushing it back in place. Maybe if I get rid of the evidence, he’ll feel better.
He slides into a loose black tank top that won’t stick to his gashes and disposes of the scrap that remains of his shirt from last night. Then he scrubs the sprinkle of red on the walls, the floor, anywhere he can find. He starts ripping his sheets from his bed to change, kissed with the blood of his shoulder from when Kylo tossed him with the grip of his jaw, but has to sit down, still lightheaded and overexerting himself.
Do werewolves need to do anything special after a full moon? Do they need to eat more meat or something?
A tiny swoosh follows a piece of pink paper under the door. Lathan balls up the bloody sheets and moves to pick up the notice.
He reads it, printed on official college letterhead. And then he scoffs. A little fucking late, he thinks, still scanning the apologetic notice to werewolves about the night prior. It assumes responsibility, giving all werewolves not lodged a pass from repercussions.