Silence And The Beast

When Lincoln Grace had flicked his eyes towards the heavens in an exasperated sigh, and asked if his day could possibly get any worse, it’d been rhetorical.

Not a challenge.

But hey, what was his life if not a cosmic fucking joke?

So naturally, when a knock sounded at his bedroom door, he ignored it. He swore by the philosophy that if you ignored your problems long enough, they went away.

Yeah. Like his life could ever be that easy.

The door swung inwards soundlessly. The smell hit him first, a frosty blend of petrichor and snow-burnt leaves thawing in weak sunlight.

Great. Just great.

He couldn't say he was overly surprised. Clyde was, after all, the Alpha's most loyal lapdog.

The figure filled the doorway, broad shoulders almost touching both sides. There was a split of hesitation, a spike of warm almonds that betrayed his uncertainty, before he adopted a false confidence and stepped in.

Un.In.Vite.Ed.

Link's mood had been swimming in the sewers with the rats all afternoon. Now? It teased dangerously close to crossing into all-out vile territory.

"Link." The word sounded like a test, vibrating against the stillness. His presence was a creeping kind, not as overbearing as his father's, but the kind that would sneak up behind you and suffocate you slowly if you dropped the ball.

"Clyde." He sat upright, legs pulling into a tightly crossed formation, his gaze flat and final as he met his cousin's.

They were eerily identical to what Link saw in every mirror. The same deep, forget-me-not blue, finalized by a darker ring of navy on the outer rim.

And Clyde's were all up in Link's business, once-overing his room, lingering on the bareness.

"You know my dad said you could decorate however you wanted . . . right?"

The corners of Link's mouth curled up in distaste at the mention of his uncle.

His bad day?

Three fucking guesses who the architect behind it was.

The retort was already shaping his tongue, four words that armed themselves with razor blades and ice spears, but they died on his lips. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. The low growl that grumbled in his chest was something less than human.

Clyde's scent was front and centre, swimming through his sinuses. Overbearing to the point he'd almost missed a secondary scent.

It was softer, almost fragile, and so delicately fragranced, it was no wonder it'd almost been lost beneath his cousin's stench.

Honeydew and fresh mint.

And something else. Subtle. Almost evasive. Too familiar to forget but his too coy to pinpoint. It wasn't the smell of anybody he knew.

"Who's with you," he demanded, voice low, impossibly soft. His eyes had narrowed behind the bedroom invader's head, drilling into the drywall, like if he tried hard enough, he could see through it.

Cuz yeah, that was working out for him.

The Alpha's son took a slow, steadying breath, eyes flicking closed. When they reopened, caution tightening his brow, his tongue flicked across his lips, giving himself a few seconds before he spoke.

"My father's given you a . . ." He stopped. His Adam's apple bobbed, but his chin lifted fractionally, and his voice deepened beneath borrowed authority. "He's assigned you a job."

"That's awfully kind of him," Link drawled, reclining back against his pillows. His eyes never left the vacant space behind Prodigal son's shoulder. "But I'm afraid I am unable to acquiesce his request. I just checked my diary —” He flashed a cold smile. “And I’m simply swamped.”

“It wasn’t a request. It was an order.”

“Golly gee,” he said flatly. “Why didn’t you say? That changes —” He paused “ — Absolutely nothing. Close the door on your way out.”

“Link.” Clyde ran a hand through his hair. They may have shared the same eyes, his cousin and him, but the similarities died there. Dark hair, tanned skin, built like a 'roided up mountain, he was his father’s son.

Link? He was just a genetic mutation. He liked to think even his DNA couldn't stand being associated with the Lavoe's and had rebelled in every way it could.

“Clyde.”

“Why do you have to be such an asshole?”

“Because,” he replied without missing a beat. “My mother told me I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up.”

The tension was light, more awkward than volatile. Out of his uncle’s three children, Clyde was perhaps the easiest to get along with. And by get along with, he meant they could sometimes manage to be in each other’s vicinity for more than three consecutive minutes without physical violence breaking out.

As his cousin turned his back to him, there was a small, naive hope Clyde had painted him a lost cause, and was running away to tattle to daddy.

Except that wouldn't have been a silver lining on Link’s crappy day, wouldn’t it?

With a beckon of his finger, Clyde called somebody forward.

With cold eyes, he watched as a pitiful figure was pushed into his bedroom.

In itself, the act felt like a violation. Nobody came here. Nobody was supposed to. Allowed to. His uncle had given him that assurance under the word of the Alpha.

It was simply beautiful to see how quickly a man could break an oath.

His nose twitched. The scent grew stronger. Whatever the guy was, he wasn’t one of them. He didn’t carry the moonlight in his blood, or the call of the wild in his heart. Even still, the man-child wasn’t human.

It clicked a moment later.

“Outstanding.” Slow, mocking applause. “After everything that happened at the borders? He brings home an enemy? Man, I’m gonna sleep soundly tonight.”

Clyde’s nostrils flared. The other man, little older than a boy, shrank in on himself. He was a small thing, barely scratching five foot seven, more bones than flesh. A pale, sunken face watched him with undisguised horror, cracked lips parted in a trembling O.

He didn’t look like much, but he didn’t need to; his kind were viscous and immoral.

“His name is Aiden,” Clyde said stiffly. “He’s a hybrid. He’s more human than vampire.”

“Oh, so glad you clarified,” he tutted. “I was just about to have the kitchen prepare helpless virgins for him to snack on.”

“Knock it off.”

There, in that fleeting lack of patience, was why Clyde was chosen to be the next Alpha. The growl tore through his mouth, an echo of his father.

Despite himself, Link flinched. The bloodsucker kid all but pissed himself, drawing his trembling hands against his chest.

Puffing out his chest and standing to full height, Clyde dismissed his discomfort, stepped closer to the bloodsucker, and dropped a hand against his shoulder.

It flinched. Clyde ignored. “Aiden, this is Lincoln. He’s my younger cousin, and, due to his own incessant idiocy, he’s the current Omega of our pack.”

So they were resorting to rank pulling and humiliation, huh?

“Biggest honor of my life,” Link said lazily. “I was truly flattered.”

“Omega isn’t a good thing,” Clyde explained for the bloodsucker’s benefit, but he suspected he was just trying to sneak a lecture in.

Personally, Link didn’t think it mattered — the kid was holding his breath and looked three seconds from passing out. He’d throw the kid a gold fucking star if he retained anything the self-righteous idiot was spouting.

“Now, now,” he taunted. “That’s not a very optimistic outlook. Every member in the pack is special and cherished, right?”

“It’s a position granted to the pack’s weakest members. It’s mostly through birth, but if you excel at fucking things up and being difficult, like Link, it can be issued as a punishment.”

Mouth tightening, tongue pressing against the sharp edge of his inscisor, he managed a flat smile. Still, he remained reclined, back nestled in the thin pile of pillows.

He wasn’t standing to attention for the damn nepo baby. Not in his turf.

“He’s an asshole,” Clyde continued. “So I apologize in advance, but my father’s word is absolute."

Yup. Absolute bullshit.

"Aiden, you will be Link’s ward. That means you stick to him like glue, got it? If he causes you any problems, you use that notebook we gave you and tell either me or Remy. Understood?”

The kid nodded. Clyde gave him an sympathetic smile, like he was already sizing him up and picking out casket sizing.

Link seethed. Cold winds of fury sliced through his chest. “You’re bullshitting.”

“I am not.” The faintest hint of smug satisfaction flashed in the rat’s eyes. “If you have an issue with it, take it up with my father. Otherwise, the kid doesn’t leave your side. “ He turned to leave. Paused. Then, casually over his shoulder, said, “Oh, and he’s mute, so don’t try and interrogate him.”

“I refuse.” Pride be damned, his feet hit the floor. He rose, shoulders locking, jaw clenched tight.

Clyde had barely stepped out of the room. The hard lines in his back, pressed tightly through the thin, black tee, tensed, but he didn’t turn around.

“They’re his orders.”

"He wouldn't trust me to babysit a houseplant, let alone — " His lip uprooted into a dry sneer. " — this thing."

“That’s because not even a houseplant deserves your company,” Clyde snapped, his nails digging into the wooden foundation of the door frame. “I’m just the messenger, Link. Take it up with him. Dad assigned him the bedroom next door.”

The sound of his retreat echoed in Link’s head. His teeth snapped together, grinding audibly, and he self-soothed through the anger, fingers rubbing against his wrist, above his pulse.

Only when he was sure he had it together did he drag his gaze away from the now doorway.

The bloodsucker hadn’t moved from where Clyde had placed him.

He stood there, burnt out Converse, oversized clothes, and a stench of stagnated dampness to him. There was no disguising the size-up.

Stalking towards him in a predatory orbit, looking him up and down, head to toe, nothing about the the creature was impressive. But that didn't mean he wasn’t dangerous.

His kind didn't earn their reputation by hugging kittens and planting saplings.

After the third circle, he slowed, pivoting until they were face to face, inches between them. Big Bambi browns, pupils blown, locked onto him.

And fuck, for a second, something hijacked his brain, steamrolling his organs until they forgot how to function. The brittle sense of recognition faded before he could register it, and chasing after it hit him with a recoil that spasmed through his temple.

He ignored it, drinking in every unextraordinary detail.

Once upon a time, a lot of years ago, Link had stood similarly to the bloodsucker. Ripped away from the only world he knew, a tiny spec of dirt against the glistening porcelain tiles. Left at the mercy of his stranger of an uncle.

He liked to think he wore the reject tag better — surely he couldn't have looked as pathetic as him.

“So you can’t speak?”

The man’s hand instinctively brushed against his throat. His nails were long and dirty. A lethargic shake of the head followed.

“So writing is your only way to communicate?”

A timid nod.

A slow, sadistic smile shaped Link's mouth. “Guess we’re shit outta luck then, you and I? You can’t talk and I can’t read. Ain’t life just a bitch?”