Whiskey night in his pack’s lair. One of the events Itzal had grown to enjoy in his time at the Abbey. The now-familiar routine. The bond between him, Earth, Fire, Water, Air and Quinn.
His family.
It felt so strange to admit that, after everything he’d been through, but he’d finally accepted it as the truth. Accepted that he was one of them. Accepted he belonged.
The pack bond thrummed with connection, warmth curling in his gut. The sensations were fuzzed by the alcohol, which was probably why the warning bells didn’t go off in his head until it was too late.
Itzal sat back on a sofa in the lounge, sipping the smoky amber liquid and watching the others interact. It gave him a warm glow to spend time with his pack brothers. Fire sat on the ground with his back against the couch, Water sprawled out next to him, head in his lap. The water ghoul gazed up at his mate with a faraway smile on his face as Fire stroked his curls.
Earth had the armchair, and Itzal felt the big ghoul’s eyes on him, studying him intently. Another warning sign he ignored, or so he’d come to realise later.
Quinn lounged on the opposite couch, an amused look on his face as he made some cutting retort to something his mate, Air, had said.
And Air? Air was drunk. Beyond any of the others. He’d been hammering the booze all night, and now? He was absolutely wasted.
He’d draped himself over Quinn, face buried in the crook of his neck, lips on his skin, and a buzzed smile on his face. His limbs were loose, but as always, his tongue was sharp.
“Did you just threaten me with a good time, Aionspawn? Because you know I’m a slut for that.”
His hand skimmed down Quinn’s chest, his stomach and it slipped underneath his shirt.
Quinn’s eyes flared as he murmured something in Air’s ear, voice all gravel. Air purred, nuzzling his throat, his laugh husky like velvet. The subtle rock of his hips turned to a slow grind, and Itzal frowned.
“Well then. Hurry up and put your dick in me, sweet,” Air said, shamelessly dry-humping his mate’s hip now.
The pack bond pulsed, tendrils of heat unfurling in Itzal's gut. Familiar and comforting.
Yet now? It deepened, pressing against his skin like a warning he couldn’t ignore.
Itzal blinked, the warmth twisting into something languid. Something heavy. Something wrong. It made his heart rate spike. He caught Earth’s gaze, steady and concerned, and the warning bells finally wailed.
Panic closed his throat. The now-empty glass slipped from his fingers as he stumbled to his feet. Breaths shallow, Itzal bolted from the room, the pack’s voices fading behind him.
“Itzal!” Earth’s voice was urgent, breaking through the haze. “Wait!”
He slowed, but a flicker of guilt twisted in his gut. This was his pack. What they did was natural ghoul behaviour. He shouldn’t react this way to them.
But he couldn’t help it.
He stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I just need...”
Suddenly Earth stood right in front of him, and Itzal felt the low hum of calming pack magic.
“Don’t apologise. I just need to know you’ll be okay. Where are you going?”
Itzal looked up at him and blinked.
“I...”
He wasn’t sure? He just needed to get away.
YOU ARE READING
Nameless Ghoul
ParanormalA ghoul is summoned illegally and enslaved by a rogue sect of the Clergy. For the past twenty years, an evil Satanic sorcerer has held Itzal captive. He took control of his will, subjecting him to unimaginable horrors, and forced him to commit acts...
