The Secret's In The Telling ENG DRARRY

Chapter 18: Unwelcome Discoveries

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Harry dreamed.

And like any hormonal, adolescent boy of his age and disposition, he usually dreamed of sex. To put it bluntly. It was never anything specific. No names or faces, which sometimes used to annoy him, but it was something he'd grown used to. The scenes that played out in his head were generally nondescript, focusing on sensations rather than the person he fantasised about.

But this was different. Had any part of him been conscious and aware at the time, he would have known it was going to be different from the start.

It began with running. Once again, he was suddenly alive and exhilarated and he couldn't breathe and it was amazing. He was pelting through darkness, unable to see anything but the creature he raced against, who seemed to flow along beside him effortlessly, sleek silver fur rippling with the movement of sleek muscles. There was no sound beyond their breathing, which came in heavy pants, and the pounding of feet and heartbeats.

He didn't know what would happen if he slowed, but doing anything other than pushing forward wasn't an option. Somehow, though, it was impossible for him to take the lead, no matter how fast he ran, and really, he wasn't sure what he would have done if he could.

So together they ran on, and Harry loved it.

Then without warning, there was a snarl from the wolf beside him, the sound angry and vicious, and then teeth...! Suddenly it was upon him, all graceful movements gone, only strength and fury and pain. It bit at him, again and again, and it wasn't so much the wounds that scared him, but the uncertain knowledge that something terrible would happen now that he was bitten...

He struggled and fought back, frightened and furious, closing his own jaws around anything that came within reach. He drew blood and felt the other draw blood. He cried out with pain, then felt satisfied when the other did the same. They grappled and twisted and rolled, flashes of black and white, both smeared with red.

The change must have been subtle, since it barely occurred to him at first. One moment he knew canine ferocity, all matted fur and the taste of blood and mingled growls and teeth, and then they were human and falling together, still tangled and fighting with the same rules. Skin on skin, nails raking along flesh, earning a growl of pain from one of them, though which he didn't know. Teeth at his throat, biting down hard and it hurt, but there he was turning his head aside and allowing it, wanting it...

Warm breath against the newly inflicted wound, and then lips, barely touching, trailing upwards. His fingers reaching up to tangle in blond strands, pulling harshly, until he was met with icy eyes.

Kissing, then, and even that hurt. All wet heat tinged with the taste of copper; teeth sharp and unrelenting; tongues being forced forward invasively. The entire thing a fight.

It was sexless, really. This wasn't about love or even lust – it was release. The term 'making love' was laughable – this was making fire; wild and painful and beautiful, and so unbelievably intense... It was freedom and fury and fire, nothing more and never anything less.

The fact that this was anything but vague when it came to his partner didn't matter – at least for the moment. Revulsion and hatred only seemed to spiral between them, combining with the heat and the pain and the want, all of it summing up into utter need.

Delicate hands of the other were touching him roughly, soft skin at odds with their strength, hurting, but oh God it felt good, and don't stop, ever, and he was going to–

Harry woke.

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And so the last night of the full moon passed by, signalling the end of their waiting, but by then the collective dread among them had never been so strong.