A Howl In The Night ✔ » l.s

20

Warning: attempted rape / non-con

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When Harry was ten, Benedict would bring him into the deepest parts of the forest in the middle of the night. Harry would cower behind the man, his small hands clutching onto Benedict's shirt, body trembling as he looked around and found sinister shadows casted by his father's lamp.

It would always be eerily silent during those hours after midnight, the smallest of movements and intakes of breath easily heard in the damp air. Harry would hear every rustle of the leaves overhead, the cracking sound of fallen branches and grass beneath his shoes, and Benedict's steady breathing. Meanwhile, Harry would struggle to breathe properly, mind whirling and chest tightening in panic, knowing what Benedict was going to do, and how he wanted nothing more than to run back and snuggle into Louis' arms where it's warm and safe—home.

But then Benedict would clutch his thin wrist painfully tight and drag him on and on, never minding the fact that the small boy was stumbling and could barely catch his breath. Benedict was never one to care and sympathetize, he was like a robot programmed to do one thing and nothing else. Harry should have gotten used to it already, but it still filled him with dread every waking moment, knowing that he'd had the luck to be raised by such a man.

"P-please, I want to go home," Harry had pleaded that one night, his voice small.

"Nonsense. You have a lot to learn." Benedict would dismiss him with a wave of his hand.

Benedict would stop walking once they'd reached a particular open space in the woods, where the ink sky littered with sparkling stars could be seen overhead.

"Alright. Stand."

Harry would stand in the middle, eyes casted down as Benedict rummaged his bag. Eventually, the man approached him holding a single small knife. Harry accepted it as Benedict handed it over, swallowing hard as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Stay in your spot until I return." Benedict said nonchalantly, turning to leave before adding, "And stay alive."

And then little Harry would watch Benedict's figure disappear into the shadows, limbs trembling as he readied himself for the grueling hours to follow.

That was how Benedict trained him to face his fears—the darkness, the forest and everything in it, and solitude. Harry would stand there for hours, clutching onto the small knife for dear life, flinching everytime he heard the crunch of or rustle of leaves somewhere in the dark depths of the forest surrounding him from all angles. There were times when beasts lurked by the bushes, watching curiously but never attacking since Harry never dared moved a muscle and much less tried to attack it first. By the end of it all, when the sun was high in the sky and Harry was trembling, face drenched in sweat and tears, Benedict would return with a hard and stoic expression. Harry wouldn't be allowed to cry until after he'd returned to the mansion and collapsed onto his bed, muffled sobs racking through his body.

Louis, of course, would always appear by his side when Harry woke up, the older boy's arms draped over Harry's waist as he spooned him. Neither of them would talk about it, knowing that they both faced terrible horrors with Benedict, and instead Harry would turn his body to face Louis and press his face to his warm chest, thankful that despite everything, he still found his way home.

Now, though, sixteen-year-old Harry still felt quite dependent on the older Alpha. After getting separated from each other in the crowd, Harry had scrounged the area but found no sign of the other boy. Eventually, he'd decided to return to the mansion instead, assuming Louis would be there by now.

Harry tried to walk faster, but the group of Alpha men who'd been following him for a few blocks made sure to keep up. Harry was quite confident with his fighting skills, but by the sound of their laughter and heavy footsteps, there must be at least five of them. Worst case scenario, he'd have to fight them off and the odds weren't quite in his favor in terms of number.