Aurélien Cullen thrived on chaos. Maybe that's why fate presented him with a werewolf for a soul mate. After all, what's more chaotic than a love that goes against your very Biology?
"You have such a beautiful soul, Seth Clearwater."
Seth Clearwater...
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The face of the boy that moved down the streets of Paris was cast in shadow. His pale skin almost luminescent in the dark, and his movements so fluid it appeared that he was gliding across the cobblestones rather than walking. The clothes he wore were slightly to big on him, but well made and expensive looking.
Anyone who had crossed paths with him would not have forgotten his face in a hurry, not with the strange aura that radiated of him. Alas, there was no one out on the streets that night. The city of Paris had been unusually barren, the events of only a day and a half ago still hanging over it like a fog.
The young man moved towards a rather narrow street of the right in a similar fashion to a blood hound following a scent. The street was short and the man found himself at a spacious junction between four streets. In the centre of the junction were bodies.
They were lain out in a neat line, limp as rag dolls. Still dressed in the clothes they died in, their blue, white and red rosettes still pinned proudly to their blazers — a symbol of the very thing they fought for. The very thing they died for.
The strange man thought that the faces of the corpses in front of him were familiar, but before he could try and grasp at memories that seemed so had to recall, a movement to his left startled him.
A young man; the same rosette pinned to his coat as the ones on the dead bodies, a look of grief on his face, a sob on his lips. A heart beat that seemed so loud and pulse that thrummed so enticingly.
The strange man stepped out from the shadows, drawing the eyes of the other to him. His mouth moves but the man couldn't hear what he was saying because of how loud the steady heart beat was. Later, he'd realise it was a name. His name.
Moving quicker than any human ever could, the young man sunk his teeth into the soft, ebony skin of the newcomer. Blood gushed into his mouth and he's never tasted anything so good. So he drained his prey until he went limp.
"Stop," came a voice. It's the blond man from when the young man first woke up, the one he had run away from.
Standing back, the man stared at the new body on the ground in confusion. The haze that had clouded his mind, the blood lust, was now gone, and he recognised the face of the boy on the floor.
Philip.
Philip. Philip. Philip. Philip.
The young man remembered everything at that moment, and he had never felt such pain. His now still heart ached for the boy he loved; the boy who had died with his name on his lips.
Monster.
Aurélien had never felt like a monster before, but he did then. And little did he know he would feel that way once again, many years from now, with a different death and a different boy.
