There was blood everywhere. The heavy smell of iron was slowly drowning Caravel but it was heavenly. Caravel fought back a quiet noise when Pratch scraped his teeth against his throat, his hand pushing Caravel’s head to the side. Caravel swallowed a short noise when Pratch dipped his head down Caravel’s chest and stomach, teeth nipping at his bruised flesh, tongue tasting the gaping wounds.

Caravel knew that he shouldn’t be doing this—he told himself that he would stop after the first encounter, which was two years ago, but something about the Lycan World, something about Lumen Lunae, about Pratch himself was intoxicating. Caravel kept on turning to it, abusing it like a forbidden drug until he felt like his head was shot clean.

Pratch was now teasing Caravel with his fingers, digits entering slowly, mouth against Caravel’s neck. Pratch sank his teeth into Caravel’s throat, remarking the old scars left from two years ago, and Caravel let out a gasp, hands going into Pratch’s hair, tugging on the dark locks.

“Wait,” Caravel choked out, “Pratch—”

But the Hybrid wasn’t listening, teeth sinking deeper, fingers digging deeper. Caravel’s vision whitened as he gave off a gasping wail, body arched against Pratch, choking out the Hybrid’s name.

Pratch withdrew himself from Caravel and hovered over him, grinning. His purple left eye gleamed eagerly while his blank right eye remained void of any emotions. Pratch used to have two beautiful purple eyes. But after what happened last year—

Caravel tried to focus on the heat of the moment instead, rather than Pratch’s eyes. He grabbed Pratch by the back of his neck and kissed him.

The kiss was slow and hot; Caravel felt drunk and high at once, body intoxicated from Pratch’s sweet scent. He let Pratch’s hands roam over his body, feeling every curve, and he let Pratch deepen their kiss, making it hotter and wetter.

Two years ago was a dire mistake—Caravel knew that he shouldn’t have ventured out alone which had caused him to stumble into the Lycan World. But he did, and now he was forever ensnared in its claws.

From the idea of forbidden love, of lusting after the most appalling desire, Caravel knew he found a place where he could let his inner freak out and wouldn’t be shamed for it. But he knew it wasn’t right. No one knew that he did this—not his parents, not Paradox; no one would suspect it. After all, he was obedient to his parent’s obligation.

Everything came to a crash when a low voice asked, “Are you two done?” and Caravel looked over Pratch’s shoulder to find Jehovah with an annoyed expression on his face, staff gripped tightly in his hand.

Pratch’s wolf ears flicked and he sighed, getting off of Caravel, helping him up from the floor. Pratch turned around and said, “I thought you said we have all day,” to Jehovah.

Jehovah remained blank-faced as he said, “Well, your fucktoy’s friend is roaming around Lumen Lunae like a lost puppy. I suggest it’d be for the best if you let him go to his friend, yes?”

Jehovah’s words hit Caravel hard and he said, “Ah. Shit.” Right. Everything was coming t0 him at once. He didn’t come alone; he brought Paradox with him into Lumen Lunae. In fact, where was Paradox? Ever since Paradox left Seciopathig because he didn’t want to see Noa in the Wheel of Death. Caravel began feeling frantic and he began looking around, searching for his phone.

“This?” Pratch said, holding Caravel’s phone.

Caravel snatched it and checked the time: 15:20. He fought back another curse. He and Pratch had been at it for over two hours. He drew in a sharp breath and said, “I need to go.” He began grabbing at his clothes, frantically trying to dress himself, but Pratch stopped him.

“You’s realize you’s bleedin’, hm?” Pratch said, clicking his tongue. He went to grab a discarded rag from a rack and began using that to clean the blood off Caravel.

“It’s fine—” Caravel said shortly, but Pratch said, “Doncha wan’ to heal it first?” Pratch for once looked concerned.

Caravel shook his head. “I think I should go. It’ll heal soon.” He quickly dressed himself and exited the circus’ tent, praying silently that Paradox was okay.