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The Wolf House

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Gun woke up from his dream—no, not dream, a nightmare. Those piercing red eyes were haunting him again after so many years of silence. They glowered in the darkness: bright crimson orbs of fury and wildness. The blood-red threatened to swallow Gun whole while he sat up on the bed, awake and staring blankly at the darkness. Yet the light snore of the creature beside him brought Gun back to his senses, sobered him from the fear that lingered in his heart.

Gun leaned towards the creature much bigger than him and smiled. The creature was mumbling in his sleep—overworked and underpaid. Gently, Gun brushed his finger over the fringe covering the creature’s handsome face. His heightened senses—the gift of being a hybrid—made him see the features normal humans would be blind to in the darkness.

The creature was beautiful the way his eyelashes fluttered, his lips mumbled, and the way his chest heaved every once in a while. Mine, Gun whispered to himself. He’s mine.

Satisfied that no danger lurked in the corners of their bedroom, Gun laid back down and rested his troubled head on the pillows. Just as he turned to face the creature beside him, he found that those probing eyes were open.

“Bad dream again?”

Gun sighed. “Jumpol…”

Jumpol grunted in disapproval.

“Fine.” Gun scooted closer, their faces nearly touching. “Papii…”

“That’s better. Now, why are you awake?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I felt you jolt up. That’s not nothing.”

“It’s nothing.”

Jumpol considered for a second, and then, he rolled his eyes.

“Alright then. Don’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For waking you up.”

“That isn’t something to be sorry about. You’re my mate. I need to take care of you.”

“I love you.”

Jumpol snorted. “Then tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

“Again with the nothing,” growled Jumpol.


“Stop saying sorry.”


“Look at me.”


There has always been something hiding behind Jumpol’s eyes. Gun had seen it since they had met on the college freshman orientation so many years ago. Sincerity, it felt like, but Gun knew it was something more. Jumpol was inscrutable most of the time but there were times—much like that night—when Gun intently looked at his eyes and they seem to pull him in, plunging him into the Styx-like rivers of Jumpol’s very soul.

“I’ll keep you safe,” said Jumpol. “I know you’ll say that you don’t need it. I know you don’t need me to defend you, but just know that I will. You are my mate. You are my forever. You are my moon. Remember that, Atthaphan.”

Jumpol calling him by his birth name sent shivers down Gun’s spine. He never calls him that. The only times he had heard Jumpol say it was when they first met and when they mated for the first time. Tonight was special.

“Okay,” Gun softly answered.

“Go back to sleep.”

And he did.