And now we arrive at the present. I am assuming
@Harlyn has been tending him, and that he's most been confined to whatever corner of the hollow she stuck him in while he recovered somewhat.
His dear companion and alpha female had minded his wounds, even though he was temperamental and irate, growling and snapping at the proximity of his packmates and the necessary touches that assisted healing required. This mistrusting, fearful behavior, this sudden aversion to closeness and touch, gradually waned, but he still did not welcome anyone at his side. He stiffened in their presence and his warm eyes yet remained cold, often staring dead-like ahead. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that no harm would come to him by being near to his packmates, especially his closest friend, Harlyn. Part of him even begged for touch, for the comfort of contact, but even more dominant in his mind now was fear, anxiety, shame, and most of all, anger.
He was a broken beast, his body split open in so many places. Some of the narrower gashes had begun to close, while the larger ones were caked over in ugly scabs. Were it not for the healing herbs that were routinely applied to them, infection likely would have killed him. Even now, he was not out of harm's way, not physically, and certainly not mentally. He was well enough to stand and stand he did, wincing as the wounds pulled and scabs tore. His skin no longer felt supple, but rather brittle and tight. But he needed to move.
With his head hung below his shoulders he stiffly the edge of one of hollow's small streams. It was frozen, with a dusting of snow on top of the plane of ice. His ears were plastered to his skull, his expression twitching with the anger of the thoughts he entertained. He hated the cat. Loathed it with every fiber of his being. It had beaten him, scarred him, took from him something he had never lost before, and was not sure he could regain. It had taken control from him, taken his confidence, and shook his entire perspective of himself and the world.
Luke was not so happy-go-lucky these days to say the least.
"Shardul," he snarled under a heavily drawn breath.
She felt like a damn duck. It seemed to her that her belly had quadrupled in size and it seemed completely inplausible that there was anything in her stomach at all. There were too many rowdy babies in there for her to want to eat. Fortunately she was so obsessed with nesting that she barely had any time to think about her lack of appetite. Which brings us to the present...
Their den wasn't big enough. Harlyn had absolutely no doubt in her mind that it was just too small. How she and Mordecai even fit in it, she had no idea. Once they had thirty or forty puppies in there? There was no way. The druid strode purposefully out of the den after making her claims to Mordecai who took it in stride considering it was the 15th or 16th time she'd thrown this particular fit. Likely he knew perfectly well that after she roved around the Hollow for a couple hours and deemed everything unsuitable, she'd come home with another mouthful of bedding, stick it in the corner, and take a nap in perfect contentment as though she'd never in her life been anything less than completely elated with their perfect, cozy little den.
Harlyn scented him before she saw him. She hadn't been to see him yet today. Guilt replaced her nesting instincts as she turned his steps to follow after him. She saw instantly that he was tense with pain and anger as she approached him. She frowned. "Luke," she said sternly as she walked towards him, her belly swinging awkwardly between her legs.
He was not just mad at the cat, he was mad at himself, and a number of other things that suddenly, jarringly, surged to the fore in the wake of his asinine decision to pursue the lion. He was mad for living so far from his lover. He was mad for falling for his best friend. He was mad for also being desirous of another that did not live near to him. He was simply mad at life and the impossible, hopeless situation he found himself in. His optimism was shattered seemingly beyond repair.
He trudged onward, sneering at the snow and any other thing his steely gaze happened to rest on. He even stared bitterly at his best friend as she drew closer, his hard eyes settling on her protruding belly. This, too, made him mad, and he felt the muscles between his shoulders pinch suddenly as he stiffened further, and his toes worked savagely into the ice and snow beneath his feet. She spoke to him and his eyes did not lift from her rounded flank. His response was only to pinch and chew his lip with his incisors.
Her presence didn't seem to improve his mood any as it used to. Harlyn swallowed the sorrow that swept over her as understanding came over her that this was probably due in part to the wedge she had driven between them with her refusal of him. She hadn't wanted to do it so cruelly.. And part of her hadn't wanted to do it at all. But she had, and now she was pregnant with another man's children. They could have been his... She pushed the thought from her mind. That was too dark a road.
"What can I do," Harlyn asked finally after a few moments of tense silence. There were so many things she could have been addressing - his physical condition, his pain and guilt over the cougar, his hurt over her rejection. She left it up to him to interpret, simply hoping that he would respond at all rather than even bothering to wish that he would request something she could give.
He should have been happy for her. Did he not once encourage her to lay with Mordecai? But the warmth he felt spread over him was not borne of happiness, but anger, and her question was met with extended silence, the flesh on his muzzle twitching with the need to express it.
He should have been happy for her, but instead he felt betrayed, and loathed that the world seemed bent on taking from him. He suddenly, irrationally, came to feel that he was a mere pawn in someone else's game, a side dish, that he was not even the main character of his own story. Even his lover had a mate and children. Now Harlyn, with Mordecai, was due to have hers.
It was his own fault. He had lead a carefree life, going with the flow, letting things happen and never once taking the steps to make what he wanted happen. No more. It was as if the answer had been written in the fur on her stomach, and finally he lifted his gaze from it. His gray eyes, sharp with focus and burning, met hers.
He stepped toward her, and again, until his breath, half-held as tension gripped his ribs, bathed her nose. "Nothing." It was said firmly. It was what he had to do. He had to take back control. He had relinquished most, but what had been left was violently taken from him, and that was the catalyst to his downward spiral.
He shifted and suddenly pressed his muzzle into the side of her neck, noisily inhaling her scent in one long breath. "You should have been mine," he hissed lowly.
Luke was silent in the wake of her question and Harlyn shut her eyes to steady herself from the emotion that rose. She didn't like seeing him like this, and though her faith in her gods would never waver, she did pause to wonder why they had shaped his path as they had. The druid knew well enough that they would grant her no answers just then; that their will would present itself in time. She had been on the receiving end of their cruelty before, but always there was a purpose revealed. She just needed to have patience and faith - more of it than usual perhaps, since she knew that Luke had none.
When Harlyn opened her eyes, it was to see his silver eyes trained intensely upon her stomach. It gave her pause when she realized, but before she could give much thought to wondering of the reason, he was moving towards her. The alpha froze at his approach, her muscles tensing in a moment of insane paranoia that tried to convince her that Luke was about to attack her unborn children. She held still as instinct overrode her fear. Instinct knew that Luke would never hurt her, or her children.
Harlyn had stiffened at his approach, but the moment he leaned in to caress her fur, she relaxed against him. She shouldn't have, for the words that came with his touch with dripping with bitterness and anger. But even if they had been nothing but remorseful and sweet, Harlyn was a mated woman and should not have reveled in the touch of another man, no matter what emotion propelled it. Luke's words made her mind race and opened up locked doors in her heart she'd refused to look at since the incident. She needed to close them again, but she couldn't manage it before she was replying with her heart in her throat.
"You didn't want me," the alpha said softly, unable to help herself as she leaned ever so gently into him, "You wanted something.. or someone.. else more.." There was hurt in her words that she hadn't wanted to be there. She loved Mordecai. She loved him so deeply and truly. But.. this.
Her words angered him further, and no doubt she could feel the quiver of his muscles as he restrained himself, perhaps hear how his teeth pressed and ground against each other. The barest of growls started to sound deep within his chest, as if it was his hurting heart itself groaning in pain.
"How can you say that?" He snapped, yanking his head back. His voice was low, restrained as he fought against the building of rage. "You pushed me away. You were looking for reasons to not be with me." She had tried to make it sound like they were his reasons - that he did not want to bear her children, or challenge Mordecai, or be hers and hers alone. But no, she had rejected him, and now, to his infuriation, tried to say it was him who did not want her.
He shook visibly as his burning eyes held her gaze, as he stood so precariously on an edge.
Luke's anger grew at her words and she tensed, peering anxiously at him. She'd realized he was angry, but somehow she had overlooked a fact that seemed rather obvious now: He was angry with her. Her eyes widened with surprise as the realization came to her, and she stepped out and away from his embrace just as he snapped away and spat venom at her. The hurt she'd felt at what she had deemed his rejection began to burn with righteous anger as he turned his bitterness on her. Her shock melted and was replaced with cold disdain that didn't quite cover up the pain that still stung her heart.
"That's not.." Harlyn began only to pause for a moment to steady herself before she continued, "You weren't thinking, Luke. I was trying to remind you what choosing me meant. If realizing what you would have had to give up meant you walked away, that's on you. I didn't push you away. You left." She bristled in spite of her attempt at staying calm. Yes, she'd felt her heart break when he hadn't chosen to stay with her, but his leaving had also hurt on a level completely unrelated to her affection for him; It had stung her pride.
Clearly, there was some miscommunication happening. She blamed him, and he blamed her. Luke from several weeks ago would have been able to walk in her pawprints, to see from her angle, but Luke of today was much too encumbered by his own anger. Yes, some if it was toward her, but so much more of it was the result of his trauma, of the irrational way the mind and heart sought to protect him from any more harm.
His face twitched, his lips rose and fell over his fangs several times and he bit hard on his tongue, his eyes ablaze. "You want me." He said firmly, and he stepped forward, his unsteady breath and his tongue both caressing the breadth of her muzzle. "I want you."
Harlyn eyed him warily as he reacted to her words, uncertain of how he would take it. It was strange to worry about such a thing. This was Luke after all. Luke would never hurt her, no matter anger and resentment transpired between them. But still, as he came forward, she couldn't help but wince slightly away from his touch, and the words he said with steely resolution.
She stared at him like a deer in the headlights for a moment. As much as she wanted to deny the accusation, Harlyn found herself unable to say that she didn't want him. Some part of her did, though she hadn't begun to understand which part and rejected it wholly anyway in that moment. She growled a warning at him after a brief moment of hesitation that she chose to blame entirely on her pregnancy hormones. "Stop it, Luke," she commanded him roughly, turning her head away from him and out of his reach. There was something about the way he was acting now that bothered her, and yet the angling of her head was the only way she moved to pull away from him. Her paws remained firmly rooted.
She was rejecting him — again! She insisted that he had been the one to walk away but here is, and here she is pushing him back once more. She growled, warned him, but he did not pull back. His lips twitched upward past his fangs, and stayed that way as he bristled so near to her, and he felt it: a foreign, dangerous urge. He felt his teeth want to sink into her scruff, felt his tense body want to thrust her down and hold her.
He felt the need to control. To take.
He held his breath as he shook with the coiled urge, the thrumming rage, and at the last moment he jerked forward, but just a fraction of a step, before he turned abruptly, his tail slapping her nose as he stormed off. But he stopped, just a couple paces away. He did not turn to look at her, and his tail lashed with his severe agitation. His voice was low, but steady and dreadfully calm compared to a moment ago. And his words were spoken so slowly.
"I chose you," he said. "I could have went with him, to his pack." He looked over his shoulder, his eyes brimmed with hurt, but still they burned with intense anger. "But I chose you."
If she had a reply, he did not hear it. He left in a hurry, and his ears were closed to her.
Harlyn's eyes widened and then narrowed in surprise at his reaction to her movement away from him. There was such violence in his pale frame that it took her by surprise. Yes, she had expected the anger, but in that moment she saw further into his darkness at the extent he seemed drawn towards acting upon his rage. It frightened her, but she was an alpha and would not show it to a subordinate, even her best friend. Her hackles rose as she braced herself, not vocally meeting his challenge, but preparaing herself for it anyway even though part of her could not, would not believe that he would ever hurt her.
The moment was gone in an instant, and she was left with only the brush of his tail on her muzzle and the charge of heat as he swept away from her. Harlyn's eyes found his as he looked back at her. His words softened her until she was no more than a forlorn pup standing in his wake as he disappeared. Had she known his inner monologue, known that he was hurt thinking she had rejected him again, she would have been better positioned to respond. As it was, she had no idea that he considered this moment another burn of rejection. In her mind, that ship had sailed, and the children in her belly were proof enough of that truth.
Harlyn had her mate waiting at home for her, but she took Luke's place along the side of the stream and settled down anyway. The confrontation had left her feeling dizzy and miserable, and she would not return to Mordecai in that state. This was something she needed to let herself feel now, for as long as she needed for it to fade, until the only way it existed was in the memory of the woods that had borne it witness.
She lowered her head, and prayed.