Blackfeather Woods hit me up

He pulled away, as Cicero had expected. But he loved this part of Damien, too, the brusqueness, the anger, the passion. Teeth raked teasingly along the lines of Damien's ear as he pulled away, a crooked grin on Cicero's face. He was frightened — of Sheogorath, the beast, of himself and what he was becoming — but how could he ever tell Damien this in words? Yet perhaps it would be good to let go of the fear of repercussion, to just say it. If anyone knew how to deal with a beast on the inside, it would be Damien.

Yet the way to speak to such things with Cicero was easiest when not executed through serious questions. Through philosophy or play, perhaps, or when deeper into the conversation. And about Alexander... Well, he'd never tell about the only thing that had ever brought him shame.

"You need me," he said. "Damien needs Cicero." It was a fact, a statement, an argument, almost, as to why he needn't say anything. "And Cicero needs Damien. Yet has Damien told Cicero everything that has happened in his life, as he is asking of Cicero now?" Cicero licked his lips as he looked at Damien. Everyone had secrets. Perhaps he'd share his if Damien shared his. "Or has Damien been keeping little secrets away from his beloved brother?" He turned his head so that he could look Damien in the eye, if not only to see if his words were truth. Every wolf held secrets, and Damien was likely no exception.