Before

After two weeks cooped up in Devlin Novák's apartment, Kit was reaching his limit. He needed to get laid.

Kit would admit, when pressed, that he might be a sex-addict. But he would go on to point out that other activities that got his pulse going and adrenaline flowing worked almost as well. Like a good old fashioned brawl, or consuming ridiculous amounts of alcohol.

Since coming here, he had done exactly none of those things.

He had searched through the condo, gone through the laptops he could find passwords for, looked up the names he could find on social media. Kit had also started cramming Russian. He had a gift for languages, but this was different from the Latin and Germanic ones he already spoke.

Kit had moved a few pillows and blankets into the spacious hallway closet and decided to sleep there. There was food in the fridge and he had found the door-code and wifi password when he searched the apartment. Devlin was usually out.

The only other people he saw were his bodyguards, Kosta and Ilya. Ilya scowled at him and Kosta smiled blandly, eyes sliding away like oil on water.

What was a Czech vampire doing in the Russian mob, anyway? Granted, it had dominated the former Soviet states and had members of various nationalities, but how old was Devlin?

What did he want with Kit? Just a trophy...pet?

After a week fear started to give way to frustration. Devlin had not so much as looked at him... which ought to be a good thing, but Kit could feel a terrible, familiar need building in the pit of his stomach.

He could handle a week, but two was really pushing it. The abstinence would come, and with it the shakes, cravings, sweat, nausea, headaches. More and more...unless he got his fix.

So he needed to seduce Devlin soon, or else find a different partner. And he had and inkling - call it a gut feeling - that that would not go down well.

Already he could feel the tremors and a pounding in his head. Soon the shaking would set in.

He was napping fitfully, Charlie's face swimming before his eyes, when a crash sounded from outside the front door. Then a click, a -

"Fuck!" - and the heavy footsteps of three men, two of them dragging something across the floor. Hard voices arguing in Russian filled the hallway.

Kit considered it from inside the deep closet. Undoubtedly, he should stay put. The prudent thing would be to stay hidden. But then again, since when had he ever been prudent?

Pushing the door open silently, he peeked out into the hallway.

Kit shrank back as four men passed by. Devlin strode in to the living room first and behind him Kosta and Ilya were propping up a pale, blond young man. He dripped blood onto the carpet as they half-carried him to the couch, dropping him with a groan.

Devlin was on the phone, his tone cold as he spit out the Russian word for 'doctor' repeatedly.

Blood darkened the young man's chest - he had a hand pressed to his shoulder and another to his thigh, bleeding way too fast. His face shone with sweat but he looked pale and trembling. Would whatever doctor Devlin had called make it in time?

I should really stay out of it. Stay out of it, Kit.

Kit stepped forward, flipping his shoulder bag open.

"I'm a trained paramedic. Let me see him," he said loudly in broken Russian. Then he repeated it in English. Ignoring their stares, he strode forward.

Ilya snarled, making as if to stop him.

"Let him," Devlin commanded. "Doctor will be a while." He glanced at his subordinate, eyes cold.

Scowling, Ilya drew back, and Kit took control. Feigning confidence, he pulled out first aid supplies, placing them on the coffee table.

"Kosta, come here and help me," the wolf said without looking up. "Hold him."

He quickly tied a tourniquet over the cut in the youth's thigh to stem the bleeding and moved to his shoulder, cutting away the fabric.

"Really - shot and stabbed?" he muttered. "Jesus Christ."

They young man had been shot through the shoulder. Kit didn't know if the bullet had bounced around inside him before exiting. He did not even have a stethoscope so that he could listen and find out if the bullet had pierced the top of his lung and it was slowly filling with blood.

If so he would slowly suffocate... which he would also do if air got sucked in through the bullet hole.

Dark red blood welled up and Kit put pressure on it, pushing down hard with his entire weight.

"Hold him, Kosta!"

He taped a tight wad of gauze over the wound and poured yellow-brown tincture of iodine over it. The smell of it was so strong it stung Kit's eyes and nose. Should have done that first, he thought.

He gestured for Kosta to lean the youth forward and then he pressed down on the larger, messier wound on his back.

The young man screamed, writhing.

"Hey, hey. The worst part is over now."

Kit swabbed more disinfectant on the wound and covered it with plastic to prevent air being sucked into the man's lung through the puncture. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but he wrapped another bandage around the entire shoulder to keep the wads of gauze and tape in place.

Still rushing, focused, adrenaline making everything sharper and clearer, Kit turned to his patient's thigh. He could feel several pairs of eyes on him as he murmured to the blond man in his paltry Russian.

Clearing the wound, he assessed the damage. It looked bad, his thigh sliced open one inch deep and the cut gaping, but it was clean and just through the muscle. Kit let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The cut had bled a lot but if he could just clean and stitch it it should heal well. This was much easier than the shoulder wound.

Kit took out needle and thread. He was no goddamn surgeon, not even a doctor - but he had seen it done, and he had very nimble fingers.

He cleaned it quickly, applying a neat row of stitches and a pressure bandage before releasing the tourniquet. Then he remembered he could have given him a local anaesthetic... well, too late now.

"No liquids," he said. "Definitely no alcohol. Don't eat until tomorrow, don't sleep without someone to watch you and wake you up every hour. You need to see a doctor about the shoulder, maybe the thigh too. I think I stopped the bleeding but dressings need to be changed twice a day and you'll need antibiotics. Those stitches should dissolve on their own. Oh - translate, please."

Ilya was staring at him openly. Kosta watched his injured colleague with a crease between his brows, translating softly.

Kit bent to check the young man's pulse and noticed he had the same mouth and hair as Kosta.

"Thank you, doctor," he whispered in Russian.

Kit looked up and met Devlin's calculating, sardonic gaze.

"Well, aren't you useful?" he said softly, tilting his head to the side.

Goosebumps rose on Kit's arms. He gave his patient an oxycodone pill to dampen his pain and ward off shock, and started packing away his supplies.

"That doctor should still look at him," he said, eyes trained on the carpet.

"So you know Russian now, little wolf?"

"No. I'm just - learning."

"Any other languages? Skills?"

Kit paused, torn between downplaying and showcasing. He decided that the more useful Devlin found him the more likely he would be to keep him alive.

"I know English, Spanish, and French. I'll learn Russian quickly. I'm a paramedic and I've worked as a bartender too. I'm...great in bed and a champ at karaoke?"

Devlin raised one silver eyebrow, pausing.

"Then go and make me a drink," he said finally, waving Kit towards the bar cabinet. Still shaking, the werewolf obeyed.

After Kosta, Ilya, and the young man left, Kit collapsed on the couch. It still had bloodstains on it that were drying to a rusty brown. He felt drained. The jitters were returning now, stronger as the adrenaline left him. His temples were pounding.

His first choice would be to get blind drunk, but he did not dare to steal Devlin's expensive liquor. Seduce someone... but who? Kosta? No chance. Ilya? That much disgust could only be hiding some form of interest. But they were never alone.

And he could not leave the flat to hook up with a stranger.

So that left... picking a fight. That should settle his shaking, sate his craving for now. He felt a reckless giddiness rising in his chest, the feeling of a bad decision coming on fast... Kit smiled, arm slung over his closed eyes.

"What is so funny?"

Devlin Novák stood there in his tailored black suit, focused on him for the first time in two weeks. Kit swallowed.

"Nothing."

The mobster reached out and caught Kit's chin, studying his face closely.

"Nothing, Master. Don't forget." And causally, just like he had on the first day he had brought him home, he backhanded Kit across the face.

The young man let the blow land, let it knock him sideways.

Then he shot up, growling, and grabbed Devlin's collar with one hand. With the other he slapped him as hard as he could.

"Smack!"

Devlin's eyes widened and he froze, his face reflecting nothing but shock.

"Don't fucking hit me, Master," Kit growled. "I sold my freedom to you, not my soul. Think you can do whatever the hell you want?!"

He raised his hand again, open-palmed, and Devlin caught his wrist. The corners of his mouth curled up and his eyes narrowed.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" he hissed. Twisting his wrist outward he grabbed Kit's throat with his free hand. He squeezed, leaning in close.

"Break my grip," he whispered, eyes glittering.

Bent backwards, trapped against the back of the couch, air cut off, Kit brought his free hand up, trying to bend back the larger man's fingers, trying to twist his body into a better position.

"Shape it like a hook and pull my wrist down, hard," Devlin murmured along his skin, tightening his grip on Kit's windpipe. "Or I'll - "

Curling his fingers into crude hook, Kit stretched it up and then brought it down on Devlin's wrist with all the strength left in him, yanking down and shoving his knee up into the vampire's stomach at the same time.

Devlin lost his grip on Kit's throat but angled his body away from the little werewolf's knee. Using his grip on the boy's wrist he hurled him head-first into the wall.

Rolling into a ball, Kit hit the concrete with a shoulder blade, falling to the floor and scrambling to his feet just in time to dodge a kick to his ribs.

He ran, but Devlin grabbed the back of his hoodie and yanked him back, punching him twice in the solar plexus.

"Tense these muscles," he teased.

Ignoring him, Kit tried to shove the heel of his palm into Devlin's face, aiming a kick at his groin simultaneously. The vampire blocked the blow with his forearm and shoved Kit's foot to the side with his other arm. He punched him just below the ribs.

At the last second, Kit tensed his abs.

"Block with your forearm," Devlin hissed, hitting him again, this time in the shoulder. Each hit was hard enough to bruise but not to break.

His next blow landed on the side of the younger man's jaw, splitting his lower lip. He's playing with me, Kit thought, anger flaring.

Growling, he thrust out his forearm, knocking Devlin's fist out of the way. He lunged at the mobster, head-butting him in the gut and knocking backwards, toppling them both to the floor.

Rolling off of his body, Kit made as if to scramble away when Devlin's fingers wrapped around his ankles, yanking his feet out from under him and sending him crashing back down.

Fighting against a vampire negated every advantage of speed and strength he had as a werewolf. It was just like fighting before he had shifted for the fist time - fighting a stronger and more skilled opponent.

Suddenly Devlin's lean, taught frame covered Kit's body, trapping him.

"Throw me off," he taunted.

Kit struggled to unbalance him, growling and kicking his legs. Devlin leaned forward, grinning.

"You need to shift my weight," he whispered against Kit's lips, trapping his wrists and in a hard grip, one after the other. Kit pushed one leg up and twisted his hips to throw him off, but Devlin quickly adjusted his angle, knees pressing into the sides of the young man's waist.

He only succeeded in grinding their hips together and the Devlin grinned.

"No? You won't? Then," he took Kit's mouth in a fierce kiss, sucking at the cut his fist had made just moments before, "Let us play a different game."

"Ah! Aaa...mmh..."

Devlin pulled out his fingers, licking his way up Kit's chest, swirling his slippery tongue around his hard, pink nipple.

"Who do you think could ever handle someone like you, except me, Kitty?" he whispered. "Someone so wanton, damaged, and difficult like this, hm?"

Pulling Kit's legs up with a hand under each knee, he slowly pushed in.

"Aaah...oh!"

"Can you hear the sounds you are making, hm? Moan for me."

He thrust two clean fingers into Kit's mouth and fucked him hard, forcing the fingers down his throat as he drove his cock up into his ass, hitting his prostate perfectly.

Kit's spine arched and he came, shooting hot spunk over his own stomach, chest, even his chin. He had been so goddamn pent up. Devlin grinned, fangs flashing.

"Coming so soon, Kitty? But I'm just getting started."

He licked Kit's nipple again, licking up pale white cum, and then kissed him, driving his tongue into his mouth as he started rolling his hips again.

Kit moaned into his mouth, pleasure building again, making him lose all sense of direction. All his senses were directed towards his ass and every inch of his skin sliding against the vampire's. He couldn't think for sensation, writhing against the strong, lithe body above him.

Underneath him, the carpet felt rough on his naked skin.

Devlin grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing his head back. Kit knew what was coming, could see the glint in his eyes, and a tingling sensation raced up his spine.

"I...can't, I can't anymore - Just bite me, do it - "

Devlin's fangs pierced his neck and Kit screamed. The vampire sucked and licked at the same spot and thrust into him at the same time, sending pleasure and pain crashing like waves over his body.

His balls drew tight and he clutched at Devlin's shoulders, arching his back and his neck too, pushing into his cock and his fangs.

"Ah!! More... Don't stop... Harder, Devil!"

The vampire stopped sucking and thrust his tongue back into Kit's mouth, making him taste blood and his own cum. The werewolf's fingers shifted into claws and back again, raking across his back. Devlin grunted, pulling back and grabbing Kit's hips, thumbs digging into his skin.

Pulling him up towards him, he started fucking him in earnest, hard and fast.

"You... Have a bad habit. Of. Clawing. Me!"

Dragging him up to sit on his cock, he grinned, biting the werewolf's swollen bottom lip. Kit moaned, feeling him deep inside his body.

"Next time... I'll have to get you handcuffs."

He gathered both of Kit's wrists in one hand, grip like steel, and bit into the soft flesh where his neck and shoulder met, thrusting in at just the right angle.

"Aaahhh!!!"

Kit couldn't help it. He came again, helplessly riding out his orgasm while Devlin continued to use his body whatever way he wanted.

Later, he lay in the dark of the hallway closet, underneath a row of hanging greatcoats. His tremors, his pressing need, was gone. For now.

He was still fighting to survive. But...why? Why so desperately? All of his loved ones were dead, his revenge complete. What was there left to fight for? It was so tempting to just let go and sink...down, down...

Drown me in blood. Use me until I am spent. Debase me, ruin me, soil me, destroy me completely... I want it. Instead of dread, I feel... excitement.

But Kit had been in desperate circumstances before. When his mother had spent their last dimes on heroin and passed out half-dead, impossible to wake, with no food in the house.

When he had run out into the night to escape from her dealers and junkie friends and wasn't quick enough - didn't run fast enough - was caught someone bigger and heavier who reeled, stinking of piss and booze and looking for a kid to beat up or fuck, didn't matter who.

(There were plenty of people like that, plenty of nights that had made him faster and tougher and taken little chunks out of him. Until he made friends with the dealers and started working for them.)

Or when he had been in foster care, all those families, all those shining eyes wanting only one thing.

Childhood memories, some crystal clear, others dimmed, blurred, dark so that he could barely make them out.

And Kit had decided. He had sworn an oath to himself.

If no-one cares for me, I'll take care of myself.

If no-one loves me, I'll love myself.

And if God wants me dead then by the devil, I'll live!

That was why laying down to die now - giving in - irked, even after everything that had happened.

Even if he have to sell his soul to the Devil... Although, wasn't it already too late? Hadn't he already traded that, or at least his freedom and his body, to Devlin Novák?

As horrible as life could be and was most of the time, Kit enjoyed it. He was determined to enjoy it for as long as he could. Cigarettes, sex, music...there were still things like that.

It wasn't as if he had never known love. His mother had loved him, as much as she was able. His uncle had loved him unconditionally. His adoptive father had cared about him and respected him. The only three people in his life who would never, ever sleep with him...

He would live, if he could. Not for revenge - not any more.

Just out of pure spite. Just so that he could spit in the face of God before going to Hell. Just to live. Fuck it all.

So he gritted his teeth. If was not going to be easy to survive in this place, clueless and young and mix-raced, even if he was a werewolf.

But sooner or later he would get a chance to get out of whatever deal he had made with Devlin. And he would take it - without looking back.

Kit would live, if he could. And if he couldn't, he'd be damned if he was going down without a fight.

Do your worst, he thought. Do your fucking worst.