Three nights, and it would all be over, one way or another.
He could still smell his brother's scent in the room, barely perceptible, but he would never ignore it. Undoubtedly, the chief scientist had brought him here for a tour. "Look, this is where we test our samples." "Yes, we made him jump and leap over those iron rings." "Thanks to your generous investment, we can conduct more experiments. Of course, all of this will be written into the experimental report, but as the funder, we would be very happy to have you come and see our research results in person." "Which department of the government do you work for?"
he thought sarcastically. Whatever those people knew or discovered, they overlooked the most obvious fact—there was a second werewolf in this house. His brother was playing a dangerous but necessary game with the scientists. Someone from the "species" had to infiltrate to confirm his life or death, and if he was alive, that person would also have to determine his condition. Considering his brother's position and role in the British government, he wasn't surprised this was the best method he could think of.
Just three nights. ~
They tied him to a chair and tried to extract information.
Why did he mate?
Why hadn't he mated before? Is this
situation common in his "species"?
How many gay werewolves are there?
How do werewolves reproduce?
What is the difference between dominance and subordination among werewolves?
How is a "species" constructed?
How long can mating last?
He ignored most of the questions, waiting for the others to gradually become impatient, until they could no longer bear it and had to send him back to see John.
The whole process lasted four hours.
When he stepped into the cell, he saw John sitting on the bed, one hand supporting his head, waiting for him.
"Is this how you wait for me? You know nothing and can only wait?"
Unlike scientists, John's questions were always pleasant. He broke free of his wrists, and John came over and greedily kissed his skin.
"Why do I always want to stay by your side? What did you do to me?"
John pushed him down onto the bed. He didn't reply; his partner knew the answer, and he understood without saying a word.
This was his greatest fear, though it was bound to happen sooner or later. He had once hoped to delay it as long as possible, but now it was imminent.
The moon set, and it was a new day. This time, they were taken away from the cell together. They were forced to run on separate treadmills, twelve miles apart, a distance they had to maintain at all times or neither could stop.
John was clearly the weaker one, especially given the fragility of the human body compared to the werewolf; his speed and stamina were significantly limited. So, he was the only one who could maintain the balance. They wanted to push him to his limits, and this time their method seemed to work.
He was furious, arguing with them, yelling at them. He ran faster and harder than ever before, desperately trying to alleviate John's suffering from exhaustion. The scientists already knew their respective strengths; he had no reason to cater to their perverse tastes or meet their expectations before, he had never pushed himself to the limit until now.
They knew John was his only weakness.
They had him under control, without a doubt, both physically and verbally, and now they only needed to exploit him.
How many people like you do you know?
Does a "species" have a leader? Is
werewolf-human mating a common phenomenon?
What would a werewolf do if its mate was killed?
Are there underage werewolf children?
Can werewolves and humans reproduce?
Were your parents werewolves?
Will your children be werewolves in the future?
How far away can you sense and protect your partner?
Pain was inevitable; he was bound to a chair, the sharp edges of the straps digging into the flesh of his arms and legs. They were forcing John to watch while they were electrocuting him, their intentions clear.
"Bastard, son of a bitch, you damned beast!"
John was clearly a better swearer, his insults varied and rarely repeated.
"Don't do this," he said, his voice low and unsteady, "Get these things away, and then I'll answer your questions."
That wouldn't work.
"How many are like you?"
"Get these things away!"
"How many?"
"I don't know."
He roared, pulling hard on the straps binding him. John took a deep breath, abruptly shutting his mouth, every muscle in his body hardening.
"How many are like you?"
"I told you I don't know."
As another wave of electricity washed over John, he didn't utter a sound, just gasped for breath, his fists clenched tightly.
"I don't know! I don't know! I don't know! Damn it, I don't know! This isn't a simple matter."
"Tell us."
John breathed deeply, slowly and rhythmically. His eyes were fixed on the chief scientist, filled with hatred, cold and ruthless.
"It's different in every place." He said quickly, "Some are more organized, while others are more remote and scattered. There might be hundreds, or thousands, scattered in Australia, Canada, and possibly parts of Africa and South America, but I don't know the specifics."
"Approximately how many?"
He quickly calculated, his shoulders slumping completely: "Between two hundred and five million."
"How many are in Britain?"9
"About four hundred."
He felt John glaring at him, shaking his head, but he had to ignore it.
"How do you hide?"
"What do you think?" he roared. "We look just like you, behave the same way, and can get along as long as we don't show up in public during the full moon."
"How do you make money?"
"What do you think? We have jobs, we pay our bills, and we have to participate in those boring elections."
"What do you do?"
"You mean jobs? Office odd jobs."
"Location?"
"Anywhere, but mainly in the southwest. Stay in one place for a month and then move on. Any more questions?"
"How many werewolves are in your 'clan'?"
"I don't have a 'clan'."
He saw John stiffen from the pain of the electric shock and struggle again.
"Twelve, that's enough!" he yelled. "Twelve. So please, stop, don't hurt him anymore!"
He was going to kill him! Kill them all! Leave no one alive!
I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me. Please forgive me.
Back in his cage, he knelt before his partner, burying his face between his legs. He wanted to know if John was alright, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. John placed a hand on the back of his head and pulled him up forcefully. They fell onto the messy bed, their limbs intertwined.
They hurt you, it's all my fault. I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry, so sorry, so sorry, so sorry.
"It's alright…it's alright…it's all over, we're all alright."
He grabbed him, not letting him leave.
John was asleep, curled up beside him. Faint burn marks from the electric shocks clung to his skin, while the deeper wounds on his wrists revealed the entire ordeal he had endured.
He struggled to control his rage, preventing it from spreading. How dare they hurt his partner! They tormented him, caused him pain! These culprits, they will pay for this! Oh yes, they will, he was certain they would. He would make them pay many times over!
The third day, the moon rose and set.
As the scientists bound John with him again for experiments, he threatened through gritted teeth,
"I will kill you all." His voice was calm, as if stating a fact: "We have an old saying: to harm any partner is to declare war on all werewolves." Afterwards
, he roared and paced, unable to calm John's hands and soothing gestures. He craved blood and slaughter, and soon he would have it, very soon.
He slept for a few hours, John nestled close to him, hugging him tightly from behind, but the smaller body couldn't effectively envelop him. He focused his mind, trying to sense every subtle change in the moon.
Finally, the fourth moonlit night arrived.
An hour before the moon had completely set, he reluctantly left his partner's embrace, finding a jumbled pile of clothes on the floor somewhere in a corner. He picked up John's shirt, lowered his head to smell it, and caught a faint scent of John's body. The lingering smell on the clothes was clearly not as strong as John's actual body odor, but that didn't matter; he'd have plenty more later. He'd have time to savor it.
Perhaps it was because he'd been naked for so long, but wearing clothes now felt rough and uncomfortable. He'd marked something on his hard drive—remember to get some shoes, especially a pair for John that fit, but he'd have to wait a while; for now, they had to go barefoot.
Two security guards stood watch by the door, heavily armed—pistols, tranquilizer guns, knives—but months of neglect had left them only with a listless weariness. He could see their fatigue; it might be slight, but it would slow their reactions and make their movements less precise and powerful. He
paced in the cage, no longer to release stress or quell anger; he anticipated what was to come, but he couldn't let anyone see it.