Chapter 42

It was an open secret in the Dietrich pack.

Their next in line alpha allegedly went feral and died tragically at the tender age of ten. The age where little werewolves would display signs of their lycanthropy. There was no doubt about his condition, everyone saw it, his eyes were the first sign of it. It was the first indication.

He looked feral.

Turns out, he was far from it.

As it happens, werewolf kids would develop their acute hearing and sense of smell first, but rarely have their eyes change their color – it wasn't unheard of, just rare.

Their strength would develop, too, and they'd exhibit traits which would indicate what they'll grow up as. Alpha kids were known to be aggressive and a bit rebellious, but not Constantine.

From the beginning, Constantine was quiet and withdrawn.

In every way, he was the misleadingly passive kid who never stirred anything. His quietness masked his preceptive calculating nature, and his withdrawn self successfully hid his struggles with his senses that were more overwhelming than they were useful. There was always an excessive amount of everything that developed with him.

Scents and sounds he shouldn't be picking up, strength feats he shouldn't be able to achieve, and a sense of awareness and control that was more alarming than it was impressive.

But there was a pattern he noticed in wolves.

The way they operated in packs finding security in that, the way they reacted to the full moon letting their instincts take over, and the way they relied on their strengths and forgot their weaknesses.

No matter how skilled, or how strong, or how smart. It was always the wolf that won, always the pattern Constantine resented to fit and loved to exploit. It ceaselessly confused him why everyone just forgot that they were human, too.

Humans with skills that can be refined and sharpened like the knives and blades they created. Humans who were so diverse in their thoughts and approaches to life that their unpredictability allowed them to thrive. Humans whose way of life was fundamentally simple, individualistic.

And Constantine loved being his own self detached from a pack.

Everyone was stupefied by him for not fitting the mold, and maybe his proclivity to shed blood and cause mayhem didn't help, but when he finally decided to test his limits, they didn't bother with seeing things his way.

Not that he didn't laugh all the way to the basement where he got locked up, but that's just a minor detail.

It was actually very funny.

Three gravely injured adults that tried to stop him, one kid with multiple broken bones that aggravated him, one stabbed father that deserved it, and the eyes of a feral wolf that started this fun little game that keeps repeating itself.

His father, alpha Dietrich himself, stared down at him looking at red feral eyes that reflected his son's lust for blood.

"I am sick of you." He told Constantine who was restrained, chained, and muzzled like a rapid dog. It might seem excessive, but Chris knew it was not nearly enough. "Tell me, what am I supposed to do with you?"

Constantine gave him a pointed look, clearly unable to speak due to the muzzle. He looked like a mental asylum patient.

His fangs weren't his favorite weapon, so the muzzle was there to annoy him.

"It's one thing to kill members of the Hawthorne pack outside their town, but it is a whole different matter to walk into their territory and kill someone in their own house." His father understandably didn't look too happy about it, but Constantine couldn't find it in himself to show the least amount of guilt towards that. "And you had to get caught doing it."

Constantine averted his eyes.

"No, don't you dare give me that attitude." Christopher let out a frustrated sound as he started to pace. He was clearly fuming and the sight of that made amusement shine Constantine's eyes. Annoying his father is one of his life purposes. "Do you know how much grief you cause me? And you even dared to take Alec as a hostage! If his father wasn't an old friend, he would have raised hell by now."

Distractedly, Constantine nodded his head.

"You can't imagine how elated I am that your brother is nothing like you."

There was not a single hint of surprise on Chris' face when Constantine took off his muzzle with a hand that was probably free even before Chris started his rant.

"This dosage of love is always heartwarming. I prefer it over the drugs."

In all fairness, Chris was a loving and attentive father. It was Constantine himself who pushed him to the edge and tested his patience.

Chris sighed tiredly. "May I ask a favor?"

"I didn't kill the precious future alpha, isn't that enough of a favor?"

"You slashed his face before taking him hostage and killing one of his pack members." Chris pointed out flatly getting increasingly annoyed by the second. He didn't want to give Constantine the satisfaction of seeing him like this, but he couldn't contain it. "All I ask is to not involve the pack in your messes."

The sound of the chains cascading down to the floor wasn't surprising either. "Then don't involve yourself in my fun."

"Fine, alright." Chris said throwing his arms up in the air in resignation. "That criminal group that you made your little project shall not be disturbed. Now would you kindly return to the dead and give me peace?"

"Let's not pretend you don't love to sic me on your enemies. You seem to forget the fact that I am supposedly dead when that happens."

Chris frowned at that. "You make it easy to love you when you're useful."

An amused smile appeared on Constantine's face as he rubbed his slightly sore wrist. His father was livid considering he decided to add some bindings that had some silver in them, and the traces of them were littered all over Constantine's body in the form of burns.

"Guess I am more similar to you than I thought."

The look of disgust that he got was everything he hoped for before he left.

By the time he reached the hallway of one of his temporary apartments, the burns all over his skin had already began to heal. Silver was always an annoying weakness he couldn't do much to counter, but his tolerance to pain might have helped.

It was almost enough to irritate him how throbbingly dull the pains of his burns were before he paused in the middle of the hallway at something unexpected. The traces of it were almost faint that he almost brushed it off as his imagination, but he knew better than to do so.

The places he stays at had always been bare and devoid of anything other than what was necessary. They were not very welcoming. He moved a lot; he didn't need a lot of stuff or a welcoming place. It made it easier.

So when he walked in, he wasn't used to the sweetness of the smell that was faint, but made him swallow due to how hyperaware of it he was.

It filled the place and he stepped into what seemed like a dim-lit empty apartment as he gently closed the door behind him to not make a sound because he could clearly hear it.

Soft, slow, and rhythmic.

The breaths of someone who was soundly asleep.

It only took him a few steps to see the figure on the couch. Soft strands of golden-brown hair fell on a beautiful face, and a finger was hooked inside of a book acting as a bookmark to a forgotten book. The sight was as bewildering as it was welcome, and Constantine pulled the book away with uncharacteristic gentleness and consideration making sure that the page wasn't lost with the actual bookmark lying right beside the sleeping figure.

It seems like Ari was an avid reader, and the fact that he fell asleep doing so made a chuckle escape Constantine.

Knowing that Ari knew where he was – since he was the one who willingly volunteered that knowledge – and actually sought him for the first time among all their bloody traumatizing encounters meant something to Constantine.

Ari was an idiot with zero self-preservation skills.

Not even the knives or the scent of blood that often occupied whatever space Constantine occupied had deterred him and made him turn around and leave. Honestly that's what Constantine had thought had happened when he caught the traces of his smell in the hallway since some of the knives lying around were used, but it seems like he was mistaken.

He didn't know that it was because he was the only one who never hurt Ari.

If the moon goddess was real, Constantine wondered what Ari had done to upset her to make him deserve someone like him, but he couldn't say he wasn't thankful for it.

Without much thought or effort, Constantine lifted Ari up in his arms as he hung limply from them, and let his head fall on his shoulder making his movements almost stutter at how endearing he found it. Ari let out a groggy groan probably disturbed at the sudden movement, or maybe he just sensed Constantine, but he remained deeply asleep until he was laid down on the bed.

His book was placed on the table next to him, and other than the book, a very fond kiss was placed on his head that might have lingered a few moments longer than a second.

Not yet his, and Constantine found himself so tightly wrapped around his little clueless pinky as he watched him snuggle into the pillow. This wasn't ideal, he wasn't one to crave or be tempted by anyone, yet here he was feeling like he's prepared to shed blood for him.

And that's coming from someone who loathed the notion of being affected by something let alone someone.

Probably the first time Constantine's human and wolf side agreed on something, and it was Ari.

Certainly the first time someone kissed Ari in his sleep, and it was Constantine.