Page 109 of Plug and Drain

It was Nathaniel’s turn to give him the once over, mentally scanning his appearance.

Arken knew he looked horrid. Even with the aid of the magical shaver that kept his beard in a crisp, orderly fashion, he looked like the walking dead, and the pallor of his skin was almost comparable to Nathaniel’s. Except, Nathaniel’s complexion was naturally pale, and his current demeanour was mostly attributed to irritation and tiredness. Arken, on the other hand, felt drained, his energy levels precariously low despite his best efforts.

“I thought you would take better care of yourself,” Nathaniel said. “I thought you would appreciate my little ‘witch’ project.”

“Unlike you, I do not take pleasure in forcing others.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. What about that female wolf who seemed to inspire your attention last weekend? Was she willing?”

“That is not the same thing.”

“Hmm.”

Well, it’s not quite the same thing, Arken thought to himself. He busied himself with a generous sip of his drink. When he sat the flagon down, Nathaniel was still staring at him. Arken opted for a change of subject. He did not want to discuss Susie with Nathaniel. “The witches hate me.”

Nathaniel almost smiled. “Noted.” All traces of his smile vanished as he watched Arken take a long gulp of his ale.

No sooner had Arken set the flagon down than Nathaniel grabbed it and downed the contents in one go.

“I thought you were determined to set a good example for me,” Arken said wryly.

“Clearly, it isn’t working,” Nathaniel bit out. “And after my fruitless hike in the woods, I needed it. Unlike you, who should have better things to do than moping about in some wretched pub—” He gave Ernie a brief, apologetic wave, which the tavern keeper returned unconcernedly, “—feeling sorry for yourself.”

Arken looked at the empty flagon forlornly as Nathaniel set it down with a pointed clack. “You know, no matter how much I drink, it never improves your unpleasantness, Nathaniel.” He indicated for Ernie to bring him another drink.

No sooner had a new flagon been set on the counter than Nathaniel pulled it out of Arken’s reach. “I will not stand by and watch this downward spiral of yours.”

“You could sit,” Arken suggested, sparing himself the indignity of reaching for the flagon.

Nathaniel sighed, and to Arken’s surprise, he dragged a chair close and sat down. “Tell me what happened with Susanna.”

“I’ll need another drink for that,” Arken said, raising his fingers in indication to Ernie.

Nathaniel’s hand slammed down to cover his. “No drink. Just the facts. And before you begin your faithful recounting of the cloying events, let me skip ahead to the part where I tell you how to fix your present problem.”

“I don’t like it when you do that,” Arken grumbled.

Nathaniel leant close anyway, his gaze intent as it bore into his. “Get. Your. Shit. Together. You want a pet? Then do not accept her refusal.”

“I won’t force her,” Arken said.

Not again.

His chest was heavy with the memory of his first interactions with Susie. He should never have followed her into her room.

He should have done things differently. Properly. Courted her using the old ways. Instead, he’d turned a blind eye to his own conduct and let himself become complacent in Henrikk’s world. It was a world that he and Nathaniel had inadvertently helped fashion, one where they reaped the rewards at the expense of wolves like Susie.

Arken had entered her room desperate to feed, but that was no excuse for why he’d bedded her. He’d simply wanted to and had known she would not—could not—protest.

The past him would never have done such a thing.

“Did I say force her?” Nathaniel said irritably.

“You strongly implied it.”

“Then let me clarify. If you want her, you should endeavour to be deserving of her.”

Nathaniel’s words landed on him like a brand, the effects momentarily muted and strange before he registered the searing heat of them.