Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

If somebody had asked Tyler about how he managed to recover well enough to drive home after Wednesday Addams had just done her level best to suck his soul out through his dick, he wouldn’t have been able to answer.

In truth, driving her safely back to Nevermore had felt like trying to fly a plane through that scene in The Hobbit, where the mountains got up and threw rocks at each other in the middle of a thunderstorm. He had almost completely checked out and was relying mostly on motor memory and his augmented Hyde reflexes to keep them both alive.

Driving himself home had involved even less of an awareness, and he had struggled to get his house key into the lock of the back door three times, much to Elvis’s annoyance as it was well past what the dog viewed to be his second dinner time. Tyler had fumbled the lock closed behind him, nearly dropped the bowl of kibble all over the floor when he had almost tripped over Elvis, stumbled upstairs and face planted into his bed still fully dressed. He hadn’t even mustered up the brainpower to brush his teeth, something he regretted in the morning when it tasted like something had crawled inside his mouth and died.

The next few days passed in a strange haze, structured only by the familiar routine of school, work, and heading home to a dark, empty house where he scrounged for food in the fridge. Cold pizza lost its appeal quickly, but there was nothing he could do about that until it was time to go grocery shopping again — and his dad wouldn’t be handing over the cash for that until Thursday morning. The most eventful thing to happen all week involved his dad stomping in and demanding Tyler explain, with an alibi, where he’d been during the burning of the statue - all before he’d even finished cleaning the mud from his boots on the mat. Apparently ‘up on the old makeup spot with my girlfriend, go ask her if you like,’ hadn’t been on the list of acceptable answers, although Tyler had enjoyed the flustered choking it had earned.

Wednesday evening was turned into a rollercoaster of emotions with the appearance of Enid, who had begun tipping almost 40% after her single morning of working as a barista, something that was greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, this meant that she had also brought the hysteria-inducing news of how Wednesday had earned a detention on Sunday night by deliberately baiting the genocidal murder-happy psychopath who was pretending to be an innocent schoolteacher. Tyler fought back the urge to storm up to Nevermore and demand an answer, handed over Enid’s latest attempt of inducing a coma by way of overdosing on sugar, and disappeared into the backroom, biting down on his own arm to muffle his screams of frustration.

So Tyler had gritted his teeth and pushed on through to the end of the week, only to spend Saturday looking like a gods-bedamned meerkat from a nature show on the National Geographic channel. Every time the bell had rung during his shift, his head had snapped around to search for pale skin and dark eyes, for the looming heady sense of an oncoming storm — and every time it was somebody else, leaving him to droop like a dying flower.

It hadn’t helped that there seemed to be some sort of inside joke amongst the Nevermore kids who came in, every last one of them giving him amused looks that left him wondering what on earth Wednesday had done now. Thorpe hadn’t even made it in the front door when his little group of usual friends had come in search of caffeine, choosing to lurk outside with an expression that could have curdled milk — as the mother who haunted Tyler’s childhood memories might have said.

Sunday had been spent leaning over his desk and attempting to work on the term paper he had due for English, twitching every time the branches of the tree outside scraped over the roof tiles; desperation fooling him into thinking that she might crawl in through his window at any moment — it was the sort of thing she might do, declare that doors were for boring people. By the time he had sunken into bed, the light of his laptop flickering softly as it charged and his backpack hung from the back of the chair in anticipation of the morning, Tyler was so on edge that he couldn’t stop his claws from making an unplanned appearance when the alarm clock went off at six the next morning. He had no idea how he was going to explain away the need for a replacement.

The day only got worse from there. Walking into homeroom and being greeted by an over-exuberant Lucas for the first time in months — years if he was being honest with himself — had been startling; but Lucas had just slapped him on the back, crowing with amusement, “Congrats on bagging the scary Nevermore chick dude.”

What?

Whatever inside joke the Nevermore kids had been giggling over must have managed to spread across to the Normie’s side of the gossip vine. A pair of girls had looked him up and down, fluttering their eyelashes at him as he’d made his way out of the locker rooms after gym. Another Junior had tried to high-five him before History — and then there had been the Senior, who might have been on the football team? He honestly didn’t remember.

Tyler hadn’t realised the guy was talking to him at first, until he’d started asking if it was true that Outcast girls were ‘just as freaky in the sheets as they looked on the streets.’ Had asked if ‘his little goth girlfriend had a gag reflex, or if she’d choked,’ and then Tyler had seen red. It really hadn’t been his fault. Seriously, anybody would have done the same; breaking his nose was the only appropriate reaction to hearing the guy degrade Wednesday like that, he only wishes he’d thought to record the sound of it for her to listen to later — if he ever saw her again, that was.

Wednesday’s refusal to join the twenty-first century and carry even the most basic of phones — it didn’t have to be a smartphone, hell, even the kind that Tyler’s mom might have used when she was at Nevermore in the nineties would do — was starting to really drive him insane. Waiting for her to show up at the Weathervane, or for Enid to appear with another excuse wasn’t good enough anymore, and short of driving up to Nevermore after his shift was over— His phone rang.

“Tyler!” There it was.

“What do you want Dad?”

“The fuck is this I hear about you breaking the quarterback’s nose?” So the asshole had been on the football team after all, go figure. His dad’s voice sounds strained, annoyed like he’d just been raked over the coals in some meeting.

“He was being a dick, dad.”

“I don’t care what he was doing — you come straight home from school today. You go to school and to work, and you do your chores; that’s it. No running off to mess about with that Addams girl. If you’re going to act like a kid, you can be grounded like one.”

“Yeah sure, whatever.” Hanging up on his dad certainly wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, and he’ll certainly pay for it later — but at this point Tyler had run out of fucks to give.

***

Breaking the quarterback’s nose certainly hadn’t improved his public image, not that Tyler cared, and it certainly hadn’t slowed the buzzing gossip mill that seems to have almost sprung up overnight at school — all that’s changed is that now his classmates give him a wide berth, sharing amused smirks and whispering behind the backs of their hands. More than once he’d almost been smacked in the head by a note being lobbed across the classroom when the teacher’s back is turned.

Tyler had to suffer through six hours of this sort of behaviour, and then there is still the shift at the Weathervane — where, once again, Wednesday fails to appear, as does Enid. Every customer winds the frustrated coil tighter in his chest, until an entire pack of Nevermore kids wander in. He stumbles through their orders, hands trembling with a need to break something, to do something, to be anywhere but here. As soon as they’re cashed out, he makes a beeline for the backroom, fingers shaking as he hastily dials Enid’s phone number.

“Hey Bestie,” the werewolf’s cheerful voice trills, “is this you calling to tell me that Wednesday might be late home tonight? Cause I can totally cover if you need me to — Thornhill’s been down with food poisoning or something, so she’s been skimping on bed checks.”

Tyler’s heart sinks into his shoes, “She’s not with you?”

“No,” Enid answers promptly, and then her voice shifts to a confused tone, “Wait she’s not at the Weathervane?”

“I haven’t seen her since before her birthday.” Tyler admits, leaning against the wall of the storage closet, trying his hardest not to accidentally crush the phone with his grip.

“Oh shit,” Enid breathes, “I’m so sorry, I thought she was over this shit. Agnes totally humiliated Xavier for that shit he was spewing and—”

“The hell did Thorpe do?” Tyler growls, cutting her off.

“You don’t — shit, fuck,” The sound of heavy pacing travels through the phone’s speaker, and then Enid managed to collect herself, “Look, I told you about how Wednesday wound up in detention right? Well, somehow Xavier overheard some of the teachers discussing it, and he went off on some weird sort of slut-shaming kick where tried to get her shunned by everybody.”

“…that makes absolutely no sense. Wednesday hates being social. She’d see that as a good thing.”

“I know, right! All he really managed to do was tell everybody just how jealous he was, and she really did look like she didn’t care, but y’know maybe I was wrong?”

It takes everything Tyler has to not snap at the werewolf who is clearly already beating herself up over something beyond her control, it won’t help his case if she gets upset and cuts off the one channel of communication he has with Wednesday. He hums in agreement, biting his tongue so he doesn’t shove his entire foot in his mouth by accident.

A knock on the closet door almost has him jumping out of his skin, claws extending on instinct and Tyler suppresses a groan, already wondering how he’s going to explain one of the sacks of coffee beans ‘split’ in four perfect parallel lines like that. “I’m sorry Enid, I have to go, but will you —”

“Tell my roomie that she needs to take my phone and call you back ASAP?” She interrupts him, “yeah I’ll try and nail her down when she gets back in.”

“Thanks.” Hurriedly, Tyler hangs up and shoves the phone into his pocket, reaching for the damaged sack of beans. He shoulders his way back out towards the bar, carefully cradling the bag so he doesn’t wind up with half the product spread all over the floor. Pointedly, Tom — his line manager — doesn’t say anything, just opens up the top of the grinder so they can refill the reservoir.

Tyler is still rolling up the top half of the burlap sack to clamp it shut when the bell rings again — only this time, it’s fucking Xavier Thorpe who walks through the door, cast and all. A growl vibrates through his chest, rumbling up his throat and Tom shoots him a look — before turning to see what he’s aggressively staring at.

“Ah,” on any other day, Tyler might have laughed at the sound. Today, he’s trying his level best not to commit murder in front of two dozen witnesses.

“Right,” Tom clears his throat. “You — out the back door and keep on going until you get home. I’ll tell Sandra you weren’t feeling well.”

“Huh?”

“I have ears Ty, I’ve already heard all about what that kid has been spewing about that girl of yours. Now go. I don’t feel like trying to clean up blood tonight.”

Tyler looks back at where a scowling Xavier is swaggering towards the counter and doesn’t ask a second time, swiftly stripping his apron off and handing it off to Tom before making a break for the backdoor. Let the asshole think he’s running away, it’s better than ending up in juvie, or worse: boot camp… again. His hands shake the whole drive home, and the only thing that sounds remotely calming involves Elvis, a pair of sweatpants, and a long run through the woods to burn off the fierce amount of what must be adrenaline pumping through him.

Elvis, thankfully, is more than delighted to participate in this, and all but races him to the door and down the steps. The blood hound’s long strides eating up the ground as he runs, and Tyler follows after. It feels good to be out in the woods, with nobody to posture at him, or invade his space, or try bossing him around. The last month has been such a careful balance between carefully navigating Laurel’s ‘orders’ — having driven all the way to a butcher in Burlington once when she had asked him to bring her a human heart. Even though he isn’t metaphysically bound to her anymore, the facade is still a necessity for whatever Wednesday has been planning —

Wednesday again. Every road leads back to her. Reminds him of her scent, the curl of her lips when she’s watching somebody suffer, the touch of her skin, the feel of her mouth…

Tyler slows to a stop, gasping for breath and can’t stop himself from slamming a fist into a tree. The force of the punch leaves a heavy dent in the bark and sends a shower of pine needles cascading down over his head. Elvis whines, trotting up next to him and nosing at his thigh and Tyler drops a hand to pat the dogs’ head, squinting up at the darkening sky. They’ve been out longer than he had realised, and so reluctantly, Tyler steers the both of them towards home once more.

His dad’s police truck is already in the drive when they get back to the house, and to save himself a few more minutes before an awkward conversation that neither of them really wants to have, he sits down on the old wood porch steps, taking the time to breathe in the cool night air.

Elvis flops on the ground, nosing at the empty water bowl beside the old doghouse — the one that no dog has ever used to Tyler’s memory, the one that he’s not supposed to know hides the secret entrance to the old bunker… A moment of madness sparks inspiration in his brain, and a plan begins to form.

Alright. Tyler thinks to himself. Fine then. If Wednesday won’t come to him, he’ll just have to go and take her.

***

Being told that his Dad will be working nights for the rest of the week is a blessing in disguise, and Tyler all but vibrates his way through the next twenty-four hours until he’s stood before the old doghouse with a can of WD-40 in hand — trying to determine if the sliding rails it sits on need to be greased first, or if he can just roll them back.

It turns out to be the latter, and he leaves the can sitting on the stone steps as he ducks down to pull the hidden door back over the opening to hide his presence. One of the many benefits of being an emerged Hyde is that even in human form, Tyler has full night-vision and doesn’t need a flashlight as he descends further underground. The heavy door refuses to move at first, until he leans on it with the inhuman strength that he usually fights to keep in check, and then it opens with a noisy whine of protest that has him doubling-back to grab the WD-40 from the staircase.

The first thing he does is to hunt for the fuse box — because as much as he would enjoy teasing her with sensory deprivation, it’s not as fun if she can’t see his expression during their time together. Then, blinking away the sudden black spots in his vision from the sudden bright light, he sets to taking note of what he’s going to need to keep Wednesday down here for an uninterrupted weekend.

New sheets for a start, Tyler decides when he sees the bare mattress on the bed frame, and maybe some new pillows too — he’s not sure where his mom had found the ones she’d used last time around, but even those had smelled musty. Not the sort of thing a girl would appreciate being dropped onto… well, actually, it’s Wednesday so maybe she would — but there aren’t any spare sets upstairs in the house, so he may as well get some new ones. Black ones, of course, and they’ll need food and water — because his girl is so stubborn and they’ll probably be there for a while.

He types it all down on his phone, and heads back upstairs to dig out a set of black sweatpants and one of his old black hoodies that will fit her, along with a change of clothes for himself, and then settles down to google ‘where can I buy handcuffs?’, because the last thing he needs is his dad asking where his spare sets have gone to. A sturdy rope is added to the list when he finds the perfect set of leather cuffs with next-day delivery — the thought of Wednesday’s delicate wrists being strapped into them has a tent growing in his pants, and Tyler sighs as he climbs the stairs for yet another cold shower.

***

Weighing up his options, Tyler picks the Cloud 9 on the other side of Burlington for anonymity’s sake and pushes the rattling cart through the front door with the absolute focus of a man on a mission. Momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer size and noise of the big box store compared to the usual mini mart on the outskirts of Jericho, he staggers backwards, clinging to the shopping cart in order to stay upright.

“Hey man, are you okay”?

“Twisted my ankle a few days ago, it’s still a bit weak.” he lies, pushing past the greeter and making for the first aisle he can see. Given the choice between asking for help or wandering up and down each aisle until he’s found everything on his list, Tyler chooses to avoid making eye contact with strangers over the list on his phone.

He finds the eggs, milk, and creamer all in the same place — which is easy enough and conveniently flanked by the bakery and frozen food section, which crosses off both bread and the microwave meals that his dad takes into the station for overnight shifts. In fact, he finds almost everything else on his list — from the horrible instant coffee his dad insists on drinking, to the protein bars — by wandering up and down the aisles of the grocery section.

He probably spends more time than is strictly necessary in the Homeware section looking at the sheets, having already thrown a two-pack of new pillows and a plain black comforter into the cart. Eventually a plump, matronly woman takes pity on him — “You look lost dear?” “Hmm? Oh — Sorry. My wife sent me to pick up new sheets, but I have no idea what any of this means.” — kindly explaining the how thread counts worked, although she had side-eyed him warily when he’d mentioned a wife, and been baffled by his insistence that said ‘wife’ would prefer all black sheets.

Eventually, all that was left on his list… was the rope.

Ah.

Praying for some sort of guidance from whichever deity might be listening, Tyler steers himself towards the sporting goods section in the hopes that they will have what he needs.

***

He’s out of his seat the second that the last bell of the school day rings, and it takes everything he has to keep to an even walk to his car instead of running at top speed. There are two hours until sunset, and it still feels like he has so much left to do. He spends half of the wash-dry cycle for the new bedsheets sat on top of the machine, googling different conversation techniques for talking through relationship problems and the other half down in the basement checking and rechecking he remembered to buy everything on his list, pacing frantically back and forth as he tries to decide if the mattress will be good enough or if he needs to swap it out for the one on his bed upstairs.

Thankfully, that’s when the beeper on the dryer goes off, stopping him from making any more unhinged decisions. Out come the dry sheets, and Tyler carries the bundle back down the hidden stairs and makes up the bed, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he fluffs up the pillows. He leaves the coiled rope and leather cuffs next to the bed and locks up behind him — almost reaching for the car keys out of habit. No, he reminds himself. Better to go on foot and use his Hyde senses to find her.

The steady darkening gloom of the twilight hour blankets the woods as Tyler traces a winding path towards the Nevermore School grounds, nose twitching like a wolf hunting for a rabbit as he searches for any trace of Wednesdays presence. The breeze shifts, and he stops still, breathing in the tart scent of black cherries and plums, with the bitter hint of almond and whisky. He follows it, ducking under branches and weaving through the tree trunks on silent feet with an obsessive focus until finally, he catches up to her.

To Tyler’s never-ending horror, the end of Wednesday’s scent-trail is at the garden gate of that awful cottage Laurel had lived in. He’d only ever been inside once —after he’d killed Rowan in the first go around. If the décor hadn’t been bad enough, the look on her face when she had realised that he had inadvertently saved the key piece to her evil plan had been enough fuel for his nightmares that they lasted for weeks.

The creaky whine of the garden gate snaps him back to the present, and he peers out from behind the tree to the sight of Wednesday sneaking back out of the garden, satchel in hand. On silent feet, he follows her at a distance as she creeps back to Nevermore through the cold fog, breath puffing from her lips in soft white clouds — not that she’s going to make it there.

Tyler waits until they’re a safe enough distance from the cottage, and then when he is stood behind a tree only meters away, very deliberately steps on a piece of broken branch. The dry crack has her freezing in place, suddenly hyper-aware of her surroundings. He allows her to stand there in the dark, ears straining for the sound of something unknown, anything — and then relax her shoulders.

The second her back is to him, Tyler moves.

He jerks her back against his chest, ignoring the soft thump of her bag hitting the frozen earth in favour of wrapping his arms around her body, applying pressure to her throat in a way that will reduce her to unconsciousness in less than a minute — making the animal inside his brain rumble happily.

Any chance of staying rational for long enough to talk her into coming with him of her own free will flies out the window the second he inhales her scent up-close and personal. Something has changed, there is a deeper level to it now — rounder, fuller. Tyler’s teeth itch in his gums with the impulse to bite down on the pale flesh of her shoulder, like biting into a perfectly ripe fruit.

He presses his lips to the curve of her neck, just behind her ear, and the taste of her skin makes Hyde-brain bleeds through. Tyler grinds his rapidly stiffening cock into her back in a long, slow movement. “Did you really think I would just sit and wait for you, like a dog waiting for its master? That I wouldn’t come for you?”

Her scent spikes and the urge to shove her against the nearest tree, hike up her skirt and bury himself in her warmth almost overtakes his brain, almost ruins the plan right there and then — but Tyler shoves that urge back down, dropping his left arm down to press the heel of his hand against very lowest part of her belly, fingers spread wide in a claiming gesture. “We belong together Cockroach, we both know it, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

Her body slumps in his arms, and Tyler sweeps her up into his arms — first into a princess carry for leverage, and then up-and-over his shoulder like a sack of top-shelf espresso beans. He bends to scoop up her bag, not wanting to risk anybody stumbling across it in the woods, before turning to start back towards home now that his prize is acquired. There’s no telling when she’ll wake up, and Tyler wants to make sure she’s fully secured before then.

It takes some careful manoeuvring to avoid smacking her head on the way down to the bunker, but Tyler manages it, locking them both inside and depositing her on the bed. She looks so serene when she’s asleep, face relaxed and her braids strewn across the dark pillows. He bites his tongue, careful to only strip off her exterior layers and her shoes, stowing them under the kitchen sink before moving to pick up the coil of rope and box of restraints.

The dark leather looks good against her skin as he buckles the cuffs into place and checks the snug fit of them, making sure she won’t be able to wriggle free, then looping the rope through the d-rings and pulling it tight. Tying the rope to the headboard creates an even prettier picture Tyler realises, staring down at her with a new appreciation for how soft she looks with her wrists resting comfortably by her ears, committing the details to memory — like how her eyelashes look like spiderwebs, and how her lips part ever-so-slightly in her sleep.

The monster in his chest purrs with satisfaction, and Tyler slides off his own jacket and shoes, settling down on the bed next to her. A rumble bursts free from his throat as he curls his body, using her belly as a pillow and rolling sideways to breathe her in. One hand reaches up to tangle in her braid, brushing the tasselled edge over his nose while he waits for her to wake.

***

The strangest part of returning to the waking world, is how her body comes back to itself. There is a tingling in her fingertips, a strange sense of awareness that rolls down her spine, the ache in her shoulders and the tantalising feel of leather cuffs biting at her wrists. How delightful. How very bold.

Wednesday blinks, eyes adjusting to the dimly lit bunker she had only ever visited once, before she looks down to where her would-be-groom is using her belly as his pillow, toying with the end of her braid. Distantly, she wonders if he knows the meaning behind what he has done, knows that he has begun an age-old dance that, for an Addams, can only end in marriage — or death.

“What is this?” She asks him, assessing the leather restraints on principle. After all, it wouldn’t be any fun if she could escape too quickly.

Tyler’s eyes dart to where her wrists are flexing and narrow, his pupils blown wide against his iris as though he’s intoxicated. “This is what happens when you treat me like a disposable toy.”

The timbre of his voice has desire fizzling through her, nipples drawing tight underneath the black lace of her bra and a damp heat pulses between her legs, making her want to rub her thighs together. Tyler pulls a coin from the pocket of his jeans, rubbing circles across the disk with his thumb.

“I’m going to flip this coin,” he tells her, eyes dark with promise. The want in her belly grows hotter as he sits up, leaning over her and reaching out with his other hand to tug on the white blouse she hadn’t bothered to change out of once the school day was done. One sharp yank has the buttons popping off, scattering across the floor with a clatter and leaving her vulnerable to his heated gaze — hungry eyes drinking in the contrast of the dark lace against her skin and the tell-tale signs of her arousal.

Tyler brushes a thumb over her raised nipple, and even through the fabric it’s enough to send another pulse of desire racing through her. She almost doesn’t hear the promise he makes, “Heads, you suck me off. Tails, I flip you over and take you like the bitch you’ve been pretending to be for the last week.”

Wednesday watches expectantly as he sits back on his heels, holding up the silver quarter and flipping it into the air. She can’t help but shiver in anticipation, which is all it takes to distract him just enough that he fumbles catching the coin — it bounces off of his hand, skitters across the floor, and disappears beneath the stove on the other side of the bunker. For a split-second, Wednesday mourns its loss, but he recovers with a wicked grin.

“Looks like I’m due for a midnight snack instead,” Tyler purrs, eyes darkening even further as he slides a hand beneath her hips, claws extended to rip the knee-length black skirt from her body — she’d make him pay for that later, Wednesday decides, and then promptly loses all control of her thoughts. He hooks a stocking-clad knee over his shoulder, bending at the waist to press his mouth to her lace-covered mound. His hot breath fans over every part of her, making her squirm — and when he pulls away, she arches her back in protest, chasing him with her hips.

Tyler’s hand finds her, pushing her body back down against the dark sheets, “Oh no,” he tells her, grinning into the crook of her knee as he presses a kiss to her skin, “I understood that you were restricted to Nevermore until your detention was over, but then you still left me hanging for eight whole days.”

What?

“So to make us even, I’m going to bring you to the very edge of your pleasure eight times — and you’re going to count them for me.” He slips his fingers under the delicate black lace of her underwear, sliding through the sticky heat that betrays her desire, and rips it away from her body. Any protest Wednesday might possibly have made disappears from her mind as he lowers his mouth to lap at her folds, her head dropping back as a moan climbs up her throat, wrists straining against the leather cuffs.

The headboard of the bed creaks, but the rope holds strong as he licks his way to the very heart of the matter — lips clamping around her clit and sucking hard as one of his fingers slides into her wet heat. A whimper breaks free as she feels that finger crook inside, teasing the precious bundle of nerve endings inside her, scratching at the edges of her patience.

A second finger joins the first, scissoring her gently in time with each careful pass of his tongue over her quivering body, and then a third — the nail scrapes across the same bundle of nerves and Wednesday can feel the edge of delight beating at the doors. She bucks her hips, fully aware that all she needs is for him to press a little harder, just a little more — and just like that he lifts away, pulling wet fingers from her body with a slick noise. Through heavy lids, she watches as he sits back to watch as she suffers the quick withdrawal, licking at his fingers the same way he might if they were dripping with melted ice cream.

“Well?” Tyler’s voice drips with amusement as he eyes her.

“What?”

“If you don’t count for me Wednesday, I won’t know when your punishment is over.”

Something in her baulks, embarrassment boiling up under her skin as she fights to get her breathing under control again. “One,” she says through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at him. Tyler smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which are glittering with amusement. He waits until the trembling has abated, her breath evened out and then slides a broad palm down the inside of her thigh, settling into the cradle of her hips as once again, he presses the softest of kisses to her sex.

Over, and over, and over. The night descends into a continuous torturous cycle of rising towards bliss only to have it stolen away at the last second.

Wednesday groans as pleasure eludes her once more, and then a sharp smack to her flank has her gasping, blinking, trying to remember what he wants her to do next.

“Number…?”

“Oh.” Wednesday pants, mentally fumbling, “Three?”

“Lucky guess.”

Her skin feels tight, like she’s going to burst right out of it, and every part of her is humming like a live wire. Unrepentant, and clearly ignoring the tent in his own trousers that she can see when he pulls back far enough, Tyler dives back in for round number four with a smile on his face. Pleasure washes over her once again, and Wednesday sobs.

The fourth peak is cruelly snatched away from her, just like the first three. Then the fifth. She breaks when the sixth is denied to her.

“Tyler,” she manages, breath catching in her throat, tears slipping unbidden from the corners of her eyes, “Tyler please.”

“‘Please’ what?” he purrs, sinking his teeth into the pale meat of her thigh and Wednesday wails.

“Oh,” her breath hitches, brain fizzling like the surface of a boiling cauldron, “Tyler — I need — oh fuck.”

He smiles against her skin, “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

***

“Tyler please.” It was only by sheer force of will that Tyler was able to keep himself under control, to stop himself from finishing in his pants. The breathy plea offered up in Wednesday’s voice had shot straight to his dick, almost ending things before they began.

“‘Please’ what?” He teases her, already knowing what she wants, knowing that he’s going to give in and be balls deep in her as soon as he can get his jeans undone.

“Oh,” she gasps, all-but mewling like a kitten, frustrated tears slipping down her cheeks, “Tyler — I need — oh fuck.”

Oh god. The picture laid out before him on the bed is going to be seared into his eyes until the day he dies, the portrait of a dark goddess on the verge of creation. He digs his nails into the worn fabric of his jeans, the bite of pain helping to keep his desire in check.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Wednesday whimpers as he pulls away from her, allowing her legs to fall back against the bedspread.

He strips the worn black t-shirt off first and tosses it down the side of the bed before reaching for his belt buckle. The very tip of her tongue darts out to wet her lips, eyes turning hungry as he undoes both the buckle and the button on his jeans, sliding the zipper down carefully so he doesn’t catch the sensitive parts of himself on its teeth.

Tyler shoves his jeans down his thighs, but doesn’t bother to finish taking them off, reaching out to grab at one of Wednesdays ankles and crawling up the bed to settle between her legs. The sound she makes when he presses up against her vibrates through his whole being and Tyler can’t help but agree, leaning forward to lick his way into her mouth while he rubs his cock through her slick folds, teasing her with every thrust of his hips.

“Enough,” Wednesday gasps out between languid kisses, and for a split-second Tyler freezes, confusion rushing through him until she bucks her hips impatiently. “Stop teasing me.”

Relief hits him like a freight train at full speed, but he brushes it off, sitting up on his knees so he can take himself in hand and press the head of his cock inside her wet and inviting warmth. Wednesday sighs, her eyes sliding half-shut as she tries to meet him halfway only to be thwarted by the iron grip his spare hand has on her hip.

“Behave,” he cautions her and Wednesday’s lips twist into a snarl.

“Do not be gentle with me,” she demands, the tears from her overstimulation still lying wet on her cheeks, “I want you to fuck me like you mean it.”

Permission granted, Tyler wastes no time in hooking his hands under the backs of her knees and hiking Wednesday’s ankles over his shoulders so her bottom half is lifted clear away from the mattress before fucking forwards in one quick, sharp movement that audibly steals the very breath from her lungs and leaves her breasts bouncing in their lacy confinement.

Wednesday’s eyes slide shut as she moans, having finally found the stimulation she needs to slide right over the precipice and into the freefall of an orgasm, her body clenching tightly around him and Tyler — pent up from almost two weeks of solitude — finds himself falling right along with her in thick, heavy spurts. For a moment he lost his balance, slumping forward until he was almost pinning her to the mattress, forcing her legs up until she was near bent in half, her ankles brushing her ears.

He buries his face in her neck as she shakes, her body trying desperately to arch beneath him, mouthing at the skin, and trying to resist the urge to bite down until his teeth leave a permanent mark in her flesh. Getting his arms underneath him once more Tyler lifts up enough to peer into Wednesday’s dark eyes, her pupils blown out from the pleasure and then leans down to worry at the lace of her bra with his teeth, tearing it away in great strips of black fabric to reveal the pale skin and stiff, tanned peaks of her nipples that make his mouth water.

She doesn’t complain when he takes one into his mouth, only pushes her breasts up into his face and Tyler bites down, flicking his tongue across the nipple before languidly suckling at it. Distantly, and only for a moment, Tyler wonders what she would look like as a mother, her breasts heavy and full as she cradles their child close to nurse. The Hyde in the back of his mind rumbles in approval and his cock stirs once again, making him twitch inside the wet warmth of her cunt as he releases the nipple from his mouth with a pop, repeating the process with her other breast.

She sighs in pleasure and Tyler smirks against her skin, forcing himself upright once more, dragging her legs back up so they’re hooked over him and her body is at his mercy.

“We can do better than that,” he tells her, rolling his hips into hers and earning a hiss of pleasure, “I want you screaming.”

It’s the last warning she gets, and he sets a punishing pace before she’s even really had time to recover, her pussy still fluttering around him with each heavy thrust. Every stroke brings him closer to heaven, and when her eyes slide closed again Tyler lifts her higher, changing the angle so he’s fucking down into her, removing any vestige of control she had. It’s like being trapped inside a velvet-lined vice with all the threat and thrill of the danger spurring him on in his determination to make her toes curl.

A strange new pressure grows at the base of his cock, making him squirm as he grows closer and closer to release and so Tyler presses himself even deeper into her with each rut, his balls slapping hard against her in a rhythmic beat. Aware of how she appreciates pain to go with her thrill, he swats at her ass hard enough to leave a stinging handprint; Wednesday comes around him with a cry, squeezing him tighter and Tyler’s body jerks with every spurt that she milks from him.

So, Tyler realises with a breathy laugh that earns a grumble from his tired little mate in protest of his continued movement, that’s what it feels like to finally pop a knot inside a woman. Fully aware that he won’t be pulling out any time soon, he slides Wednesday’s legs off of his shoulders, doing his best to position her so her joints won’t be too stiff for future activities and settles back down to drape himself over her like an overly affectionate weighted blanket.

***

Wednesday hadn’t been back by the time Enid had crawled into bed late that Friday night, Thing tucking himself in beside her to share warmth — the seasonal change hadn’t been kind to his joints and Enid hadn’t minded sharing space with the friendly hand.

She hadn’t been there in the morning either when Enid emerged from her cocoon of blankets, yawning fiercely in the morning light and sporting the most incredible bedhead. Anybody else might have mistakenly assumed that their roommate had arrived late and left early, but Enid’s nose betrayed the truth — that the scent trail was far too weak.

“Huh,” Enid blinks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and looking down to where Thing is wriggling out from underneath one of her many pillows, “do you think maybe she stayed over at Tyler’s?”

Thing shrugs, digits fluttering as he does so and Enid hums as she scrolls through her notifications, still unwilling to get out of bed and set her bare toes down on the cold wooden floorboards. She really should start wearing bed socks now that November is fast approaching.

“I’ll text him and ask,” she declares, typing furiously on her phone, backspacing to erase several words, and refine her message.

‘hey bestie. weds didnt come home last night. is she with you?? 🩷🩷🩷’

‘i promise i won’t tell anyone if you two had a sleepover!!’

‘bestie?’

Nobody texts her back.

‘tyler??’

She never gets a reply.

***

By early afternoon, Enid had officially declared a state of emergency in the dorm room. Not that anybody other than Thing was listening of course — which made things ten times worse.

She’d tried going to Ms Rowe, who was filling in for Miss Thornhill — again — but the siren had been busy dealing with the discovery that some of the senior girls in Ophelia Hall had been sneaking boys into their dormitory. The only reason they’d been caught out was because it turned out that one of the boys had been playing two different girls and had mixed up who he was supposed to be seeing that night. The claws had come out; feathers had flown from shredded pillows, and the boy in question had nearly fallen out of the window when he made his second mistake and told them to ‘calm down.’

So while it was entirely understandable that Rowe had been distracted, it hadn’t helped Enid in the slightest to be brushed off by the one adult who was allegedly meant to be keeping her fellow students safe.

The music teacher had decided — like Enid had momentarily considered during that early-morning haze — that she must have slept through Wednesday arriving late at night and leaving early in the morning and hadn’t bothered to hang about to hear the werewolf’s explanation that she could smell the difference. She hadn’t stayed to listen to how Enid had already asked everybody else who might have known where her roommate was, how she’d been out to the Hummer’s shack, had called Tyler’s phone which went straight to voicemail, and had even been down into town to check at both Uriah’s Heap and the Weathervane. The simple truth was that Wednesday Addams was nowhere to be found and if Enid wanted to change that, she was going to have to break a few more rules to do so.

She started by recruiting the twins, who both sniffed around the dormitory and agreed with her conclusion. They agreed to provide an equally scandalous distraction to keep Rowe strung-out and distracted that evening. The fact that it included one of Enid’s older brothers and far less clothing than a little sister should ever have to know about was not something she had been overjoyed to hear about.

Step two involved Ajax — and she knew exactly who to send knocking on his door.

***

This time, when Wednesday awakens, it’s to a persistent ache in her hips, and an incredible sense of fullness between her legs, extending into lower belly. Her wrists are still bound over her head, and Tyler is lazily pinning her to the bed with the dead weight of his unconscious body.

She had never been interested in sex before she had come to Nevermore for the first time, and had only begun to explore her own body in the aftermath of her first year there — the memory of a shirtless Tyler chained to the wall had awoken something in her subconscious mind, and after a while, she’d been too frustrated to not consider using an aid to assist in reaching her own high.

Now though, now, she can feel the hungry heat stirring within her once again as he starts to harden again inside her. He murmurs sleepily into the curve of her neck and she arches her back, pressing her hips up against his pelvis and her shoulder into his mouth. It’s not enough she decides, wriggling until she can wrap her legs around his waist — then locks her ankles together to pull his body down, but the angle is wrong and she almost snarls in frustration.

 A smile against her shoulder betrays Tyler’s awareness of the situation, and he thrusts forwards teasingly, “Oh dear,” he croons, “did somebody wake up feeling needy? Am I not satisfying you?”

Wednesday snaps her teeth threateningly at him, still held back by her leather restraints, which are quickly becoming an hinderance. He pulls back, amusement evident in his every movement.

“You really are a spoiled little rich girl, aren’t you?” He teases, pressing kisses to the underside of her jawline and nipping at the skin there, “never had to wait for anything in her life” A cruel twist of her nipple has her inadvertently clenching around his cock as arousal shoots straight through her, drawing moans from the both of them. Tyler’s hips jerk in response, and she drops her head back in pleasure. Yes, she thinks groggily. Again, please. More.

She mewls in protest when instead of fucking her into the mattress like she had hoped for, Tyler pulls away, leaving her empty and aching as his release trickles out of her body, dripping down onto the sheets beneath. A hot mouth replaces the fingers that had been plucking at her breast, soothing the abused flesh with careful kisses that trail across heated skin and down her belly until Wednesday is pleasantly surprised by his tongue swiping through her folds once more.

Not that it lasts for long.

Tyler’s hands grip her firmly by the hips and flip her over to lie on her belly, braids flying wildly. Her shriek of outrage is smothered by the pillow and he laughs, a hand dipping between her legs so fingers can probe at her sensitive pussy, spreading her open and rubbing circles against her clit with his thumb. When she manages to get her knees and elbows underneath her so she can protest her treatment, he reaches out with his other hand and pulls on one of her ankles, dropping her flat against the mattress once more. The heavy weight of his body presses over her as he settles himself between her legs and forces her knees wider, so she’s exposed and completely at his mercy.

Wednesday turns her face sideways, cheek pressed tight to the pillow, but any protest she might have had turns into a low moan as something far thicker and longer than his fingers press back inside of her. Almost impossibly, it feels like he’s reaching even deeper than before and Wednesdays toes curl in satisfaction as he starts a punishing staccato rhythm. Each thrust sends the headboard into the wall with a quiet thump, and a tingly buzz up her spine as he grinds down into her.

Tyler mouths at the nape of her neck, nipping at her with his teeth as he winds a hand into one of her braids, looping the knotted hair around his fist, and pulling until her spine arches enough for him to see her face clearly. His eyes are dark and wild; his curls soaked with sweat as he fucked her harder as though he was trying to make a permanent home inside of her for himself. He lets go of her hair, allowing her to fall back against the pillow as he whispers filth into her ear and she trembles, eyes glazing over at his obscene words —

“I’m starting to think you like this.” He tells her, voice low and rough, and not altogether quite human. “Being stretched out on my cock, being stuffed full of me.”

The hand that had been in her hair worms its way between her body and the bed, smoothing a flat palm across the lowest part of her belly as he closes in for the proverbial kill, “Maybe I should just keep you here forever — would you like that? See how long it takes for me to fuck a baby into you?”

The noise that spills out of her is one that Wednesday will deny to her final breath, and the same hand slides up between her breasts to settle against her throat and squeezes. The pressure has her gasping as she comes around him, bearing down on the new knot that is already forming inside of her as he finishes inside of her for a second time. She hears a low growl — and then pain sears through her, as unnaturally sharp teeth pierce the crook of her neck in a claiming bite that sends her right back over the edge into her third orgasm of the night.

Still trapped in her post-coital haze, she barely notices when Tyler reaches up over her head and unbuckles the straps on her cuffs; her shoulders and wrists ache as the tension drops out of them. Carefully, Tyler lifts her and shuffles them both until they’re lying on their sides, still tied together — the knot inside her presses against that spongy sweet-spot behind her pubic bone, sending stars cascading across the inside of her eyelids and Wednesday sighs contentedly.

***

She dozes sleepily, slipping in and out of dreams that are edged in darkness and hold a sweet sense of danger, like balancing on the edge of a knife. Even though the knot has long since subsided and they’re no longer physically tied, Tyler’s hand rests over the lowermost part of her belly, smaller fingers spread across her pubic bone as his thumb rubs gentle circles into her skin as though in a hypnotic trance.

Whatever else happens now, they’re bound — in this life and the next.

Outcast bindings aren’t like traditional human ceremonies, the legality means nothing in the face of invoking something so primal as a blood-binding. There are still declarations to be made, which — if her parents have any say in it — may yet involve a formal family gathering and some firm but quiet words with the Sheriff to ensure he understands the gravity of what has happened, but otherwise nothing need change unless they want it to.

A growl interrupts her train of thought before she can begin to dig into how she feels about that, hunger making itself known as her belly gurgles and Tyler perks up in response. She wants to protest as he pulls away from her, rolling off of the bed and padding across the floor in search of something she can’t see. Rolling over is tricky — her hips ache fiercely, and she feels almost uncomfortably full despite their separation. Sitting up is a struggle too, and suddenly Tyler is there to help her, fluffing up a set of pillows and hauling her upright against them before turning to pull a folded black comforter off of a nearby chair and over her lower body. He slides back onto the mattress next to her and she shivers, leaning into his warmth in a way she’s never done before — if anybody ever mentions her newfound domestication, she might have to remove a few more members of the population.

He hands her a bottle with the lid already twisted off and she lifts it to her lips; the cold water feels good as it slides down her greedy throat; she hadn’t realised just how thirsty she was, or how hungry she had become when the hours blurred together like minutes. She eyes Tyler warily as he rips open a bag of beef jerky — the expensive kind that contains far less preservatives than what most of the nation satisfies themselves with.

“Please tell me you’re not about to chew that for me,” she asks, just as he fishes out a piece of the cured meat. Tyler jerks, flushing a delicate shade of pink as he drops the bag, which scatters its contents across the dark sheets.

“I— What— Wednesday—” His words are as disjointed as his thoughts, and Wednesday cannot help her lips curving into an amused smirk.

“You’re hovering,” she explains, “focusing on the base primal needs: food, warmth, sex, which probably means you’re running on instinct and adrenaline… which…”

Wednesday pauses, frowning at the implication of that train of thought and her stomach drops through the floor.

“I thought maybe you were just being bold,” she admits, eyes dropping to the mess of scattered jerky on the bed, “but… Tyler… you do know what we’ve just done, right?”

Tyler blinks at her, the skin between his eyebrows creasing as he frowns in confusion, “I know what sex is, Wednesday.”

“I was referring to the part where you kidnapped me — and then bit me during sex before finishing inside me. One of the oldest forms of Outcast Marriage Rites that are still recognised, that bound us together on a spiritual level with no recourse for separation other than our eventual deaths.”

“We just got married?” The frown fades away as a smile emerges — like sunshine breaking free from the clouds on an overcast day. Wednesday doesn’t know when she began to look forwards to that.

She twists the edge of the comforter nervously, “Yes.”

“Alright.” Tyler agrees, and suddenly it’s Wednesday’s turn to stare in bafflement.

“Excuse me?” She asks, unsure of what she had just heard.

“I said okay.” Tyler repeats, reaching out to slide his fingers through the length of her dark curls, “Do we need to file paperwork at the country courthouse, or—”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well.” Wednesday tells him, slowly trying to relax back into the same languid contented state of being she had enjoyed before the anxiety crept up her spine.

“I just got told that I accidentally screwed up and now I get to keep the hottest, smartest, wildest girl I’ve ever met — until she gets tired of me and buries me in the backyard. What part of that sounds like a bad thing?”

Now it’s Wednesday’s turn to blush, much to her displeasure, and she ruthlessly pushes it away for a deadpan response: “I have full confidence in your ability to dig your way back up.”

Tyler blinks at her, clearly baffled. “Wednesday,” he says slowly, “You are aware that Hyde’s still need oxygen, right?”

“…I may have forgotten to warn you about the family curse.”

“The what?” Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised after all this time. Of course there’s a family curse that comes along with her. He doesn’t know why he ever imagined it wouldn’t. Not that he’d specifically been imagining accidentally marrying her in the secret cold-war bunker that just happened to exist under his house either. A nagging feeling at the back of his brain suggests otherwise, which is actually a little unnerving.

She sighs into the water bottle, ignoring the low fluting noise that it makes and screws the cap back on. “I once told you how I buried my brother alive, did I not?”

“I thought you were joking.” Tyler admits, “Or at least, half-joking.”

He deserves the look that earns him.

“Hardly. The Addams family is cursed — we are unable to kill each other; or, rather, we can kill each other, but we don’t stay dead.”

“I’m not an Addams, Wednesday.” Tyler reminds her, feeling the twinge in his chest at yet another reminder that he has always been on the outside-looking-in.

“You weren’t.” Wednesday cuts through his pity party with a ruthless expression, “Past tense. You just participated in a blood binding with me Tyler, you’re a part of the curse now too. You could choke me to death right here in our bridal bed, and I’d still resurrect.”

Tyler blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it, and swallows. He’s not quite sure what to do with that mental picture, with the thought of pinning her to the bed with his thighs, hand wrapped tight around her throat as he works her ever-closer to the edge—

“Good to know?”

“Are you reassured that I intend to keep you for as long as we both shall live?”

Tyler nods, feeling completely caught off guard by how this conversation has gone, and entirely distracted by the sight of her reaching up to undo the tight twin braids her hair has always been bound up in. The dark tresses spill over pale flesh in an all-too-appealing manner, like a sleepy river winding its way through a forest in the middle of the night and he can’t resist reaching out to see what it feels like, to card his hands through the sweaty curls.

“So… in a way, this is sort of our honeymoon. Not quite what I’d have planned if I’d have known about it ahead of time.”

“Being locked in a hermetically sealed bunker with a murderous Hyde?” Wednesday asks, leaning into his touch, “On the contrary, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”

***

“Do not tell me to calm down, Ajax!” Enid whisper-shouts down the phone as she frantically paces back and forth across the floor of her dormitory. “Wednesday hasn’t been back to our room since she stopped by to drop off her bag after classes yesterday and now Tyler isn’t answering his phone. Something is wrong.”

Planning who to involve in her late-night escapade to find and potentially rescue Wednesday Addams was far easier inside her own head than it was in reality, when her own sort-of not-quite maybe-one-day boyfriend was the biggest stumbling block in the whole matter.

“Fine,” she snaps, cutting off whatever Ajax had been about to say next, “You know what — I’ll just go by myself.”

“Enid, wai—” Enid hangs up on him and tosses her phone onto the bed before stomping off into her closet to find something sensible and sturdy to wear while she tracks down her wayward roommate. She’s tightening her laces with forceful intent when Thing comes skittering back in through the little cat flap. She’d ordered it off of amazon when Wednesday wasn’t looking, and installed during the famous detention with help from Delphine — and rather less helpful commentary from Aurélie and Agnes.

Angry as she is with the entire male sex, Enid side-eyes him warily. “Are you going to help me, or not?” she demands, rather unfairly. Thing wiggles his fingers, signing an offer of peace before scurrying closer and Enid deflates.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, “I shouldn’t take out my feelings from Ajax on you.”

Thing shrugs and she smiles, holding out a hand so he can climb up to his preferred shoulder-perch. “Let’s go find Wednesday!”

***

Just as the sun begins to set, chaos breaks out across Ophelia Hall and Yoko wanders over to Puck Hall to find Ms Rowe. She doesn’t run, simply floats her way across the courtyards. At the same time, Enid slips off in the opposite direction, fully aware that she owes her friends at least a dozen favours and some serious souvenirs from her planned trip to Japan during Spring Break. An obi for Aurélie, Kanzashi for Yoko and handcrafted pottery for Delphine — most probably painted with delicate Sakura blossoms.

She waits for Yoko to return with Ms Rowe in tow, carefully edging her way through the shadows that cloak the western side of the quad in darkness, and then makes a break for the Greenhouses as soon as Thing signals that the coast is clear. It’s as she’s sneaking past the purple shuttle bus, painted with the Nevermore coat of arms, that she runs smack into Ajax.

“What are you doing here?” She growls at him, eyes narrowed, “If you’re planning on stopping me—”

“You sounded worried.” Ajax interrupts her, tugging at the strings of his purple hoodie.

“You said everything would be fine.” Enid reminds him, her tone sounding accusatory.

“Enid,” Ajax frowns, “you were upset. Of course I was always going to come and help.”

Enid blinks, twitches, and tries to recalibrate. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Ajax teases, “‘Oh.’ So where do we start?”

“This way,” Enid points towards the treeline, bending so Thing can scurry up her arm and use her shoulder as a perch. Ajax follows along as she starts weaving through the trunks, skirting the boundaries of the school until they come upon a solitary cottage in a clearing. It’s almost like something out of the Grimms’ Folktales — a werewolf, a gorgon, a disembodied hand, and a cottage in the woods.

“Isn’t that Miss Thornhill’s cottage?” A voice says from behind them, and Enid jumps several inches into the air, sending Thing flying in the process, before turning her ire on the redheaded Freshman girl who has begun to intrude on her life over the past few weeks.

“Ohmigosh you have got to stop doing that!” Enid tells the younger girl, “One of these days, somebody is going to accidentally hurt you. What are you even doing here?”

“I thought maybe you could use this,” Agnes says, holding up a flashlight — something that neither Enid, who had built-in night vision, or Ajax had thought to bring with them.

“Huh,” Ajax eyes her warily, “That’s smart.”

Agnes beams at the compliment, and Enid’s lip curls up in a territorial warning to the younger girl. Wisely, Agnes takes a step back — message received — and the werewolf refocuses on the task at hand: tracking down her bestie. Nobody comments on how Thing pointedly chooses to scurry up Ajax’s jeans and settle himself onto a much less jumpy ride.

“Why was Wednesday here?” Enid murmurs, peering through the gloom to squint at the cottage, the windows lit with a soft yellow light.

“Maybe she needed help with an assignment?”

“No,” Enid argues, “she probably knows more about botany that Thornhill ever could — and she hates the woman’s guts. Really hates her, like, wouldn’t throw a bucket of water over her if she was on fire kinda hate.”

“Why?”

“No idea,” Enid says, nostrils flaring as she sniffs about a little more and then turns in a new direction. “Thank god it hasn’t rained!”

The three of them make up what must be one of the strangest parties that Nevermore has ever seen as Enid tracks her missing roommate through the woodlands area. Until she comes to a sudden stop, frowning down at the ground.

“Enid?”

“Something’s not right,” she takes off at a half-jog, following an unseen trail in an almost panicked state, stumbling over her words as she grows more and more agitated, “she met somebody, or maybe they met her — I don’t know who it was, what they are. I don’t know this scent — don’t know what it means, but there’s a lot of adrenaline and whatever they are, they smell like predator.”

Agnes shares a look with Ajax, one that says what they’re both thinking — maybe it’s time to get help. Ajax is the braver of the two.

“Enid,” he tries, “maybe we should get a teach—”

“No,” Enid snaps, turning on her heel to snap in his face, “they’re all useless. I tried that earlier and they all ignored me.”

There’s something in her eyes that isn’t quite human, pupils dilating as the blue of her irises shifts to a deeper colour, like something that belongs in a tumultuous sky right before the oncoming storm arrives. Her breath is coming in hard, short pants, and her hair is fluffed up as though her hackles are raised like an angry dog. He chances a look down at her hands, and, sure enough, her nails have sharpened into dangerous-looking claws.

“Enid?”

She doesn’t reply, just turns back to stomping along the dirt path, twitching erratically. If he didn’t know any better, Ajax would be worried that she was about to wolf-out for the first time. Except it was entirely the wrong time of the month for that, the new moon was the day after tomorrow.

They should have been safe.

Enid should have been safe.

But the universe had other plans.

***

There was a scream crawling up the inside of Ajax’s throat as he watched Enid’s body shake and contort as she struggled to escape the long, quilted jacket she’d been wearing over her jeans and pullover. Agnes boldly leans forwards, hand reaching for the pink item of clothing as though to help and it’s all Ajax can do to pull her back out of the danger-zone; just in time for an actual honest-to-gods howl to rip free from Enid as fur bristles through tanned skin and bones crack, reshaping themselves into the shape of a wolf.

“I don’t understand,” Agnes whispers to him, shaking with fear, “I didn’t think Werewolves could shift without the Full Moon?”

“They can’t,” he agrees, equally terrified, watching as Enid noses around in the dirt, snaps at the shredded fabric that used to be one of her favourite sweaters, and shakes out her fur.

For a split-second, Ajax is thoroughly convinced that they’re both about to be Wolf Chow as she eyes them contemplatively — but luckily for them, she lifts her snout to the sky, scenting the air as though she’s been doing it her whole life. Then, suddenly, she’s back on track and trotting off in the same direction she’d been chasing in her human form.

“Okay,” Ajax mutters, frantically typing out an emergency alert to the Nightshades and checking his location is still turned on for the group, “my girlfriend is a giant, possibly-gorgon-eating wolf right now. I can handle that, right?”

He turns to Agnes, whose grip around the flashlight has turned her knuckles white, “We can handle this, yeah?”

She shoots him a look that all-but screams ‘get it together you moron,’ before stalking forwards to scoop up Enid’s abandoned jacket, “Boys,” she mutters furiously. Which — hurtful, but admittedly fair given the circumstances.

Together they follow Enid’s tracks through the winding woods to where the road is starting to come into view as the thinnest sliver of a waxing gibbous moon is just peeking through the trees to shine against black asphalt, still slick from an earlier cloudburst. Headlights flare yellow in the distance, and Ajax can’t help but scream as Enid ignores it and barrels clear across the road. The horn blares, the tires screech, and the car goes spinning off into a ditch, the front of it crumpling against the wide trunk of an old tree. Ouch.

That cannot be good for their insurance premiums.

Part of Ajax feels guilty that he doesn’t stop to check if the driver will be okay, and he quickly adds an addendum to the group chat: ‘car swerved to avoid unusually large animal on road from school into town, send help,’ before dragging a wide-eyed Agnes onwards, Thing still clinging tightly to his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t we help—”

“Nope,” Ajax says, “there’s nothing either of us can do to help, and the last thing Nevermore needs is for it to get off that a student went rogue and caused an accident. I’ve texted Bianca — she knows how to take care of these things. They’ll wake up in the hospital and think they were trying to avoid a dog.”

“Bit big for a dog,” Agnes snaps back, wheezing from a stitch in her side as she struggles to keep up. He offers her a hand, helping her up the steep trail and into the treeline once again.

“Maybe she eats her greens,” Ajax replies — because if he doesn’t laugh about their situation, he’ll start screaming. There’s an awful sound in the distance — like metal tearing and bending, and then a thump as something hits the ground at breakneck speed.

With a muffled curse, Ajax starts running again.

***

She had thought it was food poisoning at first — or maybe the stomach flu. These things tended to happen when you grouped a whole bunch of grubby children together in one place, and for all of their disgusting inhuman habits, it seemed that the student body was as normal as any in this regard.

The bright side to all of this, Laurel had thought to herself as she leaned against the bathroom wall of her cottage in exhaustion, was that at least she didn’t have to play pretend and keep smiling at all those wretched creatures as though she actually enjoyed their company. How often had she bitten her tongue to swallow a scream when claws had come out between two girls arguing over a boy, or when drawings had come to life, or when laboratory equipment began to float across the room because somebody was too lazy to get up and walk. How often had she second-guessed herself while marking, worried that maybe an amulet had ‘slipped’ and that the students didn’t really deserve a good grade.

God, she couldn’t wait for the Blood Moon — Joseph would fix it. He would make the world right and good again, just like her father had promised all those years ago, before that awful Frump girl had ensorcelled her beloved older brother. Garret was hers after all, he would never have looked twice at another girl — especially not an Outcast — if sorcery hadn’t been involved; and then in a single night, everything had been ruined. Her mother had collapsed, sobbing in the doorway of their home and her father had gone hard like stone, and suddenly there were whispers from the neighbours and people looked at her strangely around town.

That hadn’t been right. Months had passed, and then Daddy had been poisoned and Mummy had been murdered — she knew what was happening, what Daddy had always warned her might. The Outcasts were trying to get rid of them, and the police were just letting it happen. Social Services had gotten involved and whisked her away to safety before somebody could do the same to her, had sent her to live with distant cousins who hadn’t understood the importance of what Laurel was meant to do.

It hadn’t been until she’d notice one of the French werewolf twins — she didn’t know which one, and she didn’t care: they would be ashes soon enough and it wouldn’t matter then — in her afternoon class eyeing her strangely that she realised her illness was unnatural. The little jezebel had done something; Laurel was sure of it — perhaps she had used her feminine wiles to seduce one of the young warlocks into cursing her.

The nausea and stomach cramps had stopped after the first day or so, but then she’d found herself trying to teach Freshman material to one of her Senior classes which had been mortifying when they had started to laugh at her mistake. She hadn’t been able to walk up a flight of stairs without her knees going weak or being out of breath, and at one point she’d nearly fainted halfway down. Honestly, she would have rather fallen down them instead of having to as the siren bitch who coddled that group of tittering mermaids over in Puck Hall to keep an eye on the mongrel brats of Ophelia Hall for the second time that week, but she hadn’t been that lucky.

Another wave of nausea sends her scrambling back over the toilet to heave, but nothing comes up except spit and bile, and Laurel finally gives in to the reality that there is really no other choice but to go to the hospital. At the very least, the paper trail would give her grounds enough to get permission to perform a dormitory check for illicit spell ingredients — the girls all knew they weren’t supposed to practice spell craft unsupervised after all. With a great heave of effort, Laurel pushes herself up off of the tiled floor, and stumbles shakily out to the kitchen where her purse and keys sit on the countertop.

It takes her three attempts to lock the front door behind herself and another two to unlock the car. By the time she manages to get into the driver’s seat, she’s panting from the effort, and it feels like she’s sweating buckets. She fumbles for the fake glasses she wears while pretending to be Marilyn and shoves them into her purse, wiping sweat out of her eyes before starting the engine. She doesn’t bother to buckle herself in, her chest feels too tight to be able to bear having something pinning her to the seat.

It’s a clear night and even with the lights on low, she can see almost every little detail as she eases the car out of the driveway and down onto the road towards town. The trees cast heavy shadows that ripple over the dashboard, branches swaying in the wind that is slowly picking up speed, scattering debris in its wake.

Without warning, something comes flying out of the bushes on one side of the road, snout pressed to the ground as though following a hunt. It pauses, turning to snarl at the oncoming vehicle and in those few precious seconds, she recognises it as something big and furry with extremely large teeth that gleam yellow-white in her headlights.

Laurel jerks the wheel, instinctively trying to avoid the sudden arrival of the terrifying creature in her path. The car swerves, wheels squealing against the asphalt. A tire catches on a heavy tree limb sticking out of the ditch on the side of the road and she loses what little control she had left, sending the car careening wildly into the woods until it slams into a heavy old pine.

There’s an audible crack — and then everything goes dark.

She doesn’t wake up.

***

By the time they finally catch up, skidding down a muddy bank and almost landing flat on their faces in the ditch at the bottom, Ajax is praying to every deity in the Greek Pantheon that might be listening — if they survive the night, he’s going to pay attention when his Yaya starts talking about the old country. Stars and stones, he’ll ring the old gorgon in the morning and write down everything she says about how to build an alter to a patron God. Anything, if it means his almost-girlfriend doesn’t end up tranquilised by a Normie Animal Control Unit and stuffed into a Lupine Cage to sleep it off.

Agnes yelps as she almost trips over the mangled wreckage of what Ajax thinks might have once been an outdoor doghouse. It’s honestly a bit hard to tell, but the faded red paint and dented arched roof looks mostly right.

Only half of Enid is visible, her front-end underground, clawing and snarling at something he can’t see — stubby little Lupine tail pointed straight at the moonless sky — and isn’t that a terrifying thing to be aware of. Werewolves aren’t supposed to shift without the power of the full moon to fuel their change, which is a massive calorie-sink in itself and not something to be done on an empty stomach. For Enid to have changed when Artemis has turned her face away… Ajax is afraid of the consequences.

Whatever it is Enid has found down there, it seems to have a guardian. There’s the awful screech of claws on metal and concrete, and an almighty roar, and then Enid is backing out of the hole in the ground as quickly as she can — which is pretty fast, considering her newfound unwieldy shape — and away from an equally large apex predator.

There’s no fur or a tail that would identify a fellow werewolf — not that that’s likely, because again: it’s a new moon — but a nastily sharp set of teeth that gleam in the yellow beam of the flashlight Agnes has somehow managed to hang onto, and a wickedly long set of dark talons that slash towards Enid’s snout faster than Ajax likes. Enid snarls, jerking back out of reach, and then darts forwards to snap her own fangs at the hand in question.

“Oh great,” Ajax says to Agnes, sarcasm evident in every atom of his body, “she’s found a friend.”

The ‘friend’ snarls with all the rage of a grizzly bear being dragged out of hibernation three months early and tackles the invading werewolf through a tree.

Ajax has regrets — about everything.