didn't care. A good cry always helped one feel a little better, even if it was a fragment of peace.
"Now, Alpha," I began to catch his attention as he pulled out of the hug to compose himself. "You're supposed to confide in me when you're in need of a helping hand."
He huffed, which made me smile, but his eyes softened as he nodded slightly.
"Too bad you were dealing with Dark Lords trying to eat your soul."
"You should explain that to my clueless self because that sounds both cool and fucked up," I voiced. "Do eaten souls cross over?"
"If the Dark Lord likes them enough," he answered without missing a beat, which surprised me.
"Dimitris." My rough voice was low. "Did I trigger something?"
He didn't say anything at first, his eyes staring into mine as if he were trying to find even a smidge of judgment in my orbs. He clearly didn't find any because he swallowed the lump in his throat and ran his hands through his short locks.
"You didn't do anything," he admitted. "It wasn't your fault...I'm just tired."
I knew there was more to it than that, and I reached out for his hand to tug him close enough that his waist was at sink level with him between my spread-out legs.
'There's more than that, isn't there?" I quietly asked up close, our lips just barely touching. He closed his eyes and leaned in to press his forehead against mine.
I didn't pressure him to say anything more while embracing how this intimate moment felt. To humans, this would have been weird, but between wolves, this move meant so damn much.
It meant even more to me because this symbol of respect finally applied to me. It was a sign that included me as another wolf shifter and not a mere human.
"When Mihkel died...it was around the holidays," he whispered. "He was my younger brother. It was years ago...when I was younger and too blinded by the desire to get revenge for our family after being outcasted. My father was like Roberto. Not in the sense of abuse and torture...at least not to us, but he was a man of promises. He was lost in a delusion of power, thinking no one would betray him. He was a fool walking upon a path towards his doom, and when he finally ran out of wood to walk upon, his 'loyal' packmates let him fall. They sold him to the highest bidder and he was tortured and killed. Our mother disappeared, and I could only assume she was killed as well. Heck, maybe she ran away to start a new life, who fucking knows. Regardless of their actions and doom, Mihkel and I were homeless."
I was surprised by his admission as he leaned slightly back to fiddle with my hand in his grasp. "Due to the circumstances of my father's death and the obvious label of ‘criminal,’ we lost everything: the luxury, the fame, the respect. We became trash in a matter of twenty-four hours, and we started to live our lives as homeless boys," he explained. "It was hard, especially during the winter months. It was the first time in a long while that Cali was getting hit with snowstorms. It almost felt like the Universe was punishing us, but we fought through it, the cardboard shelters and starving stomachs. We did everything we could to survive, until I had enough."
His eyes sought mine as he lifted his gaze.
"How could I be an Alpha and be struggling? How could I allow us to be so beaten down by the harsh cruelty of society's selfish ways of life that we'd go days without food and barely any water? I was sick of it, and so I decided to get my hands dirty and work towards making a reputation for myself. It wasn't easy, and most of the time the things I did were illegal, but at least it proved I was alive. It proved that I could be a force people bowed to, and my actions helped us finally get shelter. I covered my hands in blood, and after a while, I began my search for my own group of Forbidden."
He smirked slightly as the memories surely filtered through his mind.
"Neo was first. Then came Saint, and soon Jayce joined. We were all different, but there was one thing that brought us together," he admitted. "We were all endangered wolves. Types of wolves that didn't carry the normal instinctive forces. Our titles were sacred,