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Deucalion revels in the slump of Scott’s shoulders as they walk away.
Scott had managed determination when he’d vowed to find his friend’s father, but the quiet defeat is what lingers with Deucalion.
“Not this time,” he’d said like he might break.
He will break. Deucalion will break him.
Deucalion’s lips twitch when he leads the young man to the hospital’s service elevator.
As he smells Scott’s surprise over the fear, despair, and blood.
“Did you think I was going to push you off the roof?” Deucalion asks.
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Scott answers, layers of pain in his voice.
Scott had been angry the last time they’d been in such a space. Then, his fear had been muted by rage. Now, it’s the stronger emotion.
But the anger is still there, dark and tantalizing, ready to be drawn out and put to use.
Deucalion follows Scott, placing a hand on his shoulder, luxuriating in the way the muscles jump beneath his fingertips.
At the way Scott can’t pull away, even though he clearly wants to.
Deucalion draws the boy’s physical pain into himself, relishing Scott’s flinch.
“What—?” Scott begins, before cutting himself off. As though the question costs too much to ask.
“You’re with us now,” Deucalion answers. Any pain Scott endures from now on will be at his hand or his direction.
Scott’s heart pounds. He tries to wrench himself away from Deucalion’s touch, but there’s nowhere to go as the lift carries them toward the ground.
“It is customary,” Deucalion says, “to respond politely when someone gives you a gift.”
Scott huddles in the corner of the lift. “I’ll be sure to remember that when you do.”
Deucalion smiles then, basking in the quiet defiance belied by the slightest tremble in the boy’s voice.
He keeps his grip on the boy’s shoulder the rest of the way down, enjoying the way the muscles grow stiffer with every passing floor.
Deucalion considers his options. Unlike Scott’s, his are infinite. He could return the pain, of course. He could punish Scott for his attitude in any number of ways.
But right now, it’s more important to show Scott that he can be a gracious host.
There will be plenty of time to rid Scott of his insolence.
Deucalion draws another measure of physical pain into himself. Scott gasps, as though the absence of the physical pain is unbearable. He manages to twist his way out of Deucalion’s grasp when the lift doors open into the cool night air.
Scott stops, a few steps away, heart thundering.
Realizing, of course, that there’s still nowhere to go.
Deucalion doesn’t use his alpha sight to look at him, needing that ability to remain unknown a while longer yet.
But it’s a near thing. He wants to see what he’s doing to Scott. The effect he’s having.
“Did your mother teach you such poor manners?” Deucalion asks instead, savoring the spike of anger.
Scott needs him now, if he wants to find his mother.
Scott’s heart steadies bit by bit as the silence grows thick between them. Deucalion waits patiently; he’s not the one with a deadline, after all.
“Thank-you,” Scott bites out, the hard-won words a delight to hear.
Deucalion shows fangs when he grins. “Now, was that really so difficult?”
Deucalion finds Aiden’s scent and when he starts to walk, Scott follows.