Chapter Text
Jackson slowly awoke, dimly aware of something tight but not constricting around his neck, of being held in place; an arm wrapped tightly around his chest, another curled around his abdomen, and he can feel the heat of the person behind him. He catches the scent in the air; Scott, his Mate. Then the memories of the previous night come back to him.
He’s a werewolf, he actually became a werewolf. Just like is Dom is; and Scott is his Mate as well as his Dom, and werewolves mate for life. Scott promised him it is for life.
He runs his finger over the collar around his neck and smiles; it’s only coming off when he showers, otherwise he is to wear it all the time, his Dom’s orders. The order made him feel so contented. He looks down is body and a small regret surfaces.
“What’s wrong?” Scott asks from behind him; the concern evident in his voice.
“There aren’t any marks,” Jackson turns his head towards Scott, “normally when you used your claws, or bit me, or spanked me there were marks the next day at least. There aren’t any; I liked it when you marked me.”
“I’ll just need to mark you again, and more often,” Scott smiles at him, “but they’ll always heal and I can’t use the toys Allison does with Jed, ‘cause I’m a werewolf too and can’t touch them. Sorry love.”
Jackson can’t help but smile; Scott called him love. His love, his Mate.
“Love you Sir.”
“Love you too Jacks,” Scott smiles back at him, “My Jacks.”
Jackson is in the shower, the water sluicing down the plains of his back, abs and thighs. As he glides a hand down across his chest he has a flash of red; of the water running off him coloured red, of blood coating him and his hands thick with it. He hears screaming; terrified screaming as he stares at his hands coated in red, as he backs into the corner of the shower, sinking to the tiled floor.
Hands grasp his hands, the red vanishing as Scott pulls him into his embrace. Scott’s clothes are wet and clinging to him under the cascade of water; just as Jackson clings to him, his tears hidden in the shower. He knows now that he was the one screaming; screaming at the memory of what the Kanima, what he had done.
“It wasn’t you, it wasn’t you,” Scott comforted him; “It was the Kanima, not you.”
Jackson could have taken comfort from those words, except he had been the Kanima; if the Kanima had been something separate from himself then he wouldn’t now be starting to remember what the Kanima had done.
---
Stiles lips are puffy and swollen; stretched around Derek’s hard length, pushing against his knot. Derek has been fucking his mouth on and off for over an hour; Stiles is lying on his bed, on his stomach, with Derek on his knees in front of him. Derek leans over Stiles’ back and spanks his ass; timing the swats to Stiles’ ass with his own thrusts into Stiles’ mouth, adding darker reds to his already scarlet ass.
Stiles isn’t hard; his cock is locked in a CB6000 chastity device. Derek had spanked him with the hairbrush last night; punishment for lying to his father, and for trying to hide what happened with Gerard from him. After he had tied to Stiles and they had both come he had attached the ring of the CB6000 around Stiles cock and balls, then slide the sheath over his flaccid shaft; the second part of his punishment. Stiles is not going to be allowed to come again for a week.
A week is not a long period, but Derek knows that Stiles still thinks he is being a little harsh; Stiles was only trying to protect them. Not that Stiles has said that to his Mate, his Dom, but Derek knows his Mate, his sub, and knows what he is thinking.
Scott is at Deaton’s animal clinic, he’s feeding the animals and is a little anxious; Deaton hadn’t contacted him yet. He should have arrived at the facility with Matt by now and called him. He hasn’t called. He hasn’t answered Scott’s calls either.
He knows he can take care of feeding the animals and cleaning out the cages; and Deaton has called in another veterinarian to deal with the medical side of the clinic while he is gone. But Deaton was only going to be gone for two days; it’s only been one day so far, but the fact he can’t be contacted is worrying Scott.
Why? What’s gone wrong? Has Matt completely converted into a Kanima? Has he attacked Deaton and the drivers?
Scott’s not sure how to find out; or how to contact the clinic Deaton was taking Matt to. He’ll need to talk to the Sheriff.
---
Scott stops at the Sheriff’s house after he leaves the clinic; Stiles isn’t there, he’s with Derek looking at apartments. Derek is moving to something suitable for a Dominant with a submissive to top; and for a werewolf with a Mate. While Stiles isn’t home his dad is not alone.
Chris Argent is kneeling in the centre of the living room. He’s naked, his hands clasped behind his head and his knees spread at shoulders width; his back, ass and thighs are stripped with red welts. His eyes are blown and unfocussed, and his cock hard and dripping.
As the Sheriff passes him to sit in his chair he runs a hand through Chris’ hair; Chris leans into the touch, oblivious to Scott’s presence.
Scott explains his concerns about Deaton not having contacted him, and not answering Scott’s own calls to him. The Sheriff says he’ll see what he can find out, and he’ll make Chris to look into it too.
---
Melissa wanted to slam the door shut.
She couldn’t; as usual for him he had stuck his foot in and brushed her aside as he pushed the door open and walked straight in. Typical; arrogant, Dominant bastard.
“What are you doing here?” she means to snarl at him; but it sounded timid and afraid even to her.
“Tsk, tsk,” he chides her, “Mel, you used to have such better manners when I was your Dom. You knew how to speak to your betters then; now see how you greet me without a Dominant to keep you in line,” her eyes drop the floor, her head dipped; everything in her stance submissive and demure, “that’s better, now why don’t you try greeting me properly.”
She knew he wasn’t asking.
He was barely there and gone again, but it felt like hours; and he was coming back. Within minutes he had managed to reduce her to the near wreck she had been when she had finally managed to have her collaring overturned, and their divorce finalised. He had managed to rip her self-confidence to shreds over the years, and then when she fought for custody of Scott. Now within minutes of being back he has her calling him Sir; he is not her Sir, not anymore, never again.
But he made it clear he is back for Scott; and the thought of having to fight for her son again scares her.
---
He escaped as they got close to the compound; hid himself in the shadows and darkened corners, he made himself unnoticeable. He couldn’t get Matt out.
When he was able to check his head he found that they had at least made a passable job of cleaning up the damage they did; he was sure he heard the glass crack as he was slammed against it.
He can’t use his cell-phone; they could use it to track his location. He can’t use is credit cards, or debit cards, for the same reason; and he’s starting to run low on actual cash.
He can’t head back to Beacon Hills; they’d be looking for him there, but he needs to word to Bianca, Ms Morrell, and to Scott. He’s closer to Los Angeles than Beacon Hills anyway; and there is one person that he could trust to get a message to them, warn them. He just hopes that the address he has in Century City is still valid.
---
Isaac is on his knees in the centre of the bed; his hands are cuffed to his collar, his face down in the pillows as he moans into them, his hands grasping and claws craping at the back of his head. Danny decided to cuff his hands to his collar this time as he didn’t want to have to try and hide another ripped pillow from his parents.
Isaac’s legs are held spread apart by a two spreader-bars; one attached to his ankles and the other at his knees. His hard cock and balls are pulled back painfully between his legs; squeezed tight in Danny’s grasp. Danny’s tongue laps at the head of Isaac’s hardness before returning to delve into his relaxed and open hole.
Isaac can’t think, all he can do is feel; Danny has had him bound on the bed for... he can’t remember, Danny’s tongue breaches inside him again and his instinct is to move, to push back on it to have Danny fill him; but his not to move and he’s fighting his instinct, fighting to obey his Dom.
Danny slips two fingers inside Isaac’s split slaked hole; searching out his sweet spot, brushing the tips of his fingers over it before replacing them with his tongue and bringing his hand down on Isaac’s ass with a SMACK.
Isaac is caught between moaning and gasping; between the fingers and tongue breaching inside him and the hand spanking his upturned ass. His shaft hard and painful held in his Doms’ grip, dripping his wanton need; his need for his Dom, for Danny.
Danny has brought Isaac close several times; he’s close himself and can’t wait any longer. He slicks his own hard shaft with lube and pushes through the open ring, burying himself in Isaac in one thrust.
As Danny pistons in and out of Isaac he fists Isaac’s own cock lightly. Isaac keens at the need of a firmer grip, a tighter grasp to being him the release his body yearns for. As Danny’s pace increases with his own need his grip on Isaac tightens; releasing himself inside Isaac he brings him with him, collapsing over Isaac’s back.
Isaac is plugged, keeping Danny’s seed in him. He still has the cuffs and the collar on, but the cuffs are no-longer attached to the collar allowing him to wrap his arms around his Dom as they both lay sated in the bed. The spreader bars are put away in the chest of toys they keep at the foot of the bed.
Danny is asleep, though Isaac is still awake; worrying. He doesn’t want to lose Danny, but he can’t stop him; tomorrow Danny is going to ask Derek give him the bite.
Isaac doesn’t think he’ll get much sleep until he knows his Dom is safe; that either the bite has taken, the transformation begun or that Derek says no. Derek saying no would allow Isaac to sleep faster than spending days waiting to know if the bite was killing his Dom.
Maybe, just maybe, a little bit of the sleeplessness is the guilt he feels in hoping that Derek says no. Isaac knows why his Danny wants the bite; so that Danny can help better protect him from the threats they face, but Danny has to also know why he doesn’t want him to risk it. Isaac would rather have his Dom as he is than risk losing him to a bite that doesn’t take.
---
Matt is confused; scared even, he doesn’t know how long he has been here. There is no clock on any wall, no calendar, that he has seen. His only perception of time has been the diming of the lights to sleep, the food that he has been given to eat.
He doesn’t know what they gave him before they hooked him up to this device. There are wires connected to points all over his body, his temples, over his chest, his abs. There’s a cock ring keeping him hard, they must have given him something to make him hard, and wires connected to the metal plug in his ass.
He is strapped down and his head is locked in position to watch the monitor, ear-bud headphones are placed in his ears. The red-headed woman in the white coat keeps saying things like ‘this will make you a better submissive for your Dom‘, ‘make you more compatible with your Dom‘. Then she is taking into digital recorded, “Re-alignment phase one on subject three ay dash zero zero one. This phase is related to the re-aligning of the subject’s D/s to increase submissiveness, and aligning the subject’s SM to give the subject a masochistic profile.”
Then the video starts.
The submissive is naked, tied to St Andrews cross, their back is covered in criss-cross of angry red welts; their erection thrusting into the air hard and dripping as their Dominant brought the cane down on his ass, again, and again, and again. The sounds fill Matt’s ears, the WOOSH of the cane as it is pulled through the air with the forceful swing of the Dom’s arm; the CRACK as the cane connects with the skin of the submissive raising another red welt across their body. The submissive’s cock never flags; remaining hard and throbbing until the Dom tells him to come. The submissive releases their load on the floor before them, just from their Dominants command and the feel of the cane on their body.
Matt can’t help but think of Scott doing that to him, caning him until he comes; but he isn’t a masochist, he knows he isn’t, and yet his erection doesn’t soften. It hardens as his body tingles, confusing his thought and mixing his desires.
The scene on the video fades from the caning of the submissive on the cross and changes to the sub in a cage.
The sub is on his hands and knees; there is no room for the submissive to stand in the cramped space of the cage. His crouched figure filling the confines the metal barred enclosure; the welts across his back, his ass and thighs are clearly visible.
The Dominant walks towards the cage, dressed in black leather jeans and knee-high black leather engineering boots. The belt around the jeans is open and hanging loose; the button fly open, the Dominants cock hanging out, half-hard, the foreskin covering the head. Matt wonders if his Dominant is cut or uncut, he has seen Scott naked in the showers at school but then he didn’t pay attention to him, didn’t notice, he wishes he had, wishes he could recall what Scott’s cock looked like.
The Dominant holds his flaccid shaft over the head of the submissive and releases a flow of warm golden piss into the subs hair, then aims the flow over his submissive’s back before ordering the sub to turn his face upwards and open his mouth.
As the flow fills the waiting mouth of the submissive Matt gasps at the sensations tingling through him, the need to come; but he can’t, the ring fitted around his hard shaft stopping any chance of release. His mind full of images of Scott flooding his body, his mouth, marking him as Scott’s property.
The scene on the video fades from the cage; a series of other scenes play out between the Dominant and his submissive in the video before Matt.
+The submissive in bondage, legs held spread, body arched over backwards, a row of pegs lining each side of the submissive torso; the Dominant playing his fingers over the pegs before sharply pulling the string connecting them to rip them from the subs body.
+The submissive again tied to the cross as the Dominant strikes his upper back, ass and thighs with two floggers, the leather tails raising the heated red blush to the submissive’s skin.
+The submissive crawling along behind his Dominant, naked with his balls locked in a humbler; the Dominant takes a light flogger and begins to whip the submissive’s balls with it.
+The submissive gagged, collared with hands cuffed at his back, kneeling over his Dominant as he raises and lowers himself on his Dominant’s cock.
Each scene is played out in Matt’s head; replacing the Dom and sub in the video with Scott and himself. His body singing with the need of his Master’s... no his Dominant’s touch, his Dom’s permission to fall over the edge.
The video stops. He is disconnected from the wires, the plug is removed from his body; but the ring is left locked around his hard shaft as he is returned to his white room. He sleeps, he wakes and the process is repeated; and repeated, time after time.
---
Lydia was worried, and she didn’t like the look staring back at her from the mirror; it didn’t things to her face that made her look less than perfect. And she does not allow people to see her as less than perfect.
There is no answer to either Erica’s or Boyd’s phone. She’s even called Derek, yes she called Derek Hale he is their Alpha after all and he should know where his pack is; Derek hadn’t heard from them, he hadn’t been able to contact them either.
Nor had their parents heard from them; they’ve reported them missing at the Sheriff’s office, it’s been more than twenty four hours now.
Derek is meeting up with Allison and Jed after he’s viewed an apartment with Stiles. They know that Allison’s father and grandfather had held them in the basement. They found out that Rebeccah had freed them so they are going to try and track their scent, hoping that there is still a clear enough trace of it for Derek and Jed to follow.
Derek told her to wait until she hears from one of them. Like hell, she’ll be there too. They maybe Derek’s betas, but they are her subs.
---
Melissa is sitting on Peter’s lap on her couch, his arms around her protectively. It’s been so long since she felt the need of someone else to protect her.
When he arrived to take her out for their coffee date she had been so on edge, so nervous and jumping at anything he clearly knew something was wrong. When he asked her, the concern in his voice the pleading in his eyes made her just breakdown and tell him everything through sobs and tears.
So now they are sitting quietly in her home, her head resting on his shoulder as he pets her hair; then the doorbell rings. Melissa tenses in Peter’s arms.
“It’s okay,” his voice calm and soothing, “I’ll answer it.”
Peter can smell the arrogance before he opens the door; the man reeks of it, standing there in his jeans and tweed jacket, the sneer curled on his lips.
“Does my ex-wife know what a mad dog she’s allowing to fuck her?”
“Shut up,” Mr McCall commands as Peter is about comment; Peter is surprised to find himself closing his mouth, remaining silent and complying with the command. McCall pushes Peter back towards the living room where Melissa is. Peter is about to retaliate when McCall sprays him with something from an aerosol can, then the scent hits him; wolfsbane.
---
As he came to everything around him was foggy, there was a constant high-pitched whine in his head; he couldn’t quite focus and everything was white. He tried to lift his arms but they would barely move from his sides. Trying to raise his head to look he realised that his head was being held back; there was a collar around his neck, chained to whatever he was laying on top of.
He turned his head as much as he could, casting his eyes down to look at his wrists; it was difficult to focus but they too were cuffed and chained to metal table he was on. He tried to rip the leather cuffs from the metal chains; straining all his strength into the task, but he couldn’t.
Raising his head as far as the collar and chains would allow he gazed down his body. He was naked; his skin dark against the shiny metal of the table and the whiteness of the room. His legs were also cuffed and chained.
There were questions buzzing around in Boyd’s head; questions that he couldn’t quite grasp, that he couldn’t quite make into anything more than nebulous wisps that barely could be thought.
Why was it so difficult to think?
Why couldn’t he focus on anything?
What was the noise buzzing in his head?
Where the hell was he?
And where was Erica?
A voice. He could make out a voice; it was distorted, almost as if he was underwater. It was a female voice, he didn’t recognise it. Then he became aware of something, the woman speaking was in the room with him. He heard the click-clack sound of her heels on the hard surface of the floor as she walked towards him; he vision was still blurred and she was indistinct, except for the copper red hair, cut short, and the white of the lab coat she was wearing.
The chains holding him down rattled as the instinct to cover his lower region kicked in; but there was no give or reach, and his hands floundered at his sides.
“Stay calm,” there was no emotion to the words, “you’ll still be feeling disoriented, vision and hearing will be affected. It is possible that you are having difficulty with focusing and attention.”
“I... foggy... noise...” he couldn’t put the words together; he wanted to say ‘I can’t think, everything looks foggy, I hear a whining noise’. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Don’t worry,” the red headed woman in the white coat stated, “It will pass three dash one one seven. It is just an after effect of the procedure. We have fitted a small implant in the back of your neck to the spinal cord. It sends a small electrical charge to keep you from being able to utilise your supernatural abilities.” What procedure? Implant attached to his spinal cord? Was she referring to him as ‘three dash one one seven’?
“We’ve fitted a similar device to three dash one one six, the Type-3 female that was captured with you. We assume she is your mate. I’m going to check on her now.”
Type-3 female captured with him; it could only be Erica. Erica is here somewhere too.
She turned and walked away, her white coat blurring into the white walls; he could only tell where she was from the red of her hair, and the click-clack of her shoes as she strode. There was a WOOSH and HISS; as if air was rushing into a vacuum. He presumed it to be some kind of door opening; then she was gone.
He doesn’t know where he and Erica are, who the people that have them are, or what they are doing. The only thing he does know is that they need to escape.