Page 5 of Primal Bonds 1

I shut my eyes, suddenly feeling the pain overwhelming me. I took in another deep breath, hoping it’d help. It didn’t.

Oh, fuck…

I lifted my head, and it was then that I saw a tall, lean figure standing there a little distance away. Hope soared within me. This was it. My only chance. When he turned on his heel, I knew I had to act fast. I said weakly, “Please, help me.”

My pleading must have reached him because he paused and then turned to me once again. I heard a soft “Fuck,” from him before he came over to me.

Kneeling close, I could only stare at him. He was gorgeous, with brown hair, smoky eyes, aquiline nose, high cheekbones, strong jawline, and firm lips—a face carved out of granite.

The moment my gaze met his, I felt this sense of warmth and comfort washing over me, a feeling I hadn’t felt for a long time. A feeling I was sure I had forgotten until that moment.

He gathered me into his arms and then picked me up. Beyond grateful for his kindness, I said, “Thank you.”

He didn’t respond. As he carried me toward the street, his expression was stone-cold. Perhaps he, too, like the others, were repulsive of me because I was a beastkin? Although I could admit I didn’t care.

Along the street, I didn’t miss the fact that people were staring at the man, in admiration and appreciation, and then me, either in astonishment or abhorrence, being carried in the man’s arms. My kind weren’t supposed to be seen out in the open like this. Our place was either behind the wall of the institute or deep in the dark alley of the neighborhood. Me, with my distinctive appearance of white hair, fox ears, and fangs, was an eyesore, which most didn’t appreciate.

Despite that I was not ashamed for being a beastkin, I still found myself hiding my face against the man’s chest nonetheless. Having those intense, disapproving gazes on me always felt too raw and uncomfortable, and I’d rather not endure the unpleasantness of it. As exhausted as I was, I chose to close my eyes, shutting the world out of my sight, out of my mind, and soon, I allowed the darkness to take over me.

2

Adam

Adam Sullivan didn’t usually pay attention to that sort of thing—beastkin lying unconscious, possibly dead, in the back alley of this wonderful, twenty million infested inhabitants of New York City. The sight—morbid and disheartening—was a normal occurrence in this part of the world. He’d passed five or six on his way to the car from work, and he wouldn’t even bat an eye, just like everyone else. One got used to the sight. One got desensitized to that sort of shit pretty quickly no matter where one lived.

This was the current world. There were the uber-wealthy living the life of luxury with no worries, the upper middle class who had a good job and high income to afford a nice home and a few holidays a year. There were the middle class who worked nine-to-five to pay for their mortgage and bills plus feed their family, the poor who ran around and worked two to three jobs, scraping by just to make ends meet, and then there were the beastkin who had been rejected by society, forced to livein the streets and sleep in the dark alleys and went about begging for survival. That was if they weren’t put into the institute first.

Beastkin—less than one percent of the population according to the latest census—was a dying race. Many considered that a blessing. The less there were of them, the better this world would be, because apparently, they contribute very little, if any, to society. They were considered parasites, this race of humans with small animal characteristics.

Even though Adam didn’t usually pay attention to this sort of thing, tonight was different. Tonight, his gaze involuntary shifted to that shitty dark alley and he caught sight of pale hair, fox ears, a slender body in torn clothing stained with dirt, and a face—pale, despondent, and damn beautiful, which caused his heart to seize.

The man stared at the boy, mesmerized. He didn’t miss the slow, heavy way the boy was breathing either. It looked painful, like each new breath was his last. The boy had probably been beaten up severely by some street gangs, which was not unusual. Beating up beastkin in the dark streets of New York City was the gangs’ pastime.

“Please,” a soft voice came his way. “Help me.”

Adam took in a deep breath and said, “Fuck!” His feet involuntarily turned and then moved toward the alleyway. Once he was standing inches away from the fox boy, he crouched down.

He gathered the boy into his powerful arms and then lifted him up. The boy felt light. He was probablystarving most of his life, which wasn’t surprising. He doubted the boy managed to feed himself regularly.

The boy gazed at him, and then he had to go and give Adam one of the loveliest smiles the man had ever received.

“Thank you,” he said weakly.

Adam didn’t reply. An impassionate expression on his face, he carried the boy out of the alleyway and into the open street where people strolled and mingled. The fact that many pairs of eyes were on him and the boy didn’t go amiss by Adam. He knew he was a sight to behold—a tall, leanly built man with a Greek godlike face that would have no problem gracing the covers of high fashion magazines or advertising posters for luxurious colognes and expensive suits, carrying a foxkin youth with striking white hair and wearing dirt-stained clothes. Shock was apparent on the many faces of those he passed.

Adam admitted his action was certainly unusual, as the normal procedure when one spotted a badly beaten-up beastkin in the street was to call the police and an ambulance and let them deal with the situation. Beastkin was a second citizen, and to stain one’s hand with them was something that people just didn’t do.

Adam ignoredthelooks that came his way and continued toward his car parked a block away.

He felt the boy burying his face against his chest, and he glanced down. Hurt and embarrassment played markedly on that beautiful face, and Adam noted tears lingering along the line of the thick lashes of the closed eyes. When he felt the boy going limp against him, heknew the boy had fallen unconscious, which didn’t surprise him. Adjusting the boy in his arms, he then turned a corner and entered the parking lot.

Thirty minutes later, he arrived at his luxurious penthouse in one of the most affluent neighborhoods. After pushing the door shut with his foot, he—with the unconscious fox boy in his arms—headed along the hallway into the open-plan living area where he laid the boy on the couch. Then he took off his suit jacket, threw that onto the armchair behind him and then he went down to his knees. He touched the back of his hand on the boy’s forehead.

Warm. Not hot. Good.

The boy fluttered his eyes open then, having gained his consciousness, and Adam shifted his gaze. Their eyes locked, the boy’s large and blue like the vast summer sky, while Adam’s were dark and smoky.

Adam felt something warm inside him stir as they stared at each other.

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