And finally, Connor’s POV again! Lol. It only took 10 chapters. :D It's a very brief interlude, but hopefully fills in a few things (like how Connor's been surviving the way he is).
Master of the House
Interlude
He remembered pain and hopelessness and despair. He remembered blood and pressure and something wet inside him that he didn’t want-didn’t need-nonononoNO.
He remembered stretching and an unwanted rippling in his belly and something trailing down his thighs and...
He remembered pain, of his breath leaving his body in one giant burst because he was...was—
This was punishment. This was punishment for the, for losing the—
He hadn’t wanted it in the first place, but he never meant to lose it. It was the only thing that didn’t hate him, that didn’t love to make him miserable and didn’t hurt his friends, his people, his family and...
Everything was gray. He was...so tired. Too tired to protect those he loved. Too tired to protect those he could love.
What was the point anyways? Nothing worked. Everything turned to dust.
Faces swam in front of his gaze and talked at him. That doctor. His husband.
They thought his mind gone, that he was dying. And he wasn’t, but he wished he were.
Better to simply be discarded.
At least if he were discarded, he would finally be free of this bed, these walls, this air.
The servants would not have to come by twice a day to spoon broth into him. The doctor would not have to prod him once a week. And he could sleep.
He hoped his dreams would be peaceful. He hoped he would dream of the forests that he grew up in, the lush grass against the soles of his feet, the brush of bark in his hand as he flew through the trees like the birds he had once adored.
He’d wanted to be an eagle once when he had been young, when his mother was still alive.
And so he waited to sleep, to rest.
But then a new face came. And this one was young, gentle, kind.
Familiar.
So familiar.
He knew him. He knew that man!
A sharpshooter, an eager voice wanting to set young boys free from forced enlistment.
A man who bravely fought beside him.
His recruit. An Omega like him.
Clipper...
He was talking to him, whispering softly, begging him to wake up.
And, for the first time in months, Connor wanted to.
I am awake, he wanted to reply, to shout.
He wanted to throw his arms about the man and hug him, to know that he was real and that he hadn’t lost everything and that there was still something left to fight for.
But he was tired. Too tired.
His arms would not lift, his body would not move and his throat would not work. His body rebelled against his wishes, and all he could was lay there, in the bed where he had been raped, in the room he was a prisoner of, in the house of his jailer and tormentor.
He was so afraid that Clipper would go away, that he’d lose him again, like he’d lost everyone else...
But then the servants came. And...
...and they took him out!
Out of that bed. Out of that maddening room.
And they brought him outside!
For the first time in a year, Connor smelled the scent of fresh grass.
The warm sun against him, the cool breeze upon his face, bark of an oak behind his back, grass underneath his fingers and a warm tongue licking at him.
It was overwhelming.
He wanted to cry.
But there was Clipper, and he was telling him something.
Something about Stephane and Deborah and...James. Who was this James?
His husband? Clipper had wed?
A Templar then, one of them.
Connor felt a brief flare of anger.
But then, he listened. And he heard. And he absorbed.
There was little else that he could do.
But as he lay there, entranced by the tenor of Clipper’s voice, by the softness of the fur against him, he began to feel something else.
It was...it was...
He didn’t know what it was, but for the first time in over a month, he felt himself beginning to rouse.
Master of the House - part 13
It's a very brief interlude, but hopefully fills in a few things (like how Connor's been surviving the way he is).
Master of the House
Interlude
He remembered pain and hopelessness and despair. He remembered blood and pressure and something wet inside him that he didn’t want-didn’t need-nonononoNO.
He remembered stretching and an unwanted rippling in his belly and something trailing down his thighs and...
He remembered pain, of his breath leaving his body in one giant burst because he was...was—
This was punishment. This was punishment for the, for losing the—
He hadn’t wanted it in the first place, but he never meant to lose it. It was the only thing that didn’t hate him, that didn’t love to make him miserable and didn’t hurt his friends, his people, his family and...
Everything was gray. He was...so tired. Too tired to protect those he loved. Too tired to protect those he could love.
What was the point anyways? Nothing worked. Everything turned to dust.
Faces swam in front of his gaze and talked at him. That doctor. His husband.
They thought his mind gone, that he was dying. And he wasn’t, but he wished he were.
Better to simply be discarded.
At least if he were discarded, he would finally be free of this bed, these walls, this air.
The servants would not have to come by twice a day to spoon broth into him. The doctor would not have to prod him once a week. And he could sleep.
He hoped his dreams would be peaceful. He hoped he would dream of the forests that he grew up in, the lush grass against the soles of his feet, the brush of bark in his hand as he flew through the trees like the birds he had once adored.
He’d wanted to be an eagle once when he had been young, when his mother was still alive.
And so he waited to sleep, to rest.
But then a new face came. And this one was young, gentle, kind.
Familiar.
So familiar.
He knew him. He knew that man!
A sharpshooter, an eager voice wanting to set young boys free from forced enlistment.
A man who bravely fought beside him.
His recruit. An Omega like him.
Clipper...
He was talking to him, whispering softly, begging him to wake up.
And, for the first time in months, Connor wanted to.
I am awake, he wanted to reply, to shout.
He wanted to throw his arms about the man and hug him, to know that he was real and that he hadn’t lost everything and that there was still something left to fight for.
But he was tired. Too tired.
His arms would not lift, his body would not move and his throat would not work. His body rebelled against his wishes, and all he could was lay there, in the bed where he had been raped, in the room he was a prisoner of, in the house of his jailer and tormentor.
He was so afraid that Clipper would go away, that he’d lose him again, like he’d lost everyone else...
But then the servants came. And...
...and they took him out!
Out of that bed. Out of that maddening room.
And they brought him outside!
For the first time in a year, Connor smelled the scent of fresh grass.
The warm sun against him, the cool breeze upon his face, bark of an oak behind his back, grass underneath his fingers and a warm tongue licking at him.
It was overwhelming.
He wanted to cry.
But there was Clipper, and he was telling him something.
Something about Stephane and Deborah and...James. Who was this James?
His husband? Clipper had wed?
A Templar then, one of them.
Connor felt a brief flare of anger.
But then, he listened. And he heard. And he absorbed.
There was little else that he could do.
But as he lay there, entranced by the tenor of Clipper’s voice, by the softness of the fur against him, he began to feel something else.
It was...it was...
He didn’t know what it was, but for the first time in over a month, he felt himself beginning to rouse.