After a long hiatus I have decided to rewrite the sequel I had written for Whispering Heart since so many were unhappy with it. If you read the original version of Where's Freedom, forget every little detail! This is a completely new idea with far less drama and much more fluff!

Where's Freedom: A New Beginning.

Blanketed in the shadows of nightfall, Paul Lahote sat slumped over the island in the palace's kitchen. The clock on the stainless steel oven flashed 3:12 AM – the wolf too drunk to care about the early hour. He drank straight from the bottle of one of His Majesty's vintage whiskeys that was likely worth more than his pathetic existence. He scoffed at the glass bottle before he guzzled multiple mouthfuls, feeling rather insulted that something that would inevitably turn to piss was better than him. Then again, Paul felt akin to a steaming pile of shit.

"At least shit has its uses," He grumbled to himself as he lit up a cigarette, the end of it glowing orange.

Paul fell into an easy routine of alternating between gulping amber fluid and sucking smoke into his lungs while carelessly flicking ash to the floor or the cool marble countertop. He startled when light suddenly shone from the crystal chandelier above him, although he wasn't at all surprised when Prince Ryan Black pulled up a seat next to him.

The prince snugly held his fuzzy hot pink robe closed over his chest as if frightened that should his creamy caramel coloured skin makes an appearance it would deeply offend the drunken man in front of him. Nevertheless, Ryan gazed fondly upon his imprint with a hidden air of pain behind his vivid green eyes. He'd known long before he'd ever phased for the first time that Paul would be the man his soul would tie itself to. Yet, what he could have never foreseen was how intricately entwined their souls would become. It wasn't some pretty entrapment, it was tangled knotted mess. The slim golden roots of his soul had fused with Paul's thick ugly black ones – not even in death would they part.

It wasn't that Paul's soul was dark, no, quite the contrary. Angry and broken as Paul was, he remained beautiful inside and out. His soul was simply a stormy sea tarnished by an oil spill. The life inside it was dying, and had already been mostly dead by the time the Ryan had arrived. The young man though motivated, hardly had the provisions for a cleanup of an area so large and destroyed. He was but one man, and despite what fairy tales had led him to believe, no amount of love was powerful enough to fix a sleeping beauty. Ryan certainly was a prince, but that didn't make his kiss magical.

Paul swallowed a mouthful of whiskey before filling his lungs with cancerous smoke as he shuddered uncomfortably under Ryan's intense gaze. His angel always had a way of looking at him like he was everything that was right in to world. In reality, Paul knew himself to be the exact opposite. He was a disgusting and discarded piece of evidence that men are very capable of doing sick things to one another.

Paul sighed, smoke rising from his lungs as he forced himself to turn his head and look at the prince. He instantly wished he hadn't. He didn't feel at all deserving to be in the presence of someone so precious, so pure, and who had a heart that knew nothing but kindness. Ryan was so breathtakingly gorgeous, and not just in the superficial sense. He was untarnished by the woes of life, which more often than not left Paul astounded by the young man's sheer optimism. Life to the prince was something to be thankful for, to be cherished, and not to be taken for granted. Though, Ryan had yet to learn what Paul knew to be fact. Life wasn't some priceless gift, it wasn't some beautifully mystic thing, it was a curse.

Paul guiltily swallowed more of the alcoholic liquid, desperate to make his pretty imprint nothing but a blur in front of him. There wasn't enough shame in the world to add up to the amount Paul felt for imprinting on a six year old child. However, the person staring back at him with utter love and devotion wasn't a child anymore, he was a twenty-one year old man – a man like no other.

Paul wasn't exactly sure how it was possible for a male to be so enrapturing. Although, the prince hardly resembled a man, but rather something in between that and a woman. Ryan's brown satiny tresses that often hung in waves were currently tied to the back of his head in a messy bun, a few loose strands framing his face. Yet, it was the freckled bridge of his button nose that reminded Paul of Ryan's former youth. However, the prince's full sultry lips reminded him nothing of the sort. Those pink luscious lips were a provocative sight indeed and entirely too sinful. Paul didn't blame his angel for bearing such a debauched display, but he did automatically want to wear the blood of any man that wanted to take pleasure in their company. His angel was a virgin, and Paul would kill to keep him that way.

Ryan recognized the fearless expression that Paul abruptly donned. The cogs of Paul's mind were rapidly turning and had somehow churned up the feeling of possession. Paul was naturally a possessive wolf and the prince couldn't blame him, not with his imprint being a prisoner to his own history. It at times, however, could feel a bit like Ryan was being smothered… a bit like he was suffocating. Ryan held no resentment for his wolf, although the amount of times he'd physically had to pull Paul off another male for giving him a look Paul didn't approve of soared in the dozens.

The violently protective behaviour began when Ryan hit puberty. Before only a select few men were threats, then suddenly every man was. Every glance his way was one of a predator, every smile a lecherous one, and if a boy somehow managed to get close enough to ask him out on a date, Paul pitched such a fit Ryan didn't dare go. Ryan's parents, of course, encouraged him to meet guys and girls of all sorts, though Paul made it next to impossible. He scared everybody away, even the females. Yet, on the rare occasion Ryan had managed to leave the palace without Paul in tow, all he could imagine was the poor man sitting in his tiny room full of labels and colour coordination sick with worry for him, and it in turn made the prince just as sick with guilt, if not more so, and he'd inevitably quickly return home.

As if clockwork, Prince Ryan shifted into his wolf form for the first time on his sixteenth birthday, only to imprint on Paul Lahote when he blew out his birthday candles – all his previous birthday wishes come true. Paul may have hindered his social life, but he was still his mate: a fact Ryan had known since he was a small child. Later that same evening his parents sat him down, informing him that Paul had imprinted on him many years prior. With that knowledge, everything about Paul's behaviour made sense, and it all felt like destiny until the wolf went and opened his big mouth, proclaiming that he wasn't Ryan's mate, but something else entirely, of which Paul hadn't a clue. A body guard? A best friend? A big brother? Those were all good suggestions, Ryan bitterly supposed. But he had countless body guards, a best friend named Emily Uley, and a wonderful big brother, James Yorkie-Black – a sweet, if not strange little boy the kings adopted when Ryan was eight and James ten.

The prince had everything he could ever possibly want or need, except a mate. Paul's denial was frustrating, yet understandable. What wasn't understandable was that Paul expected his imprint to go through life alone, that what Paul had to offer was enough. Ryan had vague memories of Paul speaking about him one day growing up, marrying a pretty woman, and having lots of puppies. Ryan marrying a woman was absurd in and of itself, even as a wee boy, but Paul's opinion on that matter at least seemed to have waned. Although, of course, for Paul's precious imprint, a man would never suffice, and eventually Paul was of the firm belief that Ryan was too good for anybody, that he simply didn't need a lover and their platonic imprint was enough to fill any sort of void Ryan might have. Paul desired nothing more than for his angel to simply go through life as an untainted, beautiful virgin. Ryan didn't like that idea, and he frequently wondered if his wolf purposely tuned his voice out when he expressed his discontentment with their arrangement.

Ryan shook the negative thoughts from his mind. It didn't matter what he wanted. What mattered was his imprint. He'd be whatever Paul needed him to be, and what Paul needed him to be was an angel. A ray of light. A sign of hope. A reason to live. It was a lot of pressure, though the young prince took it in stride and smiled faintly at Paul as the drunken wolf puffed on the shrinking cigarette. When spotting no pity in the smile, Paul tried to return it, though only managed to look as if he were grimacing.

"Are you aware of just how darling you are to me?" Ryan queried, his soft masculine voice having the barest hint of a feminine lilt. Paul nodded, perhaps a bit dumbly as he looked off to the side, refusing to meet the prince's gaze once more.

Ryan reached out to caress Paul's stubbly copper cheek, and much to the prince's pleasure his imprint indulged him by letting his face fall into his palm to give it a nuzzle. "I don't know what I pity more," Ryan sighed. "Your poor old liver, or myself for being awake at this ungodly hour."

Paul rolled his glassy brown eyes as he dropped his cigarette into one of the many empty beer bottles strewn about in front of him. Smoke wafted through the brown glass lip of the bottle, the sound of the fiery orange tip sizzling as it faded on the damp bottom. "I'm not that old," he slurred, taking a swift gulp of whiskey. "Still handsome as ever."

"Got that right," Ryan quipped as he cocked his head, gently moving Paul's head by the chin from one side to the other to observe his dark features. "You're thirty-four and don't look, what, a day over nineteen? Twenty?" he mused. "How old do I look? I'm still cute as a button, right?"

Paul gave his imprint a lopsided grin. "You're stunning."

The prince snorted indignantly, yet playfully. "And you're drunk."

Paul took a swig of whiskey and curtly nodded. "You're stunning even when I'm not drunk." His words were garbled and unclear, though Ryan didn't struggle to decipher them. Paul had made a habit of being intoxicated and his incoherent speech had become an unfortunate and distinctly piteous second language that they both spoke fluently in.

Paul shifted closer, his eyes becoming intently focused on Ryan as he tightly gripped his shoulder over the pink material of his housecoat. "You're mine, you know." It was a statement, not a question, nevertheless Ryan nodded.

"I know."

"All mine," the wolf practically growled.

Ryan nodded once more. "I'm all yours, Paul."

"I won't share."

"I'd never expect you to."

Paul shook his head, snarling to himself like he had something painful stuck inside it and was trying to shake it loose. "But your fucking parents, they expect… they expect me to, to…" he was struggling to find the words, or perchance just didn't want to say them, didn't want to think them. "To- to let you go. Let some sick pervert put his filthy hands all over you! I won't… won't allow it, Ryan. No goddamn way! You're mine and I'll keep you safe, keep you pure, and clean, and happy. Keep you untouched… unspoiled… undefiled." Paul's hand roughly clenched Ryan's shoulder causing the young wolf prince to wince in pain. "If any man tried to hurt you… kiss you… use your body to satisfy his own… I'd, well, I'd kill him. I'd fucking kill him. I'd kill him for you, Ryan. I'd do anything for you. I promise." And that was a good example of one of the many reasons why Ryan had never dated. Paul would never lie to him, his word was as good as gold, and the prince felt no need to create a serial killer which specialized in murdering handsome young men that fancied kissing girly princes.

Ryan had to look away from his wolf as he sucked in a deep, unsteady breath to calm himself. "You're beyond paranoid. You act like every man has hidden rapist tendencies and is just dying to jump my bones. Despite what you may think I am not everybody's cup of tea. Most gay men want to date men. I may be male, but I'm not exactly bursting with testosterone here. I've had lesbians flirt with me. Lesbians, Paul."

Paul glared at the prince, agony warping his handsome features. "You'd get torn apart in prison!" he raged while stumbling to his feet and pointing at Ryan with an unsteady hand. "Men are sick! They're sadistic!" he cried. "Don't you understand what they'd do to you?!" He exclaimed with hot, angry tears gathering along the rims of his eyes. "I've seen what men do to one another when they think they're without consequence. I've fel…" He abruptly halted his slurred speech, mouth hanging open for a moment before he blinked away his tears and forced himself to continue where he left off. "Felt what they do to one another. I barely lasted six fucking months, but you, Ryan, you wouldn't last a goddamn week!"

Ryan silently slipped off his stool and pressed his warm, dainty hands that had freshly manicured nails to Paul's cotton clad chest. In essence, this really had nothing to do with Ryan. It was all about Paul, and Ryan couldn't believe it took himself until this very moment to realize that. He'd always understood that what happened in Paul's past was what made him so protective, though what he'd failed to notice was that Paul's body may have physically been removed from prison, but his mind never left. He was still there. Still that scared puppy trapped in a cage with evil men, except now, his imprint was there with him. When an unknown male approached Ryan it wasn't a potential friend, it was another inmate.

The prince gently slid his arms around Paul's waist and rested his cheek on the midsection of a taut, muscular chest – the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to the thin cotton fibers of Paul's sleeveless shirt. Ryan didn't know what to say, so instead he said nothing at all. Soon enough he felt his imprint's bulky arms tightly wrap their way around his slim shoulders. "I'll keep you safe," Paul mumbled, arms squeezing possessively as he dipped his head so he could nuzzle his nose into the prince's strawberry scented hair. "I'll never let a man touch you, angel."

"I know," Ryan sighed, lithe fingers tracing comforting circles over his wolf's brawny back.

"You're mine. You have me and I have you. That's all we need," Paul's voice was thick with emotion, as if he didn't quite believe what he was saying. "Right?"

Ryan strained his neck to look up at Paul's face, though catching sight of tears on his imprint's cheeks made his heart ache. Ryan frowned, lifting a hand to wipe away the evidence of Paul's hurt. "Right?" the wolf repeated. "It'll always be just us. The two of us. You and me."

The prince nodded. "You and me, Paul. Always."

A rare smile donned Paul's lips. It was barely there, yet it still made the prince's heart flutter. "I love you," he murmured while tucking a chaste kiss into Ryan's hair.

The prince exhaled a heavy breath of air and closed his eyes. "Please. More," he breathlessly begged. "Give me more kisses." His words didn't fall on deaf ears, and his own sparkling tears gathered behind the lids of his eyes when he felt Paul's rough callused palms cradle his face as if something precious and delicate.

When soft warm lips pressed to his forehead his breath stuttered, and when another kiss was placed on the curve of his elegant cheekbone he forgot how to breathe entirely. The prince's eyes slowly opened, curled long lashes fanning gracefully, and he was able to watch his wolf lean in to touch perfect lips to the tip of his freckled nose.

"I love you too," Ryan's speech was barely above a whisper, but it didn't matter, Paul heard him. Paul knew what the young prince's heart and soul felt – Ryan, himself, could practically hear them screaming the words for him.

Bittersweet tears escaped him when a final kiss was laid by the corner of his mouth. Ryan could have almost sworn Paul's lips faintly brushed the edge of his own; it made his heart both beat with desire and dread. Desire because he so desperately wanted to feel his imprint's lips upon his own, and dread since he knew he never would.

So, what did you think? Are you sticking around for the second chapter?