A Wolf will know when he comes along a suitable mate because the Wolf inside will only be focused on one thing: Mating. Claiming. Marking. During this time, a Wolf will be possessive of their intended, and will be wary of letting them out of their sight for anything. The claiming of one's intended is done through consummation, and the intended must be bitten at their peak. Once the intended has been marked, the Wolf will settle, allowing the human side to once again have control. After being claimed, the Mate will need to stay at the side of their wolf for a year, lest they waste away. The Mate's condition will worsen the longer away from their wolf they are. It begins with a feverish ache, which worsens steadily as the separation continues. When the Mate cannot bring themselves to move because of the pain, they soon drop into a coma. Once that point is reached, the Mate is lost. The Wolf generally has four days between the initial separation and his mate's comatose state. We don't know exactly why a Mate needs to be so close to their Wolf, but most of the Elders believe the Mate's soul is adapting to its joining with the Wolf. If the Mate leaves during the process, the soul is confused, missing its other half. Without a complete soul, the body begins to deteriorate rapidly. I think it's gibberish, personally. Becoming a Wolf's mate is a lesser version of the transformation. A Mate gains accelerated healing and greater strength from their Wolf, just as Wolves do after their first transformation. When a Wolf first changes, they need their creators (or parents), there to guide them through the process of it all. A Wolf needs to sense others of their kind around them. I believe this is what happens with a Mate, though on a much smaller scale.
-Arthur Spencer, Alpha.
Wolves and Mates.
Two weeks later:
Escaping Eliot was easier than he thought it'd be. Then again, he'd been stuck with the wolf for over two weeks. That was more than enough time to figure out what makes someone tick. He and Dean had been holed up in a Portland motel room, watching over the team from a distance. And while he enjoyed spending time with the wolf, be it monitoring the team or fucking one another into the mattress, Dean needed his space. Space from the body pressing up against his every night in that king sized bed, space away from the wolf's long looks, and space away from what he'd begun to feel for the other man.
A day earlier in a diner a few miles outside of Portland, Oregon, Dean found the hunt. Cold Spring, New York. A man by the name of Jeremy Kortz disappeared on some dirt road leading to nowhere, leaving behind his car, the battery completely dead, and a whole lotta blood. Dean's brow furrowed as he thought back to when he'd pulled Sam out of Stanford to help him find their dad, and the hunt John had been working on when he'd left Dean that message.
Going on a hunch in the diner while Eliot had used the bathroom, Dean quickly pulled up older newspapers from Cold Spring on his phone. Using the search bar at the top of the website, he narrowed down the searches. Over the past thirty years in Cold Spring, six men had gone missing. One in '82, another '88, the next in '96, the fourth in '02, fifth in '07, and now. Dean became excited at the thought of a new hunt, the feel of the black-top rolling under his tires, the space the open road gave him.
That night, after watching to make sure the team got home safe after their latest case, Dean turned towards the wolf, eyebrow cocked as he waited for Eliot to make his move. It didn't take long. The wolf was up and out of the scuffed wooden chair in seconds. In just moments, the wolf had Dean thrown on the bed, both wrists pinned above his head, heated blue eyes staring down into Dean's.
"Do you know how much I want you, hunter?" The fiery words were whispered against the thick tendon in Dean's neck, followed by a nip of teeth that had the hunter arching into the wolf, eyes falling closed and mouth opening on a silent moan.
"Look at what you do to me," Eliot growled, grinding his throbbing erection into Dean's pelvis.
In response, Dean's left calf wrapped around the wolf's hips, one booted foot hooking behind Eliot's knee. The wolf groaned as the motion allowed him to rut more easily into Dean's hip.
"What should I do with you?" the wolf asked between each light bite to Dean's neck.
"Make-" Gasp. "Me-oh, damn," A moan. "Come!" Dean cried out as Eliot's mouth moved back up, and the wolf placed a kiss on his jaw before he sucked blood to the surface, marking the skin.
"I'm sure we can arrange that,"
…
Four hours and three rounds of sex later, Dean stared at Eliot as the wolf slowly drifted off, heavy blue eyes blinking, once, twice, and finally they didn't open again. The wolf's breaths slowly evened out. Dean watched him with one half of his face buried in the pillow. Though Dean would never admit it, he loved watching Eliot sleep, shoulders completely relaxed, bare chest rising and falling easily, dark hair a sweaty mess around a peaceful face.
Dean waited another thirty minutes for the wolf to be deep in sleep before he slowly removed Eliot's hand from his ribs and leaned over to press his lips against the wolf's ear, whispering, "I'm going out to check on my bike,"
Eliot muttered something that Dean couldn't interpret, and snuggled deeper into his pillow as the hunter slowly moved from the bed to pull on the jeans that the wolf had thrown to the floor earlier. After shoving his feet into his boots and putting on his t-shirt, Dean grabbed his bag from under the bed and his leather jacket from the back of the desk chair. Throwing one last look over his shoulder at the sleeping wolf, Dean quickly opened the door and jogged out to the parking lot, where he slowly eased his bike off the back of Eliot's pickup and walked over to the street.
Stuffing his duffel into one of the saddlebags, Dean then shoved the helmet over his head before he swung his leg over the side of the bike and started it. He drove for about ten hours before he pulled off at a gas station to fuel up and empty his bladder. Pulling to a stop at pump seven, Dean hurriedly jumped off and darted for one of the bathrooms. He wrinkled his nose as he opened the door, the stench of stale urine and god knows what else hitting him in the face. He stepped inside the dirty bathroom anyway and tried to avoid several several questionable puddles on the grimy concrete floor.
As he relieved himself in a toilet that looked like it could give him STDs just by being within two feet of it, he studied the graffitied walls, taking in the numbers and names listed, laughing when a side note to one of the names read 'Don't call this hoe. She gave me the clap.' and then the note underneath it, 'Well, if you woulda wrapped your meat, you'd been fine!"
Snorting, Dean zipped up his jeans and headed for the door, but paused when his phone began to buzz in his jeans pocket. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, he frowned when he saw the name on the caller ID alongside several missed calls. Eliot. He sighed and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He knew he'd have to answer eventually, but right now, he had a ghost to hunt.
…
Dean was shivering in his leather jacket by the time he'd entered Cold Spring, New York. Pulling into a small Mom-and-Pop diner on the edge of town, Dean removed the key and knocked the kickstand into place with one smooth motion. He took a moment to rest his heavy arms and legs as he tugged the helmet off and set it behind him. He'd been driving or the better part of two days, and he was exhausted. And cold. And stiff. He really needed coffee.
Groaning as he swung off the bike, Dean stuffed the keys into his jeans pocket and tugged the jacket tighter around his chest, burying his chin into the collar. "I'll be damned if I let a bout of the sniffles knock me off the hunt," he grumbled to himself, and he jerked the diner door open.
The warm air smacking him in the face was absolutely heavenly, and if he moaned slightly at the feel of the heat on his cheeks, no one needed to know. The bell chimed above the door, signalling his presence, and drawing the attention of several of the diner's patrons.
Ignoring the looks, Dean groaned as he let himself slide down into the booth closest to the door. Collapsing back against the cracked leather seat, he let out a heavy sigh. It was only a moment before a rail of a waitress came over and asked him what he would like to drink and spewed the evening's special. Deciding to forgo the tuna casserole, Dean ordered a coffee, black.
After waiting for the waitress to turn away, Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and winced at the six missed calls and three voicemails from Eliot, and one newer, lone call from Parker. As he began to set the phone down, it vibrated in his palm, Wolf popping up across the screen. Dean let the phone slide onto the table and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he would eventually answer the phone, but not now. Not when he felt like the people in the diner could hear the pounding in his head.
He jumped when the waitress set the coffee mug down onto the table top with a small clank and poured piping hot coffee into the mug. Dean looked up and caught her dark brown eyes flick to the still vibrating phone and back to him, a slight frown settled on her lips. Dean ignored the look on her face in favor of picking up the mug, and wrapping ice-cold fingers around the hot ceramic.
Dean once again waited for the waitress to turn her back before he picked up the phone and pulled up the voicemail. He put it to his ear, the cool screen against his cheek making him jump slightly. He ripped the phone away with Eliot's roar.
"Where the fuck are you?! Seriously, I wake up and you're not fucking here!"
The message ended, and left Dean shaking his head. He deleted the message, and went to the next as he sipped at the still steaming hot coffee. He played the next message, though kept the phone a safe distance away from his ear.
"I- look, I'm sorry for yelling in the last message, I- I just need you here, okay? I'm worried. Please call me back."
Dean blinked back tears he hadn't realized filled eyes and cleared his throat. The deep rumble of the Wolf's voice made him feel homesick, something he hadn't felt in over twenty five years. He had been barely away from the wolf for twenty four hours. Pushing the unknown-and, to be honest, terrifying-feeling away, Dean played the last message.
"Listen, I have no Earthly clue where you could be at this moment, but- there's some- fuck! There's something very important I need to tell you, and I can't do it over the fucking phone!"
His stomach dropped with that last message, and he let the phone hit the table with a dull thunk!. He rubbed roughly at his eyes and took a big gulp of the coffee, letting the liquid slightly burn his tongue before he swallowed it down. Downing the rest of the cup, Dean watched the phone as it lit up and vibrated against the table-top. What was the wolf hiding from him?
"I'd answer that. The person on the other end of that line is concerned about you," an airy voice commented from beside him.
Dean looked up into the dark brown eyes of his waitress and gave a half smile as he pushed his now empty coffee cup towards her.
The waitress' frown deepened, but she poured him another cup and walked away. Dean sighed with relief at her departure, and took another gulp of coffee before setting the cup down and throwing a ten dollar bill on the table next to it. After grabbing the phone, Dean forced his exhausted legs underneath him and pushed out of the diner.
…
Dean thanked whatever God there was that the library was still open as he stumbled up front steps and through the glass door. Dean's muscles ached from the cold as he made his way up to the older lady behind the counter with salt and pepper hair. When he leaned heavily against the hardwood, sharp blue eyes darted up over horn-rimmed glasses to give him a no-nonsense look.
"Welcome to Cold Spring Library, is there anything I can assist you with?"
He cleared his throat before speaking. "Can you point me in the direction of the old newspapers?"
She pushed the glasses up the bridge of her nose and pointed to three huge wooden bookshelves in the back. "Behind the fiction section is a computer that holds the Cold Spring Gazette. A few years ago, we scanned all of the papers we had onto the computer. The newspapers date back to the late 1800s."
"Thanks," Dean said with a light slap on the desk as he shoved away.
He could feel the librarian's eyes piercing into the back of his neck as he made his way towards the fiction section. Dean didn't relax until he ducked behind one of the shelves, covered from her glare. Finally standing in front of a dinosaur computer, Dean peeked over his shoulder one last time before he pulled the wooden desk chair out and plopped down into it.
"I'm getting too old for this shit," he groaned. Smacking the power button on the monitor, Dean waited impatiently for the computer to boot up. As he waited, his phone vibrated once in his pocket, signalling that he had a text. Fumbling it out, Dean looked at the screen, muttering a curse under his breath as the bright screen swam in and out of focus. Squeezing his eyes closed and shaking his head, he looked at the screen once again.
Wolf: Please call me back, Dean. You're in serious danger, and I can help you, if you just let me know where you're at.
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and threw the phone down in favor to jiggle the mouse on the now loaded up computer. Double, then triple clicking on the only icon on the desktop, Dean anxiously waited for the newspapers to pull up, and sighed in relief when he saw that there was a search bar. After typing the word Suicide into the bar, Dean once again played the waiting game, and began tapping his fingers on the wooden desk in front of the keyboard.
He instantly perked up when the computer spit back a total of just five results back at him. Of the five, three were men. Choosing the more recent of the two women, Dean double clicked on the article, growling under his breath as it once again made him wait. Dean didn't like waiting; he preferred to shoot first and asked questions later. He just didn't have the patience for this shit.
…
Eliot paced the motel room, from the king size bed to the bathroom and back. Over and over again. His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides as he tried to figure out a way to locate the Hunter. He'd already tried to track Dean's scent, but lost him two and a half miles outside of the city. He growled as he turned and shoved his fist into the wall next to the door.
"Dammit!" He roared. If only he could get Dean to pick up that damn phone, then he'd be able to find his location.
If Eliot didn't find the Hunter soon, Dean could quite possibly be dead when Eliot finally did locate him.
…
Alice Worth. That was his woman in white. A woman who'd shot her two sons in a fit of rage, then realizing what she'd done, turned the gun back on herself. Her husband, Bert, found her and their children in the kitchen, dinner still warm on the table. Dean clicked out of the newspapers and stood up.
He let out a shaky "Fuck" as his knees threatened to buckle and a wave of dizziness washed over him, his vision blurring in and out of focus.
Dean gripped the desk for support. The bite of the sharp corner into his right palm brought focus back sluggishly. He took a deep breath and slowly stood, still keeping a tight hold on the desk. He shook his head slightly, bringing his left hand up to scrub at his scalp.
"What the hell is going on with me?" he grumbled as he finally found the strength to release his death grip and stand on his own. "Must have been something I ate." Dean intentionally ignored the fact he he hadn't had anything on his stomach for twenty-four hours besides the diner coffee.
His phone vibrated once in his pocket, signalling he'd received a text message, and he paused on the cracked cement steps to pull the phone out of his jeans pocket, squinting at the bright screen.
Wolf: Dean. Please, call me back. I have something… very important I need to explain.
Dean stared at the message for a moment before his foggy brain came up with a response to the message.
Hunter: I'm on a hunt right now. Talk to ya when done.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket and stumbled down the steps, leaning heavily on the railing on the way down, trying his best not to trip. Everything was spinning in circles, and he felt like he was going to be sick. Once off the steps, he collapsed on the wall of waist-high bricks.
"The hunt can wait," he groaned to himself, clutching his head in his hands. Dean paused, forehead wrinkling slightly in confusion. "First time I've said that."
He sat there on the cool stone for a moment, shivering in his jacket before he made himself stand, holding back a grunt at the pain that shot through his body with the action. Hunching over, he hobbled over to the cracked parking lot that held his motorcycle, fumbling in his pocket for the keys.
Once he got to the black beauty, it took four tries to get his leg over the bike, the last time being sheer luck and that he had a fistful of his jean leg to pull it over the side. He collapsed onto the bike, every muscle in his body screaming at him for even thinking about making such a horrible decision-like moving any part of his body.
Dean laid against the Harley, the coolness of the metal body seeping through the front of his t-shirt, making the skin on his chest start to go numb. It was a small relief from the pain.
"C'mon, Winchester. You can't let a cold kick your ass." Dean frowned at the sound of his voice. It was distant and distorted, live he was hearing it from underwater.
Something was wrong, very wrong. He slipped his hand into his pocket, fingers curling around the phone. He wanted- no, he needed the wolf here with him. There was something wrong, and... And Dean was scared.
…
Eliot read the message the hunter had sent him twice over, his fingers poised to reply, when his phone began to ring, Hunter popping up on the caller ID. Hands suddenly shaky, he hit the green button and put the phone to his ear.
"Eliot... Something's wrong. I was fine two days ago, and now… " A hoarse laugh sounded from the other end of the phone. "And now, I can't get warm enough, my body hurts like a sonuvabitch, and everything sounds like I'm underwater."
Eliot forced the lump out of his throat as he said, "Tell me where you're at, Dean. I can't get to you if I don't know where you're at."
Eliot waited a tense moment as the Hunter worked out a reply. "I'm in Cold Spring, New York. I'm-I was hunting a woman in white, but, I don't even think I'm going to be able to leave the library… I'm so dizzy, man."
Eliot snatched up the duffle he'd packed up hours ago after running out of the motel in a blind panic after finding the Hunter gone. "I'm on my way, Dean. Find a safe spot and don't move until I get there."
Eliot was already out of the room and making his way through the dingy lobby when the Hunter's raspy voice sounded from the other end, barely a whisper. "Hurry."
"Stay safe, Hunter," he murmured as he shoved through a throng of guests at the reception desk and ended the call. After he got through the rowdy crowd that appeared to be a wedding party, he darted for his truck, shoving his phone deep down in the duffel. He skidded to a stop next to the bed of the truck, his left hand braced against the cool metal of the truck as his right hand dropped down into the bed, fingers scattering loose tools and a few brightly colored tie-downs.
"There you are," he growled as his searching fingers found a rolled up length of rope. Jogging a few feet away from the truck to duck into the dank alleyway behind the motel, he threw the duffel and rope onto the damp asphalt. Shedding the jacket, he threw it on top of the duffel. The rest of his clothes followed soon after. After shoving the clothing into the bag, he grabbed the rope and threaded it through the handles of the duffel. Swinging the bag onto his back, he quickly and efficiently wrapped the rope around his torso. He ignored the burn of the rough twine on his skin as he dropped to his knees.
He let out a low groan as joints popped and cracked, muscles bulging in unnatural ways beneath taut skin as the new form took over. A howl tore itself free from his lips as teeth elongated into fangs, and dark chocolate colored fur covered his body.
Eliot now stood on four legs, panting heavily as he allowed his sharpened senses to adjust to the sheer amount of stimulation suddenly thrown at him. The damp, rotting smell of the alleyway, the sounds of cars speeding by the motel parking lot, the blinding headlights shining in his eyes. The wolf whined low in his throat, pawing at his ear.
Wolf! The human voice barked in the back of his head, making the wolf straighten, ears perked up. We've got to find D-
Mate!
The human sighed, and the wolf could picture his human smacking his forehead, hand sliding down his face, where his pointer finger and thumb pinched the bridge of his nose. Yes, our Mate. He's in trouble. He has just a few hours before-
The coma! Where is he?
The human groaned. I'm trying to tell you, Wolf. He's in Cold Spring- Nevermind. Just go East for now. I'll direct you.
The wolf's human plopped down in the chair in the corner of his mind, feet crossed in front of him.
…
It was close to nine hours later when the Wolf entered Cold Spring, New York. The wolf stopped just outside city limits, panting heavily, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. As he took another deep breath in, his eyes widened slightly, and his nostrils flared as he caught his Mate's scent.
Mate!
The wolf's human stood up from his chair, shoving a hand through his hair. Follow his scent, Wolf.
The wolf lurched forward, paws thumping through damp grass and dirt, head bent forward as he followed the scent of gunsmoke, leather, and a deep musky tone that was his mate's unique pheromone. The wolf continued to hurtle through the woods, until he came to an abrupt stop, causing dirt, foliage, and gravel to fly. He smells unwell.
His human nodded. He has mere hours to live, Wolf. If you don't hurry, we won't have a mate much longer.
The wolf's ears flattened against the sides of his skull and he released a high-pitched whine. That will not happen.
Before his human could reply, the wolf bolted through the sparse woods next to the highway. The wolf followed Dean's scent through the twists and turns of Cold Spring, finally coming to a stop just behind the Cold Spring library. The wolf's sharp eyes instantly zoned in on the lone motorcycle in the parking lot, the rider collapsed against the engine illuminated in the early morning sunshine. The wolf took a deep breath, his nose filled with the familiar gunsmoke and leather.
Mate.
Wolf, you have to let me have control now.
No! The wolf raised a paw, ready to bound forward.
If you don't let me have control, Dean will die! You hear me, you stubborn ass wolf! He'll die, and then you know what will happen to us, right? We die too. Because we can't live without our mates. You have to let me have control, because I can save him.
The wolf growled, the sound reverberating through his chest as he glared at his human, but slowly lowered until he was lying on his belly.
Save him.
…
"Dean," a low voice murmured in his ear.
Dean groaned, slapping at the hand that brushed over his forehead. His body still ached, and he felt chilled to the core, though that was slowly leaking away. Dean shivered as something warm and chapped-lips?-brushed over his cheek.
"You've got to open your eyes, Dean. You've got to fight it, okay?" The gruff voice whispered against his cool skin.
"Fight wha?" The words felt heavy and jumbled on his thick tongue.
"The urge to sleep. You can't sleep."
"I'm s...so… so tired, Wolf." He murmured, allowing himself to sink deeper into the darkness, where he wasn't cold, and there was no pain and sadness.
A sharp pain on his left arm made him softly gasp, and jerked him a little bit from the welcoming embrace of the darkness.
"No, Dean. You can't sleep! You will die!" Eliot's voice was panicked. "Me just being here helps you, but you still have to fight. Your job is not done here yet, Dean."
Those same chapped lips pressed lightly against Dean's, and Dean was tugged a little bit farther from the warm cocoon. Dean cracked his eyelids to see the wolf's bright blue eyes floating in and out of focus. He couldn't help the small smile that fell on his lips.
"Wolf. You made it." Talking was slowly becoming easier.
The Wolf returned the smile, though his eyes remained troubled. "I told you I'd be there, Hunter."
Dean's brow furrowed. "What's up?" he asked, trying to prop himself up on one elbow, only to collapse back against the cheap motel comforter.
It took Dean a few moments to notice that they were no longer in the alley, longer than it should have. The room was just like every other Dean had stayed in throughout his lifetime. White walls were discolored by countless years of cigarette smoke, the carpets were stained with unrecognizable substances, and the tv stand's wobbly leg was held up by an ancient, yellowed phonebook.
"I must have really been out of it," Dean muttered as he relaxed into the bed, and shifted closer to the wolf's chest.
"You were, Winchester." The Wolf's warm, calloused hand smoothed over his cheek, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip.
Dean closed eyes as Eliot's lips softly pressed to his, the kiss saying everything that the Wolf couldn't say, everything that he felt. Dean sighed into the kiss, his right hand resting on the side of the Wolf's neck, the feel of his pulse beating strong and true under his fingers making his own heart steady. Before the kiss could get any deeper, Eliot pulled away to rest his forehead against Dean's.
"You remember what I kept telling you in all those messages I left on your phone?" Eliot whispered.
Dean's foggy mind fought to think back, his memories over the past two and half days blurry and unfocused. I have something very important to tell you. You're in serious danger. Dean stiffened.
"You said you had something to tell me." Dean said, forcing himself in a sitting position on the bed, back propped up against the headboard.
Dean watched as Eliot rolled off the edge of the bed onto his feet, and began to pace the length of the motel room, from kitchen to the bed and back.
"The case in Olympia. The night you got out of the hospital-" Eliot began.
Dean's mind instantly flashed to that night, recounting the several positions they had each other in, the early morning where they had made love and whispered words that wouldn't survive the light of day blocked out by curtains and a locked door.
He cleared his throat. "Of course I do."
Eliot nodded and stopped when he came to the end of the bed, blue eyes locking with Dean's. "I claimed you that night, Dean. The bite, me passing out on the floor, me refusing to let you out of my sight-" He stopped to take a deep breath, eyes trained on Dean's face, gauging his reaction.
Dean was… shocked, to say the least. And once the shock wore off, the anger set in, a fire low in his abdomen. "What do you mean you fucking claimed me? How'd you manage that without me knowing?" Dean's voice was barely a whisper.
Eliot dropped into the cracked desk chair, his eyes not straying from Dean's. "Dean, my pack believes in soulmates. They believe a wolf is not whole being without their mate by their side. The old lore says that a wolf knows when another person is his mate, that the wolf will not wander from his mate's side, because that is truly where he belongs."
"You didn't answer my second question. How'd you claim me without me knowing?"
Eliot sighed heavily. "I don't have any earthly clue, Dean. It doesn't make sense to me. All I can think of is that my Wolf mistook you wanting sex as you consenting. And I'm sorry it happened that way."
Dean glared at him as he threw his legs over the sides of the bed, ignoring the wave of nausea that washed over him. "Well it did, Wolf. And if I could, I'd run as far away from you as I could. But, I'm guessing this illness is somehow stemmed from the claiming, and if I try to run, I'm not gonna make it very far, am I?"
Eliot just nodded. "Your soul is going through the change, bonding and intertwining with mine. You leave, you drop in a coma in about four days and won't come back."
Dean shook his head, and bit his cheek. "How long do I have to stay with you?" he ground out.
The Wolf in Eliot whined, ears flat against his skull as he paced the cage Eliot had once again shoved him into. "A year, before you're able to leave my side."
"Fucking fantastic. I'm so pissed right now, I can't even see straight. I'll stay the year, but after that, I'm gone. Souls be damned."
"I unders-"
"No, really, you don't, Eliot. You've never woken up one morning just tied to someone for life. I don't even want to fucking hear it."
Eliot snapped his mouth closed and watched the hunter try and accept what had happened to him.
Dean shoved himself up off the side of the bed, barely managing to get his feet underneath himself. Eliot was by his side within seconds, a hand on Dean's elbow, attempting to steady the hunter, but Dean ripped his arm away from the Wolf's like his touch burned.
"Don't touch me. You lost that privilege when you Mated me without my consent," Dean spat, and he had the sickening gratification of seeing Eliot flinch.
Dean went for the door, hand wrapped around the doorknob, when the Wolf's voice, usually so strong, was a thready whisper. "Dean, do-"
Dean cut him off harshly. "I'm not going very far, Spencer. Just around the corner. You took that away from me too."
The door slamming behind the hunter made Eliot jump. Dean's heavy breaths on the other side of the door let Eliot know that Dean was just a few steps outside the door.
"And to think, I was actually beginning to like you."
The whispered confession knocked the air out of Eliot's lungs, and he collapsed back onto the bed, heart shattering on the floor between his booted feet.