Chapter Two

Paul woke feeling like he'd just wrestled a double-decker bus and lost. Worse yet, he also woke with an aching sense of need between his thighs – when realization of this struck, bile rose from his stomach and covered the back of his tongue with a sick taste. He growled to himself as he rolled over onto his back and ran a hand down the length of his body, setting it upon the large bulge in his baggy grey sweatpants. He felt the soft give of his testicles, rolling the two egg like lumps in his palm before curling his fingers around them and squeezing with all his might.

Paul hissed through the pain as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. "You're disgusting," he snarled to himself, digging his fingernails through the cotton material and into his sensitive flesh. "Pervert," he quietly added, not understanding how despite all his body's abuse it could still behave like this.

Paul twisted his wrist causing his entire self to tense in pain. He whimpered, face contorting with agony, yet to his great relief his erection had waned, leaving him flaccid. "Whore," he spat through gritted teeth. It was the only answer he had as to why his body would betray him like this. He was a whore. A used, dirty whore.

When he deemed it safe to let go of himself he quickly sat up, kicking his feet over the edge of the bed as he leaned forward to grab his pack of smokes that were on his night stand by a tall glass of water and two aspirin. Paul sighed to himself, apparently Ryan had put him to bed… again. He hadn't the foggiest memory of it, though most nights were like that. He preferred it that way. With his mind muddled he didn't dream, and if he didn't dream he couldn't have nightmares. He couldn't stand to watch his imprint be stripped and beaten, spread apart and used. He'd beg the men in orange jumpsuits to take him instead. Many did, but most didn't, and to hear the screams of his angel, be it imaginary or not, was not a sound he could live with.

He downed the aspirin that had a neat little label in Ryan's pretty script indicating what it was, same goes for the water. He didn't technically need the labels, he just liked them. It made everything organized, it made him have control. Plus, seeing the labels Ryan wrote for him always made him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside – he loved the way his imprint dotted his I's with miniature hearts. It was sweet, and cute, and so typically Ryan.

After finishing the water Paul lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply to feel the full burn – its package also bearing a label stuck to the nightstand. Smoke wafted toward the ceiling of his small room, though its size was how he liked it. Too small and it felt like he was stuck in a cage, yet too big and he felt trapped in the great wide open… too vulnerable. As it was, his room was perfect and everything was precise.

Across from him and the single bed he sat upon was a computer desk, while between the bed and desk, and to his right, was the door that led to the bathroom and closet. To his left against the far wall, was a bookshelf that spanned the entire length of it. Excluding the picture he had framed of Ryan as just a wee pup, it was his favourite possession.

With a huff of breath, Paul got up, cigarette between shamefully soft lips and trudged over to the shelf. He ran the tips of his russet fingers over the colourful spines. All the books were organized by colour, then alphabetically. It was a bit confusing to get used to at first, but when the books had been sorted alphabetically it was like looking inside a disorganized box of crayons. It drove Paul mad. The colours weren't in their proper places. Now they were, and he had many beautiful rainbows to show for it, which honestly reminded him of Ryan. It was worth the confusion.

A small smile came to play on Paul's mouth as he traced a finger over the silver frame that held the image of a beautiful puppy that had a face of an angel. Ryan had been ridiculously adorable and preciously small at such a young age, still was both those things if truth be told. Yet, everything was different now. Things were once so simple.

Once upon a better time things were all colouring books, board games and puzzles. The zoo was fun, tickle fights were awesome, and a picnic outside never failed to please the little guy. But, he grew… colouring books became text books, board games evolved into video games, and puzzles were the mystery of dating and boyfriends. Which, of course, would only happen over Paul's dead body.

However, Ryan continued to grow even more. The textbooks were gone and replaced with online classes, he didn't have time for games anymore, and sex was likely one of the most prominent things on his mind. Paul's imprint had rapidly grown into a twenty-one year old man, and he didn't have a fucking clue what he was supposed to do with him. Ryan was too old for everything. His angel couldn't sit in his lap for cuddles, Paul couldn't tuck him in at night, and he certainly couldn't get away with blowing raspberries on his belly.

With melancholic emotions nipping at his bones, Paul had to look away from the picture. He slumped over on the cushion by his bay window, which he opened and flicked the cigarette out of. He couldn't help but reminisce, although that only exchanged his depression for fury. He'll never get over how the tabloids ripped him to shreds when news of the prince's imprint, and his own, reached the media. Paul was no longer just the pathetic wolf that had been raped by many in prison, no, he was also the monster that imprinted on a five year old puppy.

For months all Paul would see on television and in magazines was his face and in big bold letters: pedophile. He couldn't leave the palace without guards, and he genuinely feared for his life. Sometimes he had wished the crowds would've gotten past the guards and just fucking took it. Wolves, vampires, and humans alike slandered him and screamed obscenities in his face. Like a church bell, pedophile, pedophile, pedophile, had rung constantly in his ears. He heard the bells so frequently he began to believe it.

Paul started questioning every time he had ever touched the prince as a child. Why had he been touching him? Should he not have been touching him? Did he like it in some sort of sick way? Had he been scaring Ryan? Did he force contact upon Ryan? Did he scar his imprint for fucking life?! The list of questions was endless and Paul drove himself crazy with them. He felt exactly what everybody was calling him, a dirty pervert, and although it was five years later that feeling never left him.

Paul leaned his head against the window and gazed out at the ocean, overcast skies making the water look a dreary dark blue. The wolf knew in his heart he'd never in his life had a sexual thought about Ryan. Well… that wasn't entirely true – those lips. It was always those lips. Not even an asexual monk could be immune, Paul was positive of that. It wasn't even that he imagined his imprints lips in indecent ways, he just wondered from time to time what it would feel like to brush the pad of his thumb across the lower one. Would it make him shiver if they nibbled at his neck?

"Don't think like that," Paul whispered to himself. "You're dirty… polluted… revolting." If his angel knew the disgusting things that had been done to him… but Ryan did know. "He doesn't understand," Doesn't understand what Paul had looked like in prison, smelled like. If the wolf pressed his nose to any part of his body and deeply inhaled, he swore he could still scent all those men and their fluids on him… in him. Ryan couldn't see his stains, his scars, though that didn't make them any less real. He was haunted, possessed, and no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin the men were still there, right beneath the surface. They owned him, they'd always own him, because Paul was weak, he was their bitch.

A loud rap, rap, rap sounded on the door across the room as it swung open. Paul quickly shrouded his ugly thoughts in opaque, impenetrable darkness because there is only one man in the palace that annoyingly knocks at the same time he opens a door. "Your Grace," Paul grumbled, sticking yet another cigarette between his lips and lighting it – quickly tucking both the package and his zippo back in the pocket of his sweats.

"What have I said about not smoking indoors?" Edward chastised with his pale nose wrinkled in distaste.

"What have I said about not giving a shit about your fucking rules?"

The handsome vampire sighed; he didn't understand why the wolf had to be a pain in the ass at every given opportunity. "Right, of course," Edward muttered as he closed the door behind him. "I forgot you're impervious to king's orders." His dark eyebrows furrowed inquisitively, "Why is that again?"

"Someone's gotta keep your ego in check," Paul teased.

Edward laughed, throwing his head back as he did. "What ego?!" He merrily exclaimed.

Paul's bistre brown eyes brightened as the barest hint of a smile curved the rosy corners of his mouth. "Exactly! You're welcome!"

The king grinned at his friend as he took a seat beside him, plucking the cigarette from between callused fingers. He hung his arm out the window crumpling the smoke in his pallid hand, fiery tip included, before letting it's remains flutter to the grass a few storeys down. "No smoking indoors. My home my rules."

Paul rolled his eyes. "I was here first."

Edward shot the wolf a playful glare, shiny orbs a brilliant scarlet. "Do me this favour, please. The smell honestly gives me a headache."

Paul nodded, resilience crumbling. "Fine," he huffed. "Sorry," he added, albeit it a bit shamefaced and pink cheeked.

Edward's smile turned crooked and he opened his arms to the wolf. "Shut up and give me a hug, you big old mutt!" Paul didn't have to be told twice, he practically flung himself into his best friend's arms – only friend.

"Three months was too long," he mumbled into a wintry neck as he nuzzled his face against the cool white flesh. "Never leave again."

The vampire chuckled, deep and rich, and wrapped his arms around Paul's wide bare shoulders. "You sound like my husband, but as I told him, I had to go. James was ready to be turned and I felt taking him away to the mountains and having him feed only on animals without the distraction of regular blood for his first few months was the best way to go about things. Newborns are, well, you know, but he'll be fine. You can trust him to keep his teeth to himself."

"I don't trust perverts!" Paul snarled, ripping himself from the king's grip.

"James is hardly a pervert," Edward stated, though his tone showed the rising level of his exasperation.

"Once a pervert, always a pervert."

"He was a child!" Edward hissed. "And you very well know that I didn't like him much more than you did when he first started hanging around, but he grew one me, you know? He just needed a family to love him."

"He had Eric," Paul rebuffed. "His brother."

"Eric's an idiot. James needed parents, and nobody was going to adopt him with said idiot in the background."

Paul shook his head, incensed. "Before you even considered adoption I caught him with his clammy human hands down Ryan's swim trunks! He's sick!"

"And you're not?!" Edward raged. "You hit a nine year old in the face and tried to drown him in the fucking pool!"

"He was molesting my imprint!" Paul hollered, rising to his feet to glare heatedly down at the foolish and all too forgiving leech.

"Oh my God, Paul! Are we really going to do this?" Edward snapped through gritted teeth, him rising to his feet as well to be on equal footing with the wolf. "How many times do I have to tell you that it was Ryan who asked James to touch him?"

"And whose fault is that?!" The wolf snarled.

Edward gave a shake of his head and scowled at his friend. "Oh no, don't you dare blame me for that! They were just being curious boys."

"You're a whore, Edward!" Paul shouted, shocking the king. "You've been Jacob's whore since the day he bought you. How long did it take for you to willingly spread your legs for him? A year? Six months? Oh, no, wait, it was just a measly week. You couldn't keep your cold dead hands off Jacob, and Ryan saw that. He saw you two kissing and petting each other, getting all hot and bothered. It's just sick behaviour, especially in front of a child. It's only because of me that Ryan isn't slutting it up like the cheap tramp his dad is!" He pointed at his person, jabbing himself in the chest. "I was the only good role model my angel had! The palace is hardly a palace at all; it's a goddamn whorehouse for faggot sodomites!"

It was barely a second after Paul finished his hateful rant that an icy fist connected with his nose with a sickening crack. With a pained groan, he fell to his knees from the force of the blow at the same time his large hands came up to cup his nose. Blood poured from his nostrils and oozed between his fingers, dripping to the floor and staining his once impeccably white carpet.

"Say what you will about me, but don't you dare bring either of my sons into your bigoted tirades." Despite being furious, Edward spoke calmly and with clarity. It reminded Paul of the king the vampire is. "I'm not going to apologize for liking sex, and I'm certainly not sorry my parenting wasn't up to your standards. I did the best I knew how, as did Jacob, and judging by how our two boys turned out I think we did a pretty good job. Neither of them are like you, so I'd call that a success."

Like me? Paul thought to himself. There were far too many things Edward could have meant by that. He understood the basic message, though. Edward, his very best friend, the only person he trusted entirely besides his imprint, was grateful Ryan was nothing like him, and although Paul knew he wasn't a very good person, the message still stung his heart.

In all the years he'd know the vampire – sixteen to be exact – Paul had never thought highly of himself, never thought he was worth anything, always felt like he was garbage that the prison had chewed up and spit out. He felt used, soul torn to dirty shreds, skin slimy, and insides rotten. He honestly felt he'd be better off dead. Yet, during those years Edward was there, always telling him the opposite, telling he was, in fact, worth something. Paul couldn't bring himself to believe the vampire, but he wanted to. He wanted to believe there was someone who could truly think he deserved happiness and was worth more than the men in prison made him feel. He wanted to believe that someone thought the world needed him in it, that he was good for something. He wanted to believe someone else loved him because he couldn't love himself. However, Paul had been wary. He didn't really think Edward meant the things he said, especially when the king said he loved him. If it sounded too good to be true, it usually was.

Neither of them are like you, so I'd call that a success. That simple, though hurtful sentence solidified Paul's worries. Edward didn't love him… couldn't love him, not someone like him. He meant nothing to Edward. He was just a thing. A disgusting, used, unsightly thing, and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe Ryan thought the same thing. Did Ryan cringe every time he touched him? Did he feel dirty after Paul hugged him? Was it their shared imprint that made Ryan care for him? If Ryan had freewill in the matter would he have long since abandoned Paul?

His earlier nausea returned at the mere thought that his angel might want nothing to do with him if he had the choice. Was Paul, in essence, forcing himself upon Ryan? Had all his affections gone unwanted? His stomach rolled uncomfortably as he pondered if he'd become his own nightmare. Was he no better than the men in prison? Had he, in his own way, raped his angel?

Edward watched as the wolf fell forward, his bloody hands flat to the carpet to hold himself up. His nose bled freely onto the floor and the sight filled the vampire with guilt. He didn't actually mean to hit him, it just sort of happened, and what he said… "Paul," Edward murmured while combing his snowy-white and just as cold fingers through his wild auburn hair. "I didn't mean-" His apology was cut short when Paul's stomach suddenly heaved and emptied itself onto the carpet.

"Paul!" Edward exclaimed in worry as he dropped to kneel by Paul and press a calming hand to his overheated copper shoulder blade. "What happened? What's going on? Let me inside your head."

The wolf continued to gag, his stomach painfully contracting even when there was nothing left to be rid of. Nevertheless, he managed to give his head a swift shake and hold onto his thoughts even tighter. The last thing he wanted was Edward poking around in his brain.

A few minutes later when Paul's stomach finally decided to settle, Edward automatically went into dad mode. It didn't matter that Paul was a grown man and a good friend, sometimes the man just needed the tenderness that was a parent. "Come on, get up," The vampire insisted, tugging on the wolf's bulky arm to get him to his feet. "Let me help you get cleaned up."

"I don't want your help," Paul snapped, trying to wrench his arm away from the king – it was a frivolous action.

Edward sighed as he hauled the big oafish wolf to his feet all by himself. "I would've thought you'd have learned by now that it doesn't matter whether you want my help or not, you just damn well get it. No ifs, ands, or buts, Paul. No complaining. Just shut up and let me do my thing." Paul didn't respond and he remained silent as Edward gently guided him into the bathroom, sitting him down on the closed toilet seat. "Do you want a bath or shower?"

"Bath," Paul begrudgingly grumbled.

In no time Edward had the wolf wearing green swim trunks and soaking in bubbly lavender scented water. Getting the wolf to bathe nude, even alone, would be like trying to pull a lion's tooth without sedation – it just wasn't going to happen. From what Edward understood, Paul didn't like the look of his genitals. There was nothing wrong with them, he just found the sight discomforting, nauseating... disturbing. Edward figured it would be like a person who'd been shot having an aversion to guns, except Paul always went above and beyond what would be the logical response. How Paul feared his own cock, Edward couldn't fathom. Being frightened of someone else's the king could comprehend, but being afraid of his own damn dick? No, Paul was downright crazy.

"I'm sorry," Edward sighed as he pressed a warm washcloth to his friend's nose, causing the wolf to wince and hiss in pain. "I shouldn't have hit you."

The wolf shrugged. "Whatever."

Sitting on the ledge of the tub, Edward scooted a little closer to the wolf and carefully scrubbed away the blood. "About what I said-"

"Forget about it," Paul interjected.

Edward shook his head. "No, I won't forget about it. You said some pretty terrible things which I reacted badly to, but you gotta know I didn't mean what I said," he earnestly stated, though Paul only replied with yet another shrug. "You're a good guy, Paul. You have a lot of qualities I'd want both my boys to have."

Paul's head jerked up to look at Edward, his eyes filling with something that far surpassed hope. "Yeah? Like what?"

Edward grinned and wiped away the blood above the wolf's lips and the chin below them, dark bruising beginning to set in beneath both his bistre brown eyes. "How about you tell me, what are some of your good qualities?"

Paul stiffened and his eyes immediately dropped to his knees poking out of the water. He shrugged for a third time. "Dunno."

"You think about it and get back to me." Paul glanced at the vampire out of the corner of his eye and a little smile donned his lips. Maybe Edward loved him after all. Edward knew the hideous things Paul thought about himself, and he also knew whatever positive thing he said about Paul, Paul wouldn't believe. Edward wanted the wolf to draw his own conclusions, to actually believe he had good qualities and not just be told he did. If Paul was going to truly have confidence in all the things he had to offer, then he needed to figure out those things for himself.

"Well, for one, I'm not retarded, Ed. I see what you're doing."

"Smart is definitely a good quality to have," Edward said with a chuckle, tossing the cloth to Paul's chest and pulling himself to his feet. "Now you keep thinking while you wash up, but do it quick. I'm making brunch, so hurry on down to the kitchen. You know how eager Ryan gets to see you in the morning."