Chapter One
September 1992
Seventeen, the age of maturity. Though a milestone birthday, it was relatively uneventful in the way of feeling different. There was no sudden clarity, no surge of magic, no missing piece slotting into place. On the whole, one's seventeenth birthday was rather mundane. There was nothing about it that marked it as different, life changing, earth shattering. Who a witch or wizard was the day before turning seventeen, the day of, and the day after didn't change.
Unless the witch or wizard in question was harboring a creature inheritance. For them, turning seventeen did grant them sudden clarity and understanding, surges in magic, and oftentimes, a missing piece finally slotting into place to make them whole. But for some, they lost a part of who they were though few rarely complained over such a fact. Most celebrated it for what it meant they would be gifted instead — a mate. Someone who quite literally carried a piece of the creature's being inside of them, growing around it until each of them were woven into what the other needed and desired. It was the foundation of what essentially became the fairy tale of soulmates.
However for Marcus, no such inheritance would be coming for him. He was a Veela — or rather he carried the gene to become one, as no one in the Flint family had presented in centuries. At least none that had lived to tell about it. His family's history of a staunch belief in blood purity meant the sons who had come into the exceedingly rare form that was a male Veela, had been handled swiftly, bloodily, and deadly.
On the whole though, it wasn't much of a problem since the males of the species only inherited when faced with either affection from their true mate or if their true mate faced mortal danger. And since he had been betrothed to the youngest Fawley daughter who was in his year since the moment he had entered puberty — having shown markers for his Veela gene not being nearly as suppressed as his brothers', uncles, and father's had been given his aggression, hyper developed since of protection, insistent need to nest as the males were the defenders and primary caregivers of the young, and later his massive build and height which at two meters tall left him towering over most of the student body by his sixteenth birthday — affection from his mate wasn't an option on the table. The antiquated legal document that promised him to another in marriage upon their graduation was as ironclad as an actual binding, at least to him. Gemma however had a tendency to flit from wizard to wizard enjoying the few years she possessed where she wouldn't be encumbered by such silly things as a husband.
His strong sense of fidelity was another marker of his creature. Even the very idea, however fleeting, of seeking a relationship elsewhere when he became aware of how little his betrothed wanted to do with him, had sent him into crippling nausea which resulted in him spending nearly a week in the infirmary as he recovered.
At least he hadn't thought a creature inheritance was going to be a problem he would face on his seventeenth birthday. Not until he woke up in the very small hours of September fifth, feeling as if his blood was boiling in his veins, his back was being fileted to the bone, and his gums were forcibly pulling back from his teeth, threatening to let them all fall out.
Rolling out of his bed and hitting the floor of his shared dormitory with a hard crash of his knees, he clawed at his back in a bid to free whatever was rolling and expanding under the surface. Blood pooled in his mouth and spilled out of the corners, dripping onto the stone floors as he felt something start to rupture deep within his jaw. Biting back an agonizing groan as he felt his shoulders threatening to dislocate, he momentarily fumbled for his wand before deciding to leave without it in his haste to get away from his roommates.
Stumbling into the hallways, he swayed as the sharp candlelight burned his overblown pupils. Slapping his hands against the wall to steady himself, he felt his once blunt nails elongate and claw into the stone. Unable to figure out how to extract the sudden talons he possessed, he dragged them through the stone and mortar, ruining several, thankfully empty, paintings as he went. Falling into the bathroom, he locked the doors and began running every sink and shower to drown out the noise as he fell to his knees, an excruciating scream tearing forth from his lungs.
Grabbing at his head, he tried to rip free the pressure that was building inside. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced, even with all the hits he had taken on the quidditch pitch. It was blinding and acute, leaving him blank of anything but the desperate desire to make it stop. He was so keyed in to what was happening within him he couldn't even focus long enough to recognize what it all meant.
Then with a penetrating snap, he collapsed forward as his shoulders relented to whatever he had been battling and they not only dislocated but broke. Screaming into the floor with such ferocity he strained his vocal cords until he turned mute, he felt his back split open on either side of his spine, releasing whatever beast had been breaking out of its cage from within. And as his back ruptured, so did his mouth, his overcrowded teeth shifting and moving until space was made for several more to descend from his gums.
With his metamorphosis complete, the agonizing pain that had awoken him began to recede, leaving him in a heap on the bathroom floor. Panting through the sweaty aftershocks of what he experienced, Marcus felt his hypersensitive mouth flood with saliva, giving him only a moment to turn before he puked.
Falling to his side as the gagging subsided, he winced under a new pain that forced him to finally open his eyes and take stock of himself. There, crushed underneath his leaden arm, were feathers in shades of blue ranging from a regal jewel tone all the way to an inky midnight that could almost pass for black with flecks of brilliant gold threaded throughout. Struggling to bring his hand up to his mouth to examine its differences, he accidentally bit down on his lip. The pierce of his skin was sharp and instant, the newly developed fang going straight through his flesh.
Wincing as he tugged his bottom lip free, he counted to three before rolling onto his back with a hoarse groan, freeing his trapped left wing. Staring up at the ceiling, his eyes seeing better than they ever had before, he swore, "Bloody hell," feeling a second, softer, thump bloom to life inside his chest. Caressing the spot, he allowed its slow rhythm to soothe what remained of his pain, his lips just barely beginning to smile under realization that he — a rather undesirable sort according to his betrothed — had a mate.
Then reality set in, shattering the cornucopia of daydreams and fantasies his already besotted soul was spinning. He had a mate who had awoken his Veela. And unless she was a succubus who had visited him in his sleep at the exact moment he turned seventeen, she was in mortal danger. The clarity that came with that thought had the already dark coloring of his hazel eyes turning black as he felt himself fill with a blood rushing rage. Someone was after his witch with the intention of eradicating her from the earth and he'd be damned if they even harmed so much as a single hair from her head.
He just had one small problem, he had no idea who his mate was.
