Mate Massacres

Chapter 6

Pip pushed through the pain until one in the afternoon, then tiredness coursed through his body, turning his bones to brittle. At lunch, he barely had the energy to speak. His fingers throbbed painfully.

"Pip!" a voice ran loud through the staff room, and he almost dropped his sandwich. "Someone said you were put on the tills because you hurt your hand. I'm the manager. You'll talk to me about it next time."

Pip looked up timidly. "Sorry," he mumbled, smiling apologetically at Debra.

"Let's have a look then," she said, sitting next to him and holding out her hand. Pip lifted his injured fingers, and Debra frowned. "Where did this happen?"

Pip simply shrugged, he couldn't tell her he was at the institute, though Debra stared thoughtfully like she knew something was wrong with his lack of an answer.

"Have you been to see a doctor?"

Pip shook his head to say no.

"Well, you must go, even if it'll heal fast. Have the rest of the day off. I'm sure they're broken. You'll get the right support for them to heal if you see a doctor," she said, tilting her head at Pip's attempt to tape his fingers together.

"I can't afford the rest of the day off."

Debra looked around before leaning closer. She whispered, "As far as anyone else is concerned, you're here till closing time. Nobody will notice if I, you know, accidentally forget that you weren't here today. In my old age, it's easy to forget these things."

"Debra, you're twenty-nine."

"Yeah well, with a name like mine, people assume I was born an old woman."

Pip chuckled for the first time all day. He was full of untrue smiles while working in the cafe, but Debra was always lovely to him and sometimes talking to her was the best part of his day, if he were working all day. "I'll go then if you're sure it's okay?"

"Absolutely. Let me know how you get on."

Pip was glad to feel the cold wind on his face when he left the cafe. He hurried down the street, bundled up in a thick winter coat and a scarf covering half his face.

The doctor's surgery wasn't far from where Pip worked, and he was sure they would make him an emergency appointment. Pip just hoped they wouldn't send him to the hospital that was five miles away. Pip had no car, no bike, and no friends who could drive him there.

* * * * *

Krey dreamt of the boy from the cellar, the boy who dared to stare, the boy who broke into the institute.

In Krey's dream, the boy didn't cower in the corner of a cell. He was sitting peacefully in what looked like a library, wearing a burgundy hat, dark blue jeans and a grey knitted jumper. Books and homework surrounded the boy. He even had his nose buried in some sort of fiction novel.

Krey was looking at him from the corner of the library, through some sort of tinted glasses. The boy didn't know Krey was sitting there and Krey felt both glad and agitated about his obliviousness.

Even in his dream, Krey was painfully aware that he was looking at his mate. And even in his dream, Krey felt the agony of needing him. Krey shivered at the thought of turning into his wolf and nuzzling his nose into the boy's jumper. Krey wanted to know his scent. He wanted to smell it before everything else. He wanted to wake up to the smell and go to sleep to the smell, and fill his room with the smell.

He felt himself lean forwards, biting hard on his bottom lip. Look at me, Krey thought to the human reading his book. His eyes hungrily trailed him up and down. When Krey looked back up to the boy's face, the human tilted his head. As soon as his blue eyes shifted in Krey's direction-