Cursed a thousand years ago for the crimes of their forefathers, the warrior men of Lykaios are imprisoned to stay on their island home. One day, Fate turns their gaze upon them in mercy, sending a vision of their impending freedom to Theron, one of the Lykaia and a wolf shifter.
Rylan Hawthorne, multimillionaire hotelier’s son, is a wastrel. Because of this, he’s encouraged to take some time to think on his father’s ultimatum: grow up, or lose his fortune. He takes their family yacht on a trip through the Mediterranean, and for supernatural reasons, he finds himself on the island of Lykaios.
Theron and Rylan’s meeting locks a bond in place that’s both instantaneous as it is arresting. Theron knows the man is his mate, but the man knows nothing of the Lykaia. Now, the lives of a pack lost by time are in the hands of an inexperienced young hotelier, and the wolf shifter who dares love him.
For your sins against all of Gaea’s children, we cast you out unto this forsaken land forever, and in penance for your transgressions may you become the beasts you are inside for all eternity, saved only upon the pity of the Fates.
The dreams were always vivid when they came to Theron.
They were always the same, always in that vivid clarity as he experienced, and always did it fill him with the same sense of anger and bitterness as they first did all those years ago.
Arcane symbols and sigils floated down from the heavens, searing themselves with supernatural light into all corners of his island home. Theron watched as the men around him retreated to their meager dwellings, attempting to flee the far-reaching curse of the witches and warlocks who floated overhead. In their impenetrable, untouchable circle, no volley of arrows or flinging of catapult fire could reach them. Blessed by the gods and goddesses themselves, they would stop at nothing until Theron’s people were adequately debased and punished.
Theron remembered crying out into the heavens, seeking forgiveness for the transgressions of his people, nomads and warriors borne of monstrous, bloodthirsty, mercenary men. But the witches did not, would not, listen. Instead, each sigil summoned struck down like meteors from the heavens, searing not just into their island but into their skin.
Was it their fault for being the kin of a murderer? Theron pondered, yet he received no answer.
The chanting continued, echoing into the night.
Forsaken children, locked forever in your land, only with the bond of a child of Gaea can you learn to transcend the horror of your kin.
That was the first night Theron remembered his body ached, twisting and snapping when he shifted, until he could remember howling into the night sky. It had never been that way before. He’d always been either fully wolf, or fully man, and nowhere in between. His face elongated into a muzzle and his body shifted until he was wholly beast, and yet he retained his human faculties. Lykaios, an unfamiliar voice echoed into his head, as his body turned into the form of the beast. Fear not for your people.
He remembered falling down to the ground as his body twisted and changed, all as he tried to fight the beast rising up inside him. In his mind he saw an ever-spinning wheel, handled only by three cloaked figures seated and turned away from him. One spun a thread, the other measured the thread being spun, while the last of them snipped at another thread, all in a continuous manner. When the time comes, your people shall be saved from this curse.
But how? Theron asked, and he didn’t know, but he could feel a soft smile emanating from the three cloaked figures as they continued to do what they did.
Once you find your soul’s other piece, then no longer be you the beast.
It was always at this point, night after night, that Theron would wake up.
Tonight was different, however.
Theron saw himself walking into the darkness. Each step echoed in his head, each clack of his heel against the stone floor filling him with a sense of peace. After a few steps, he entered a strange cavern. In the middle sat the three cloaked figures, continuously spinning their threads.
It was the Fates.
Welcome, Lykaios. The voice echoed in his head just as the cavern shone bright, and suddenly millions of gems like the stars in the cosmos began to glimmer brightly in the cavern around them. In fact, it seemed as though the entire universe spanned the expanse of the large cavern he was in. All around him, millions and millions of little stars glimmered in different colors, shining their own light in the darkness. As has been prophesized, you will now receive absolution.
Theron’s eyes widened as he saw the hand of one of the Fates move. Twisting herself until her cloaked visage faced Theron, she pointed a finger at him.
The tides of time have ebbed away at the anger in your heart. Gaea is no longer the same being as it once was, thousands of years ago. You have accepted your fate. It is time we now do our part.
Your people will suffer no longer. Find your mates, lykaia, and break your curse. We shall help you.
Frey Ortega writes erotic romance, primarily of the gay variety. He lives in what a friend affectionately calls “the south-easternmost part of Spain,” which is an archipelago called the Philippines. He’s a graduate of the Royal, Pontifical, and Catholic University in Manila, with a Bachelors of Science degree in Psychology. Primarily, he works as a writer, a novelist, sometimes a video game journalist, and overall a homebody who spends way too much time on the internet.
He loves writing about people, especially people of all different shapes, sizes and backgrounds, falling in love. You might also find him playing video games from time to time! His favorite ones are MMORPGs, and role-playing games in general (and not just the ones in the bedroom.)
Visit his website at: http://freyortega.wordpress.com/
Email him at: firstname.lastname@example.org
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