Chapter 38: The Bite

The floor-to-ceiling curtains rustled as the wind caught them. Under the cold, stern moonlight, Qu Yan opened his eyes. A sharp, throbbing pain radiated from his temples, and his eye sockets felt unnervingly warm, as if a liquid were slowly trickling down. He reached up instinctively, and his fingertips came away stained with a bright, vivid red—it looked like blood.

"Tap—tap—"

Footsteps circled from his left ear to his right. His head throbbed even harder. Qu Yan pressed his palm against his temple and slowly lifted his head.

Qu Zizhi stood before him. Even though it was the dead of night and the moonlight was faint, Qu Yan could see Qu Zizhi’s features with startling clarity.

In his youth, Qu Zizhi had been like a sweet cake—one that attracted many just by sitting there. Now, as the years had passed, his cheeks had thinned, making him look more like a piece of exquisite, fragile porcelain, delicate and easily shattered.

But Qu Yan knew this was merely a facade. Qu Zizhi was a razor-sharp blade; one moment of carelessness, and he would cut you.

"Why aren't you speaking, brother?"

Qu Zizhi leaned forward slightly, peering closely to read Qu Yan’s expression. "It seems you aren't very happy to see me."

Qu Yan’s stomach gave a faint, painful twist, and a flash of malice flickered in his eyes. "What do you want?"

A warm drop landed on the back of his hand—blood sliding from his eye. Qu Yan struggled to find a thread of clarity. Why was Qu Zizhi here? Why did his head hurt so much? Why was he bleeding from his eyes? The memories in his mind were blurred; he couldn't recall a thing.

The harder he tried to think, the more his head ached. After a long while, the Qu Zizhi before him let out a mocking laugh.

*This is a dream,* Qu Yan suddenly realized.

How curious. He had never dreamed of Qu Zizhi, not even in the years he had hated him the most.

"What is brother thinking about?" Qu Zizhi’s eyes were slightly rounded, giving him an utterly harmless appearance.

Qu Yan’s expression softened into indifference, and he smiled calmly. "I was wondering why you would appear in my dream."

Qu Zizhi let out an "oh," his tone drawn out as if he were pouting. "Can brother please stop touching Yan Zhuo?"

Yan Zhuo... Qu Yan remembered. The first time he had heard that name, it was from Qu Zizhi’s lips.

In his memories, whenever Qu Zizhi said Yan Zhuo’s name, it was with an intimate tone. It was actually quite rare; though Qu Zizhi possessed a kind face, his nature was cold and arrogant. It was hard for ordinary people to catch his eye, so in that sense, Yan Zhuo was indeed an exception.

Qu Yan narrowed his eyes, a low chuckle escaping from the depths of his throat. "You like Yan Zhuo?"

The moonlight poured down, stretching between them, carving a clear boundary across the space that separated them.

Qu Zizhi tilted his head, the corners of his mouth curling upward uncontrollably. "Yes, I like Yan Zhuo. Brother, you must not touch him again."

He said it as if it were a matter of course, as if Qu Yan would never refuse him.

It was sickening. Qu Yan wanted to wake up from this dream as quickly as possible.

He tightened his palm and threw a punch.

His knuckles struck the bridge of Qu Zizhi’s nose, but he felt not a hint of pain. It was a dream, indeed.

Qu Zizhi failed to dodge and took the heavy blow. He staggered back a few steps, his expression twisting for a fleeting moment. "Brother is angry? Why? Didn't you say that as long as it was something I liked, you would always give it to me?"

The scene before him began to blur and fade. Qu Zizhi’s figure vanished, and Qu Yan suddenly snapped back to reality.

The white light ahead was blinding. Qu Yan closed his eyes, and a few involuntary tears spilled from the corners of his eyes.

Yan Zhuo shifted the direction of the flashlight and then scooped Qu Yan up from the floor. "Are you alright? Is something hurting?"

Qu Yan shook his head. His wheelchair was overturned on the ground. He couldn't remember why he had come to the living room or how he had fallen. He had just had a rather unpleasant dream, though the specific details escaped him.

He sat on the sofa, watching Yan Zhuo right the wheelchair, and asked, "What time is it?"

"Two in the morning." Qu Yan wasn't injured, but Yan Zhuo remained uneasy. "What just happened?"

Qu Yan was honest. "I can't recall. Don't worry, I'm fine."

Yan Zhuo’s brow furrowed slightly as his gaze swept the room, finding no signs that anyone else had been there.

That afternoon, he had tossed out a single sentence and fled, not even giving Qu Yan a chance to speak. He hadn't been seen during dinner either. Now, having finally found a chance to be alone, it was already the middle of the night.

Qu Yan disliked misunderstandings; the longer they dragged on, the larger they became. "Rong Yu likes Qu Zizhi, and he and I are not friends. We haven't been for a long time."

He spoke simply and directly. He didn't want to talk about the past, nor did he see the need. It was amusing to tease the little wolf, but letting him be jealous was one thing—especially when the object of his jealousy was someone like Rong Yu. How could someone like Rong Yu be worthy of that?

Yan Zhuo’s eyes flickered.

Qu Yan continued, "When you broke into the apartment, I was terrified at first. Then, a thought occurred to me: it might be quite interesting to be bitten to death by a wolf."

"But I regretted it. A wolf’s canines are sharp; it would certainly hurt to be bitten, and the corpse left behind wouldn't be very pretty."

Resting his palm on Qu Yan’s knee, Yan Zhuo asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

Qu Yan was wearing a light-colored shirt, the buttons meticulously fastened to the very top. He raised his hand, the line of his forearm casting a beautiful shadow.

His fingertips nimbly undid four buttons. His skin was very fair; since his leg injury, he rarely went out, and his skin had long been shielded by clothing, seldom seeing the sun. It was dazzlingly white.

He shouldn't look. He warned himself of this, yet Yan Zhuo could not tear his gaze away.

With his neck exposed, Qu Yan leaned forward, offering himself up. "I wanted to say that my word always holds true. If you want to take a bite now, you may."

The temptation was too great.

The veins beneath the pale skin were even more prominent. Yan Zhuo felt the blood in his body boiling, his fangs itching.

He had once been human, then became a monster—neither man nor wolf—so that even now, as he felt the urge to bite, he wondered if it was his own selfish desire or the control of his wolfish, vicious genes.

He remained still for a long time. Qu Yan felt his neck grow stiff and finally let his strength go, falling forward.

Yan Zhuo caught him firmly.

Qu Yan’s chin touched Yan Zhuo’s shoulder—it felt hard. He caught a glimpse of Yan Zhuo’s neck and Adam's apple, exposed completely, without a shred of defense, right before his mouth.

He licked his lips and whispered in a volume only the two of them could hear, "Are you not going to bite, or do you not know how? Would you like me to give you a demonstration..."

How to demonstrate?

Yan Zhuo didn't get the chance to ask; he understood soon enough.

Qu Yan buried his face in the crook of his neck, grinding his teeth against the collarbone through the fabric. Perhaps finding the clothes too cumbersome, he simply reached up and pulled the collar down.

The warm breath against his neck created a subtle, maddening itch. Yan Zhuo’s knees went weak, and he nearly slid off the sofa.

Qu Yan’s lips brushed against his collarbone, his teeth exploring inch by inch as he softly coaxed him: "It won't hurt. I'll be gentle."

Yet, the second the words left his lips, he bit down hard.

Yan Zhuo let out a muffled groan, his spine stiffening as he swallowed the sound that rose to his throat.

Skin broke, and blood flowed. The taste spread in his mouth—it should have been metallic and raw, but Qu Yan found it sweet.

Yan Zhuo’s messy hair brushed against his forehead. Qu Yan became increasingly obsessed; the unease brought on by that vague dream slowly dissipated. He flicked his tongue to lick the wound, one hand stroking Yan Zhuo’s shoulder.

Yan Zhuo’s eyelashes fluttered rapidly. Overwhelmed by a mix of shame and stimulation, he nearly lacked the strength to support the weight of Qu Yan, who was draped over him.

As time passed, the pain gradually transformed into a dull, electric numbness. Qu Yan finally pulled away.

The clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, the collar pulled out of shape. Qu Yan looked at it and, with a futile attempt at concealment, reached out to try and smooth the collar back into place.

Of course, it was impossible to restore.

Yan Zhuo rested his hands on the sofa, leaning back. He was a beast of prey, yet his eyes were veiled with a sheen of moisture, looking as if he were waiting for someone to pet him.

Thinking this, Qu Yan reached out and ruffled his hair. The feeling was as good as ever.

Yan Zhuo looked down; there was a clear tooth mark on his collarbone. The bleeding had stopped, leaving only a slight swelling.

Qu Yan asked with a straight face, "Did you learn?"

Yan Zhuo took a moment to remember that Qu Yan had been demonstrating for him.

He thought back earnestly and said, "I don't think so."

Which teeth to use, how much pressure to apply, how many times to lick to clean the blood—he had learned none of it.

"You clumsy student." Qu Yan parted his crimson lips, appearing to truly disdain him.

Yan Zhuo’s eyes filled with dampness, looking both innocent and provocative in the dim light of the flashlight. His eardrums pulsed, echoing his heartbeat. "Mm, I have always been slow. A-Yan will have to teach me a few more times."