The Chosen Pervert

Chapter 8: The A-Rank Arrives

They sent me inside.

My mother's voice was gentle but firm as she guided me toward the house, her hand on my shoulder. "Go inside, sweetheart. Your father and I need to... we need to talk."

I glanced back at the village square. The bodies of the goblins were gone—disintegrated into ash by my spell—but the blood remained. Dark stains on the cobblestones. Scorch marks on the buildings.

Evidence of what I'd done.

Rue walked beside me, her hand brushing against mine. She didn't look back. Her golden eyes were fixed forward, her ears swiveling at every sound.

She's on guard, I realized. Even now.

My mother stopped at the door, her hand lingering on my shoulder. "Stay inside. Please."

I nodded.

She kissed the top of my head, then turned and walked back toward my father.

I watched through the window as they stood together in the square, their heads close, their voices low.

And I listened.

"How is this possible?"

My mother's voice was barely a whisper, but I could hear the tremor in it.

My father ran a hand through his hair, his expression tight. "I don't know."

"He's five, Marcus. Five years old. He shouldn't—he can't—have abilities yet. Not until he's thirteen. That's how it works. That's how it's always worked."

"I know."

"Then how?"

My father was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. "I don't know, Elara. But you saw what he did. We all saw it."

"He killed them," my mother said, her voice breaking. "All of them. With a single spell. Without speaking. Without a conduit. Without—"

"I know."

"That's not normal, Marcus. That's not... that's not possible."

"And yet he did it."

Silence.

I pressed closer to the window, my heart pounding.

They're scared, I realized. They're scared of me.

The thought made my chest tighten.

"What do we do?" my mother asked.

My father exhaled slowly. "We contact the others."

"The party?"

"Yes."

"Marcus, we haven't spoken to them in years—"

"I know. But we need help. We need someone who understands magic at a level we don't. Someone who can... evaluate him. Train him. Help him control this before—"

"Before what?"

My father didn't answer.

My mother's voice dropped even lower. "You think he's dangerous."

"I think he's powerful," my father corrected. "And power without control is dangerous. You know that as well as I do."

Another silence.

Then my mother spoke, her voice trembling. "He's our son."

"I know."

"He's not a weapon. He's not a—"

"I know, Elara." My father's voice was firm but not unkind. "But we need to be smart about this. If word gets out about what he can do—if the wrong people find out—"

"Then we keep it quiet."

"For how long? The entire village saw what happened. They're already talking. By tomorrow, the news will spread to the neighboring towns. By next week, it'll reach the cities. And if it reaches the capital—"

"Then we protect him."

"We will. But we need help."

My mother was quiet for a long moment. Then she sighed. "Who do we contact?"

"Aldric."

"The A-Rank?"

"Yes."

"Marcus, he's—"

"The best mage I've ever known. If anyone can help Wyatt, it's him."

My mother hesitated. "And if he can't?"

My father didn't answer.

I pulled away from the window, my mind racing.

They're going to bring someone here. Someone powerful. Someone who's going to evaluate me.

Fuck.

I glanced at Rue. She was sitting on the floor near the fireplace, her knees pulled to her chest, her golden eyes watching me.

"You okay?" I asked softly.

She tilted her head, one ear up, one ear down.

Right. She doesn't understand.

I crossed the room and sat down beside her. She didn't flinch. Didn't pull away.

Progress.

"We're going to be okay," I said, more to myself than to her. "Whatever happens, we're going to be okay."

She leaned her head against my shoulder.

And for the first time since the raid, I felt like I could breathe.

The days that followed were strange.

My parents sent a message to their old adventuring companion—this Aldric guy—and then we waited.

And while we waited, life continued.

Sort of.

The village was quieter now. People spoke in hushed tones when they saw me. They smiled, but their smiles were tight. Nervous.

They're afraid of me, I realized. They saw what I did, and now they're afraid.

It was a strange feeling.

In my old life, I'd been invisible. A basement-dwelling nobody who no one noticed or cared about.

Now, people noticed me.

And they were terrified.

But Rue didn't care.

She stayed by my side, her presence constant and comforting.

And over the next few weeks, our bond deepened.

The bath was a disaster.

"Come on, Rue," I said, holding up a bar of soap. "You need a bath. You're still covered in dirt and... other stuff."

She stared at me, her golden eyes narrowing.

"I'm serious. You smell like a goblin."

She growled.

"Okay, that was rude. I'm sorry. But you do need a bath."

She didn't move.

I sighed. "Fine. We're doing this the hard way."

I grabbed her arm—gently—and tried to guide her toward the washroom.

She hissed and pulled back, her claws extending.

"Rue, I'm trying to help you—"

She swiped at me.

Pain flared across my forearm as her claws raked through my skin.

"Ow! f**k!"

She bolted toward the door.

I lunged after her, grabbing her around the waist.

She twisted, snarling, her claws slashing at my chest.

More pain.

More blood.

This is ridiculous, I thought as I wrestled her toward the tub. I'm a forty-year-old man getting my ass kicked by a three-year-old fox-girl.

But I didn't let go.

"Rue, please. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help you feel better."

She thrashed in my arms, her teeth snapping at my shoulder.

I gritted my teeth and held on.

Finally—finally—I managed to get her into the tub.

She immediately tried to climb out.

I pushed her back down, wincing as her claws dug into my arms.

"Stay. Please."

She glared at me, her ears flat against her head.

But she stayed.

I grabbed the soap and started washing her hair, moving slowly, carefully.

She flinched at first, her body tense.

But gradually, she started to relax.

Her ears lifted slightly.

Her breathing slowed.

And by the time I finished, she was sitting still, her eyes half-closed, her tail swishing lazily in the water.

"See?" I said softly. "That wasn't so bad."

She looked up at me, her golden eyes meeting mine.

And then she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against my chest.

She's thanking me, I realized.

My throat tightened.

"You're welcome," I whispered.

When I finally got her out of the tub and dried off, I realized just how beautiful she was.

Without the dirt and grime, her skin was smooth and tan, her black hair glossy with those distinctive grey streaks. Her golden eyes seemed brighter, more vibrant.

She's stunning, I thought.

And then I immediately felt like a creep.

She's three years old, you pervert. She's a child.

Technically, so are you.

That doesn't make it better.

I shook my head and wrapped a towel around her.

She didn't pull away.

Progress.

Over the next few days, I noticed something.

Rue only let me touch her.

When my mother tried to brush her hair, Rue growled and pulled away.

When my father tried to pat her head, she snapped at him.

But with me?

She was calm. Trusting. Affectionate.

"She's imprinted on you," my mother said one evening as we watched Rue curl up at my feet.

"Imprinted?"

"It's a beast-folk trait. When they bond with someone, it's... absolute. She's chosen you, Wyatt. And no one else."

I looked down at Rue, at the way her tail was wrapped around my ankle.

She's mine, I thought. And I'm hers.

The realization was both comforting and terrifying.

That night, Rue climbed into my bed.

I woke to find her curled up at the foot of the mattress, her body small and warm.

"Rue?" I whispered.

She didn't respond.

I watched her for a moment, then closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

When I woke again, she'd moved.

She was pressed against my side now, her head resting on my chest, her arm draped over my stomach.

Her breathing was slow and steady.

She feels safe with me, I realized.

The thought made my chest ache.

I ran my fingers through her hair, careful not to wake her.

She shifted slightly, her tail curling around my leg.

And for the first time since the raid, I felt... peaceful.

The days passed.

Rue and I fell into a routine.

She followed me everywhere. Slept beside me every night. Ate when I ate. Stayed close when I practiced magic in secret.

She didn't speak much—her English was still broken, her beast speech incomprehensible to me—but she didn't need to.

I understood her.

And she understood me.

It was enough.

Three weeks after the raid, a messenger arrived.

I was in the garden with Rue when I heard the commotion at the front gate.

My mother's voice, bright with relief. "He's coming?"

"Yes, my lady," the messenger said. "Master Aldric will arrive within the week."

My stomach dropped.

The A-Rank is coming.

I glanced at Rue. She was watching me, her golden eyes curious.

"It's okay," I said softly. "Everything's going to be okay."

She tilted her head, one ear up, one ear down.

I hope I'm right, I thought.

That night, Rue curled up beside me as usual, her head resting on my chest, her tail wrapped around my waist.

I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing.

What's going to happen when this Aldric guy gets here? What if he thinks I'm dangerous? What if he tries to take me away?

What if he tries to take Rue away?

The thought made my chest tighten.

I looked down at her, at the way her ears twitched in her sleep, at the way her fingers curled against my shirt.

No one's taking her from me, I thought fiercely. No one.

I ran my fingers through her hair, and she sighed softly, pressing closer.

We're going to be okay, I told myself. Whatever happens, we're going to be okay.

We have to be.

Because I couldn't lose her.

Not now.

Not ever.