The Broken Werewolves: The Human Mate (LGBT)

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Marcus Pierce

When I arrive at Blaine's place, I'm all smiles. When I kissed his cheek back at the front porch of his house, I thought that he was going to freak out. But he didn't. Instead, he was rather flushed, his cheeks going a shade of pink as he stared back at me. I had really enjoyed his company. It doesn't matter if what we've only done was to watch movies that were quite interesting to me, it's enough to have him by my side, where he really belongs.

"How was it?" Blaine asks as he shoves his hand into the bucket of cheese flavored popcorn, the sweet aroma invading my nose. I jump into the couch beside him, and some of the contents spill out of the bucket. I give him a grin, letting him know it really went well. "Wow, nice to know that. Something interesting happened?"

I nod my head, smiling now reaching my ears as I stare back at Blaine, but my mind is drifting back to the flushed face my mate had when I kissed his cheek. "I kissed him. On the cheek." I tell him, then I let out a dreamy sigh as my head gets cloudy. "And he didn't freak out. Blaine, he didn't freak out. Do you hear me? Can you believe it?"

Blaine gives me a knowing grin, offering his hand to me for a high-five and I slap it hard, letting him know that I'm really happy and ecstatic. I'm seeing progress here. The progress is fast, faster than I have expected. Before, I thought that the progress would only be visible after weeks of meeting him, but it's barely even a week since I last met him personally then we're already here, at this stage, where he's getting flushed just because of my actions. He claps my back and I throw him a smirk.

"Congratulations, then," he says as he grabs for the remote of the TV, switching it to a sport network that I have no intention of watching. I'm not really into sport, but I'm into Nigel. "Now I must go back to watching my favorite sport."

"Volleyball?" I ask him, craning my neck to look at him, then flick my eyes back to the show.

"Yes," he states, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth, the cheese powder staining his fingers, then he licks it one by one, his eyes never leaving me the volleyball game on the television. "When you met your mate, how... how does it feel?" he asks me.

"I don't really know how to describe it," I say. It's true. I don't even know how to put it into words; all I know is that Nigel Quintin Ulysses is my mate and no one else. I guess I could use the romantic statements, or words, found in most romance books. Seeing the love of your life is going to make your heart race faster, but at the same time, it has the capability to stop it from beating. When love is being returned back, two hearts beat synchronically, like a two sets of drum banging just to make a wonderful tune. I don't even know where I have read that romantic statements, but I guess I could use it to describe how it really feels. Or maybe I shouldn't describe it at all – after all, when it comes to love, people suddenly have a different meaning for it, other than what you can see in Oxford dictionary, or any other dictionaries that have existed and will ever exist. "Why?"

Propping his feet on the wooden table just in front of him and the television, he turns to look at me and shrugs. "I think I may have found my mate, but I'm not really sure. That's why I was asking, because I wanted to make sure."

"What is your mate like?" I ask him eagerly, scooting closer to him like a child. "Is she beautiful? Is he handsome?"

"He's not human," he states, scrunching his nose up in disappointment, his eyes boring into mine. I furrow my brows at him in confusion. What does he mean that he's not human? Does it mean that his mate is a werewolf, just like us? "He's not a werewolf either. He's neither an Enchanter, a Vampire, one of the Zodiac, but... it's... it's a f*****g demon."

"A demon?"

"Yes, a demon," he states, sighing out loud. "Enemy of the angels? A demon."

"Are you serious about that?"

"Yes, I am,"

"How sure are you?"

"One hundred and one percent sure," he says exasperatedly, rolling his eyes at me, his shoulders sagging down as he looks back on the television, where a woman is jumping as high, her face inches away from the net, her arms raised as she tries to block the spiraling ball towards their team's direction. "I'm sure just as I'm sure that I have a d**k inside my pants."

Pursing my lips, I hug my knees and stare in a distance. Never have I encountered a demon in my life, only an angel. Leandre. Damien's, one of the warriors of our pack, mate. Leandre has told us about demons. The last time I have heard from him is when he told us that an heir to the throne of the Heaven is missing, and that he needed to be found as soon as possible. It nearly kills Damien when Leandre decides to roam just to find the prince of the Heavens. But Damien doesn't have a choice but to listen to Leandre. He's still an angel, and he still has duties that need to be done.

"It's a demon, Marcus," he says angrily, almost spitting the words out. "I may be a rogue, but I don't want a demon as my mate."

"You are a rogue?" I ask him incredulously, eyes wide.

"You've got a problem with that?" he asks me, wearing an angry expression. Rogues are dangerous; they have killed a lot of their kind, and they always cause trouble. We are still at war with the rogues, and it's out duty to kill them. "I'm different, Marcus. I am a rogue werewolf, but that doesn't mean that I have the urge to kill my kind. You. Or anyone else."

I stare at him hard, like I will do to anyone I find suspicious. And I find him suspicious right now. I scoot backwards, eyes focused on him. He lets out a huge sigh, shaking his head in disappointment as he m utters something incoherent under his breath that I barely hear. Blaine Maximus doesn't look deadly nor does he look dangerous, but he just admitted to me that he's a rogue, and I haven't heard a story of a rogue who has a good heart.

"If you want to leave, I can open the door wide for you," he says coldly, shooting me a glare as he stands up. "If I'm a crazy rogue, then I should have killed you and not invited you to stay here so you'd have a place to stay in." He barely spares me a glance as he walks away from me, the television is left open, now on commercial break. He has a good point, though. If he really wants to kill me, he would have done it any sooner, and wouldn't have waited.

Rogues lurk, but they don't hesitate or think twice when they have the urge to kill a werewolf, but Blaine doesn't spread the rogue vibe. In fact, he looks very normal to me. With no hints of anything that he's a rogue, or a werewolf. His scent is always masked with something human, plus with a mortal fragrance. So it's really impossible for you to smell a werewolf in him. Maybe that's the reason why he conceals his true smell, so that anyone wouldn't suspect a thing, wouldn't suspect that he's a rogue. Maybe he really is a different rogue than the others.

"I'm sorry!" I shout at him. Just as he's about to turn right where his room is located, he turns around and gives me a nod. His face is blank, emotionless. Now I feel bad. I guess I've judged him too much. I mean, when I was a child, my parents told me and my sister that rogues are always dangerous, and as years went by, they were always being proven. The last time it was proved was when they attacked us a few months ago.

Blaine Maximus is different.

I turn off the television, and just sit on the couch through the day, doing nothing but thinking how I've been an asshole to Blaine Maximus, the rogue werewolf who offered me nothing but kindness, who carries the secret that I have a human mate. Sometimes I'm an asshole.

When I wake up this morning, a hum fills the air, mixed with the sweet scent of pancakes. My stomach lets out a growl, wanting to be filled. I let out a growl, then crane my neck. I fell asleep on the couch, and now my back hurts. But sooner or later, that pain will be gone.

"Good morning," I say to him once I enter through the doorway to the kitchen, stretching my arms up. Blaine smiles at me, jerking his chin towards the direction of the chair while flipping a pancake. There are already cooked pancakes on the plate on the table, and it begs to be eaten. "Are these for us?"

"No, dumbass," he chirps, rolling his eyes. "It's only for me. Of course it's for the both of us."

It occurs to me that I have offended him yesterday, and now, it's time to say I'm sorry. Again. "About yesterday..."

"It's fine," he immediately says, training his eyes back on the pan. "It's in the past."

"I'm sorry, really." I tell him anyway. "I've been asshole when I shouldn't have been. It's just that... we all know that rogues are made – "

"Made to cause havoc and unbalance the world," he finishes it for me, and I nod at him in response. He lets out a sigh, turning off the stove. He turns to look at me, then purses his lips. "I overreacted. I'm sorry, too. I know what werewolves expect rogues to be, and it's hard to believe that there's a good rogue. But rogues... we... we didn't choose this life. This had been chosen for us right before we were born. I wanted to be different. I always want to be different. And I'm trying every single day."

"Well, you are certainly different," I say, chuckling. "But please while I'm staying here, don't try to kill me."

"Good Lord, I could just throw this pan with a boiling oil on you." Blaine grabs the spatula, then slides it underneath the pancake then puts the pancake on the plate. "We can eat now."

We both eat peacefully. Turns out that Blaine is a better cook than me; he cooked the pancake perfectly. Whenever I cook pancakes, the edges are always burnt, and that pisses me off. I swore that I'll never cook a pancake again. My sister tried to teach me several times, but despite those teachings, I still managed to burn those pancakes worse than my previous cooking.

After we eat, Blaine heads back to his room to prepare. I do the same thing. School will start an hour and a half from now, and I've got a lot of time to prepare. I wonder what I will do today just to capture my mate's attention. Should I do something crazy, the one that he would never forget, the one that would last forever in his memory? I could do those things. I will do anything just to see his smile. I will do anything just to make him smile.

"Stop dreaming and get ready," Blaine yells at me, throwing me a boyish smirk as he goes back inside his room.

"Kindly f**k off," I yell back, rolling my eyes playfully, heading to my assigned room.